I am so Damned Fragile!
Boys and girls, I will tell you that inside this tough post-op woman shell is a very frightened little girl.
There are only two tiny (alright, huge) chinks in my tough hide.
One is my facial hair. I will refuse to go out if I am showing any stubble. I absolutely despise having to shave everyday. More distressing, even though I have had my face cleared repeatedly, I not only still have hairs come up but now some of them are actually coming up BLACK!!!! Needless to say I am very frustrated. Granted I have not spent the number of hours in the chair that some of our other ladies have, but GD it! I really was hoping not to look like a grizzled old prospector by now!!!!
The other is my voice. I am very *very* very sensitive about my vocal presentation. And when I get sirred on the phone it is like a knife to my heart.
There was one occasion in the ladies room where one of the other woman thought I was a man in the stall because of my voice. I was devastated.
Something happened yesterday that almost sent me back to therapy (and it still might, I'm still thinking about it).
A number of months ago I signed up for the fitness center at the office. Two or three times a week I'll go there and work out over lunch. It makes me feel better and helps tone up my body. There was an initial trepidation I had about going into the ladies locker room for the first time, but now it is just what I do. I'm not uncomfortable with it at all. It's where I belong.
Following my workout yesterday, I stripped down wrapped my towel around me and headed for the showers. there are six shower stalls each with their own curtain. I picked a stall, closed the curtain and turned on the water. It's natural to joke and talk in the locker room. And as I was getting under the shower, one of the other women remarked how tired she was. I responded that it was only Monday and there was quite a bit of week left.
There was a pause and then she squeaked "OH MY GOD IS THAT A MAN IN THERE!!!??"
My knees almost gave out.
I poked my head around the curtain, mustering up courage and pasting some sort of smile on my face, I said "No, I get that a lot". And I let just enough of me show to prove that I was a woman.
Embarrassed, she apologized and babbled on about the time she was on vacation and took the wrong turn at a resort and walked into the guys locker, and saw way too much of the male anatomy. She said something about a twenty-one gun salute, which in retrospect was a cute remark.
I smiled and we went back to showering. Well I assume she did. I spent the next ten minutes weeping as quietly as I could. I turned the water on as cold as it would go and just stood under it trying not to openly sob. (God, this hurts to type, I'm weeping again).
I was too terrified to leave the stall, having the irrational fear that I would somehow be called out again. I would be called a charlatan, a fake, *a man*.
I got dressed as quickly as I could and didn't utter another word. I left with my hair barely dry and no makeup on my face.
I spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the screen, and trying to fight back the tears. I'm the only woman in our team and only one of four women on the floor, so a weeping female is not really kept in high regard by my team mates. And I really couldn't commiserate with the other woman because they were busy with their own duties, and really, how could *they* commiserate? Please don't tell me that women get sirred on the phone too. I know that and that is (was) one of the things I used to tell myself to keep my courage up. Yes, it happens, but when it happens to a GG it is just frustrating. To me it is debilitating.
I spent the rest of the afternoon giving serious thought and some fair research into the most dangerous, stupid, silly-assed thing a transwoman could do.
Feminizing laryngoplasty surgery.
I know women who have taken this surgery and had some very poor results. I know of one who can barely speak above a whisper. If I had the surgery, there would be a good chance I would never be able to sing again. I may never be able to go on stage again because my voice could be so profoundly affected. I could lose the ability to speak altogether. And on top of it all, I'm not all that impressed with the results I have heard.
But if I could only croak, at least it would be a feminine croak.
If a person meets me in person, I am not questioned at all about my gender. And when I am on stage, no one, not the director, not the stage manager, and not the audience question my feminine presentation. It's only when a person only hears my voice and can't see my body or face that they question me.
There is a little rational spark still left that really thinks this is a bad idea. But I've picked up the phone about a half dozen times already today to call and ask for information and a consultation.
It's not like I don't try. I've taken training, but maybe not enough, apparently. But, dammit, I've kept my larynx elevated so long I don't remember *how* to speak in my old voice. If I'm awakened out of a sound sleep I still speak in my higher register. Hell, I even *SNEEZE* in a higher tone. There are a number of people (bless them) that have repeatedly told me that they hear nothing but a woman when I speak to them on the phone.
I feel like I've taken a hit below the water line. Inside, I have collapsed. I'm trying to build my self esteem up, but I am so low right now. Pat, my darling husband, has absolutely forbidden me from taking this any farther. But I am so crushed right now.
I came here to tell my story so at least I can get it off my chest. I need to release this pain. You, my brothers and sisters, are who I can turn to with a warm shoulder and tissue. And that, is what I need right now.
There may not be another few chapters of "Sandy's Transition". But right now, for two cents, I'd make that consultation call...
-Sandy
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, November 17, 2008
Transgender Day of Remembrance - Chicago
Transgender Day of Remembrance - Chicago
Last night, Pat and I attended the Transgender Day of Remembrance here in Chicago at the Center on Halsted.
It was held on the third floor roof. It was a chill evening and, perhaps appropriately, and a cold bitter snow started just after we gathered outside.
There were many speakers and one of the honored speakers was Diane Schroer, who had just recently won a precedent setting case of discrimination against the Library of Congress.
In her speech, she asked, "Who Speaks for the Dead". Her answer was the WE speak for the dead. All of us. Those of us that come out of the closet, who take the first hesitating steps to become our true selves. Those of us that have completely transitioned. And even those of us who take a stealth path. We all stand for the dead. We all speak for those who have had their voices silenced through bigotry, hate, and anger.
We have in many ways become less sensationalized and are less fodder for the likes of Jerry Springer and are now given more of an open forum by the likes of Oprah and Barbara Walters to show the world that we our struggle is not a tawdry thrill but a life affirming quest.
But we are still vulnerable to hate and ignorance. And last night was a memorial to those whose quest had come to an end.
Once the speeches were over, the names of the honored dead were read.
On that rooftop deck, there were 24 chairs, each with a blood red candle burning on it. Each name was read along with the date and method of their death. As each name was read, the candle was extinguished and a bell was tolled.
For me, it was a knife to the heart for each peeling of the bell. Particularly hard was hearing the name of Lawrence King, the 14 year old, who was shot by a classmate because Lawrence had asked him to be his valentine.
Once the vigil was over we returned to the building. Pat held me as I wept.
It was a moving event for me. I hope that one day that it will be no longer be necessary to have such a vigil.
-Sandy
It was held on the third floor roof. It was a chill evening and, perhaps appropriately, and a cold bitter snow started just after we gathered outside.
There were many speakers and one of the honored speakers was Diane Schroer, who had just recently won a precedent setting case of discrimination against the Library of Congress.
In her speech, she asked, "Who Speaks for the Dead". Her answer was the WE speak for the dead. All of us. Those of us that come out of the closet, who take the first hesitating steps to become our true selves. Those of us that have completely transitioned. And even those of us who take a stealth path. We all stand for the dead. We all speak for those who have had their voices silenced through bigotry, hate, and anger.
We have in many ways become less sensationalized and are less fodder for the likes of Jerry Springer and are now given more of an open forum by the likes of Oprah and Barbara Walters to show the world that we our struggle is not a tawdry thrill but a life affirming quest.
But we are still vulnerable to hate and ignorance. And last night was a memorial to those whose quest had come to an end.
Once the speeches were over, the names of the honored dead were read.
On that rooftop deck, there were 24 chairs, each with a blood red candle burning on it. Each name was read along with the date and method of their death. As each name was read, the candle was extinguished and a bell was tolled.
For me, it was a knife to the heart for each peeling of the bell. Particularly hard was hearing the name of Lawrence King, the 14 year old, who was shot by a classmate because Lawrence had asked him to be his valentine.
Once the vigil was over we returned to the building. Pat held me as I wept.
It was a moving event for me. I hope that one day that it will be no longer be necessary to have such a vigil.
-Sandy
Thursday, September 4, 2008
An Episode to the Epilogue
An Episode to the Epilogue
Previously I have posted that I have completed my transition so then too I would have completed my postings to my blog, “Sandy’s Transition”.
Ah were that the case. The last few weeks have left me stressed out, anxious, and depressed as ever I have been in my life.
If you have been following my story, you will have read that I was one of the fortunate few whose insurance coverage actually did cover not only my orchiectomy, but also my Gender Confirmation Surgery as well.
You may have also read that while it was “covered” it wasn’t *covered*. Something to do with my insurance company (Blue Cross/Blue Shield HMO of Illinois) not covering cosmetic surgeries, but the only way to list my referral for GCS was as cosmetic. Catch-22. (And why in the world would you list as “cosmetic” something that good girls don’t go around showing off is beyond me!!!)
My doctor, surgeon, and therapists all sent in recommendations that this surgery wasn’t cosmetic, but was a life saving operation. And only after my doctor talked to the insurance company directly and submitting over three hundred pages of notes and documentation, that the insurance company relented and approved my referral.
But since the operation was out of network, I had to pay for it upfront, then, I was assured, I would be reimbursed. I proceeded to take out a loan with near loan shark rates assuming that the interest rate wouldn’t matter that much since I would be paying it off in a reasonably short period of time after I received my reimbursement.
Ok, let’s fast forward through my trip, surgery, and return. It’s posted on the blog for those who want to relive those wonderful days with me. (I still recall the moment my plane took off for Philadelphia with a wistful fondness.)
Ok, back home and now trying to put my life back on track after a two year process to change every part of my being. One of the details was to start submitting the paperwork to the insurance company to get my reimbursement.
I contacted the person at BCBS about submitting the required information. I was told that there was a form on the website and that I should fill it out and submit that and the relevant invoices to the insurance company.
I did that and didn’t hear anything for a few weeks. I called and after going through the usual mind numbing phone menu and being put on hold so long that I actually started liking the musak that was playing in the background and could recite all the phone-on-hold commercials by heart… backward.
I finally talked with someone and they said that the documentation that was submitted was not complete. They required an itemized invoice including standardized procedural codes and diagnostics.
Ok.
I called the surgeons office and contacted someone from admin. Fortunately the also had been contacted by the insurance company and they had requested the same things. But I would have to contact the hospital to get that information as well as the anesthesiologist.
Ok.
I worked through this process over the next few weeks. Regularly contacting the insurance people as well as the billing and admin people at the surgeon’s office, the hospital and the anesthesiologist.
I then receive a note from BCBS stating that my claim wasn’t covered because they do not cover GCS.
Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!
I contact the insurance people and they tell me that the never covered that surgery and even though I had a proper referral it wasn’t BCBS’s responsibility to pay it. I was welcome to contact the medical group to see if they would pay for it, but their responsibility was at an end.
Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!
After I dried my eyes, actually the tears ran out. I contacted the medical group.
I then had to go through the exact same submission of documentation that I went through with BCBS.
Following that, I was told that even though I submitted the proper information I would not be reimbursed. The medical group only reimburses the hospital and they should have submitted the information directly to them in the first place.
With a calm and demeanor rivaling that of Job, I explained to this person that I had been told that I HAD to pay for it out of pocket since it was out of network and that I was SUPPOSED to get reimbursed! I had been told that by several people at BCBS (accent on the BS!), the medical group, and my physicians office!
This person again told me that the policy was only to reimburse the hospital after they submitted the proper documentation. That person refused to even look at my referral.
At that point, I had a proper and satisfying meltdown. I yelled at them that they were an idiot and I wanted to speak with their supervisor!
After a few minutes I was put in contact with the supervisor and I explained the situation again.
This time, the person actually reviewed the case and said that actually everything seemed in order. My referral was proper, and my documentation was complete. She thought it was just a matter of examining the data and making a determination who would pay what.
I started sobbing on the phone. I was so relieved to get even that response that I lost all control. The lady said that she would review the information and would be getting back to me. She even gave me her direct line so that I wouldn’t get ear calluses wading through the phone menu.
I thanked her profusely and hung up, feeling more relieved than I had in several weeks.
A few days later, the lady from the medical group did call me back and said that she had to contact the surgeon, hospital, and anesthesiologist but she had all the information she needed. She said that there would be two checks sent out. One would come from the medical group, which would pay for the surgeon, and the other would come from BCBS who would be paying for the hospital stay and the anesthesia.
By this time my spirits were lifting considerably.
A few days following that, I did receive a check from the medical group. After waiting another few days, I still had not received the check from BCBS. I was starting to get worried that they would renege on their agreement. I called the lady at the medical group back and asked if she had heard anything. She said no but would check into it.
No sooner had I hung up from her, I got a call from the billing department at the hospital where I stayed.
She told me that BCBS had sent them a check for my bill. She said that she would personally walk the check over to Accounts Payable and have them cut me a check that very day!
I was over joyed!
However after several more days I still had not received the check. I call the lady at the hospital back and asked if she had heard anything. She checked with AP and the said that they had FedEx’d the check and it was recorded as delivered!!! (A signature had not been asked for)
Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!
In all my years of using FedEx and other services, I had never had a lost item. Why did it have to happen with this one!!!! I felt that I was being toyed with by the fates. It seemed that I had to keep leaping to get to my goal, but it would be pulled out of my reach at the last moment. This last twist to this really had me undone.
I told them that I had not received it and that they should put a stop on the check and could they send out another? (Pretty please???)
The nice lady and her partner at AP said that they would overnight the check to me and require a signature.
The next morning, finally, the replacement check arrived. I was so relieved!
I just deposited it this morning, and bring to a close this last major chapter of my transition from man to woman.
It has been a very short time for me since I started down the path to confirm my true nature. I have been truly blessed by the way my transition has gone. My family loves me, I was not discriminated at work, and the financial needs have been taken care of. Though I do feel that I have had to mortgaged my future to save my present. But in all likelihood I would have probably not lived long enough to enjoy my future were I not to transition.
Just this evening I was sitting at the dining room table with Pat and I was feeling very content. And I looked down at myself then at Pat, and I asked myself what the big deal was. I was finally as much of a woman as far as medical science could make me and I felt so normal that I couldn’t remember what the crisis was when I had male genitals.
Then I thought about having a penis again and I was overcome with revulsion. I guess I really was a transsexual. So many times we wonder if we have made the right decision to transition. I now know I made the right decision!
-Sandy
Ah were that the case. The last few weeks have left me stressed out, anxious, and depressed as ever I have been in my life.
If you have been following my story, you will have read that I was one of the fortunate few whose insurance coverage actually did cover not only my orchiectomy, but also my Gender Confirmation Surgery as well.
You may have also read that while it was “covered” it wasn’t *covered*. Something to do with my insurance company (Blue Cross/Blue Shield HMO of Illinois) not covering cosmetic surgeries, but the only way to list my referral for GCS was as cosmetic. Catch-22. (And why in the world would you list as “cosmetic” something that good girls don’t go around showing off is beyond me!!!)
My doctor, surgeon, and therapists all sent in recommendations that this surgery wasn’t cosmetic, but was a life saving operation. And only after my doctor talked to the insurance company directly and submitting over three hundred pages of notes and documentation, that the insurance company relented and approved my referral.
But since the operation was out of network, I had to pay for it upfront, then, I was assured, I would be reimbursed. I proceeded to take out a loan with near loan shark rates assuming that the interest rate wouldn’t matter that much since I would be paying it off in a reasonably short period of time after I received my reimbursement.
Ok, let’s fast forward through my trip, surgery, and return. It’s posted on the blog for those who want to relive those wonderful days with me. (I still recall the moment my plane took off for Philadelphia with a wistful fondness.)
Ok, back home and now trying to put my life back on track after a two year process to change every part of my being. One of the details was to start submitting the paperwork to the insurance company to get my reimbursement.
I contacted the person at BCBS about submitting the required information. I was told that there was a form on the website and that I should fill it out and submit that and the relevant invoices to the insurance company.
I did that and didn’t hear anything for a few weeks. I called and after going through the usual mind numbing phone menu and being put on hold so long that I actually started liking the musak that was playing in the background and could recite all the phone-on-hold commercials by heart… backward.
I finally talked with someone and they said that the documentation that was submitted was not complete. They required an itemized invoice including standardized procedural codes and diagnostics.
Ok.
I called the surgeons office and contacted someone from admin. Fortunately the also had been contacted by the insurance company and they had requested the same things. But I would have to contact the hospital to get that information as well as the anesthesiologist.
Ok.
I worked through this process over the next few weeks. Regularly contacting the insurance people as well as the billing and admin people at the surgeon’s office, the hospital and the anesthesiologist.
I then receive a note from BCBS stating that my claim wasn’t covered because they do not cover GCS.
Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!
I contact the insurance people and they tell me that the never covered that surgery and even though I had a proper referral it wasn’t BCBS’s responsibility to pay it. I was welcome to contact the medical group to see if they would pay for it, but their responsibility was at an end.
Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!
After I dried my eyes, actually the tears ran out. I contacted the medical group.
I then had to go through the exact same submission of documentation that I went through with BCBS.
Following that, I was told that even though I submitted the proper information I would not be reimbursed. The medical group only reimburses the hospital and they should have submitted the information directly to them in the first place.
With a calm and demeanor rivaling that of Job, I explained to this person that I had been told that I HAD to pay for it out of pocket since it was out of network and that I was SUPPOSED to get reimbursed! I had been told that by several people at BCBS (accent on the BS!), the medical group, and my physicians office!
This person again told me that the policy was only to reimburse the hospital after they submitted the proper documentation. That person refused to even look at my referral.
At that point, I had a proper and satisfying meltdown. I yelled at them that they were an idiot and I wanted to speak with their supervisor!
After a few minutes I was put in contact with the supervisor and I explained the situation again.
This time, the person actually reviewed the case and said that actually everything seemed in order. My referral was proper, and my documentation was complete. She thought it was just a matter of examining the data and making a determination who would pay what.
I started sobbing on the phone. I was so relieved to get even that response that I lost all control. The lady said that she would review the information and would be getting back to me. She even gave me her direct line so that I wouldn’t get ear calluses wading through the phone menu.
I thanked her profusely and hung up, feeling more relieved than I had in several weeks.
A few days later, the lady from the medical group did call me back and said that she had to contact the surgeon, hospital, and anesthesiologist but she had all the information she needed. She said that there would be two checks sent out. One would come from the medical group, which would pay for the surgeon, and the other would come from BCBS who would be paying for the hospital stay and the anesthesia.
By this time my spirits were lifting considerably.
A few days following that, I did receive a check from the medical group. After waiting another few days, I still had not received the check from BCBS. I was starting to get worried that they would renege on their agreement. I called the lady at the medical group back and asked if she had heard anything. She said no but would check into it.
No sooner had I hung up from her, I got a call from the billing department at the hospital where I stayed.
She told me that BCBS had sent them a check for my bill. She said that she would personally walk the check over to Accounts Payable and have them cut me a check that very day!
I was over joyed!
However after several more days I still had not received the check. I call the lady at the hospital back and asked if she had heard anything. She checked with AP and the said that they had FedEx’d the check and it was recorded as delivered!!! (A signature had not been asked for)
Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!
In all my years of using FedEx and other services, I had never had a lost item. Why did it have to happen with this one!!!! I felt that I was being toyed with by the fates. It seemed that I had to keep leaping to get to my goal, but it would be pulled out of my reach at the last moment. This last twist to this really had me undone.
I told them that I had not received it and that they should put a stop on the check and could they send out another? (Pretty please???)
The nice lady and her partner at AP said that they would overnight the check to me and require a signature.
The next morning, finally, the replacement check arrived. I was so relieved!
I just deposited it this morning, and bring to a close this last major chapter of my transition from man to woman.
It has been a very short time for me since I started down the path to confirm my true nature. I have been truly blessed by the way my transition has gone. My family loves me, I was not discriminated at work, and the financial needs have been taken care of. Though I do feel that I have had to mortgaged my future to save my present. But in all likelihood I would have probably not lived long enough to enjoy my future were I not to transition.
Just this evening I was sitting at the dining room table with Pat and I was feeling very content. And I looked down at myself then at Pat, and I asked myself what the big deal was. I was finally as much of a woman as far as medical science could make me and I felt so normal that I couldn’t remember what the crisis was when I had male genitals.
Then I thought about having a penis again and I was overcome with revulsion. I guess I really was a transsexual. So many times we wonder if we have made the right decision to transition. I now know I made the right decision!
-Sandy
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Doing some more catching up...
It's been quite a while since I posted anything here. Actually a couple of months.
In that time there have been some wonderful times in my life.
First off, my granddaughter finally had her baptism. It was an interesting time from the stand point that she does not like having her head wet. We were worried that there would be a problem when the pastor anointed her head.
So she simply moistened her forehead and then anointed her with oil which she let her smell first.
The end result was that the baptism went very smoothly and without any screaming. Actually, I think she enjoyed being the center of attention.
Here is a group picture from the event:
On the right are the two proud parents. And on the left are Kara's wonderful godparents, my partner, and my youngest daughter. In the middle are the Pastor, a wonderful woman, and the maiden of honor.
An interesting development as we celebrated her baptism in the undercroft following the ceremony.
The ceremony had been attended by both my ex spouses as well as my daughters (of course) as well as some relatives. One of the parishioners, who is unfamiliar with my history was confused about the number of "grandma's" attending the service. She said that one of the ladies said that she was my daughters mother. And she was confused about my relationship to her.
I took deep breath and said that when my daughters were born, I was their father. She blinked a couple of times and then said, "oh". Then she apologized and said that she didn't mean to pry.
I told her that it wasn't a problem and I didn't think it was prying at all. She smiled sweetly and the rest of the time went very well.
Now my "secret" is out. I am no longer stealth at church. There really isn't that much church gossip, I'm sure it does happen and sooner or later, everyone will know. While I don't make a big deal about my history, I certainly don't wear a sign around my neck that says "TRANSSEXUAL!!!" And there are at least one gay couple already at the church. Well, actually two, now. I and my partner are the other one. And we don't make a big deal about that either.
And neither does anyone else. In the intervening time, there have been no second looks, no whispering behind my back, no suppressed giggles. This is my family and I love them all.
Today, as we were coming home from Church, Pat asked if we wanted to see some animals. I said sure!
As we drove home, she directed me down a different road and we ended up at a small field enclosed with a fence.
On the other side of the fence were emus! I certainly did not expect to see them in my neck of the woods.
Kara was facinated:
Well that is just a quick couple of things that have been happening here.
I'll post more soon.
Very soon, like this week, Kara will have a little sister. So I'll have quite a bit to talk about then!
-Sandy
In that time there have been some wonderful times in my life.
First off, my granddaughter finally had her baptism. It was an interesting time from the stand point that she does not like having her head wet. We were worried that there would be a problem when the pastor anointed her head.
So she simply moistened her forehead and then anointed her with oil which she let her smell first.
The end result was that the baptism went very smoothly and without any screaming. Actually, I think she enjoyed being the center of attention.
Here is a group picture from the event:
On the right are the two proud parents. And on the left are Kara's wonderful godparents, my partner, and my youngest daughter. In the middle are the Pastor, a wonderful woman, and the maiden of honor.An interesting development as we celebrated her baptism in the undercroft following the ceremony.
The ceremony had been attended by both my ex spouses as well as my daughters (of course) as well as some relatives. One of the parishioners, who is unfamiliar with my history was confused about the number of "grandma's" attending the service. She said that one of the ladies said that she was my daughters mother. And she was confused about my relationship to her.
I took deep breath and said that when my daughters were born, I was their father. She blinked a couple of times and then said, "oh". Then she apologized and said that she didn't mean to pry.
I told her that it wasn't a problem and I didn't think it was prying at all. She smiled sweetly and the rest of the time went very well.
Now my "secret" is out. I am no longer stealth at church. There really isn't that much church gossip, I'm sure it does happen and sooner or later, everyone will know. While I don't make a big deal about my history, I certainly don't wear a sign around my neck that says "TRANSSEXUAL!!!" And there are at least one gay couple already at the church. Well, actually two, now. I and my partner are the other one. And we don't make a big deal about that either.
And neither does anyone else. In the intervening time, there have been no second looks, no whispering behind my back, no suppressed giggles. This is my family and I love them all.
Today, as we were coming home from Church, Pat asked if we wanted to see some animals. I said sure!
As we drove home, she directed me down a different road and we ended up at a small field enclosed with a fence.
On the other side of the fence were emus! I certainly did not expect to see them in my neck of the woods.
Kara was facinated:
Well that is just a quick couple of things that have been happening here.
I'll post more soon.
Very soon, like this week, Kara will have a little sister. So I'll have quite a bit to talk about then!
-Sandy
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Epilogue
Epilogue
It’s been six weeks since my SRS surgery and just over a year since I went full time.
My state of mind has been one of peace and calm. I feel so comfortable in my chosen gender that I find I must remind myself that I have not always been this way.
I think about other transsexuals who have fully transitioned and are post-op and I realize that I am now one of them as well. But I don’t think of myself as having joined some exclusive sorority. More like having survived a grueling trek.
I think about my time before my transition and wonder what all the fuss was about. It’s been so long since I’ve been down the rabbit hole of clinical depression that I have to remind myself that there was a significant part of my life where I would think about being female, then immediately feel that I needed to kill myself for being a pervert, a queer, someone who was a waste of skin. Eventually I started playing more and more aggressive suicide games, hoping that I would accidentally kill myself because I didn’t have the guts to do it right the first time. I would then call myself a coward because I survived.
I’ve willingly, even eagerly, had my face and body significantly altered, been rendered permanently sterile, and have had things done to my genitalia that make “normal” males shudder.
My mind and body have been altered through the administration of HRT and the blocking of testosterone and then the elimination of those glands that so horrified me.
I did not realize the extent to which my mind has been altered until recently.
Just a couple of weeks ago I was asked to help out in the production of the musical “Oklahoma” that was put on by the community theatre group I frequent. Doing tech on a play is usually hours of boredom followed by seconds of terror. During one of the lulls in the action, I picked up a book that was lying around backstage. It was “Little Earthquakes” by Jennifer Wiener. It’s a touching story about a group of women and the experiences in their lives during their pregnancy. I read a couple of chapters and I was hooked! I so identified with those women. I could feel their joys and sadness as their pregnancies developed.
This mildly astonished me. Normally I would read science fiction or action books. And here was this “chick-lit” book and I was carried away! I had to get it for myself. I’m reading it now on the train and have not enjoyed reading as much in quite a long time. I’m wondering if I’ll start liking romance novels next.
Over the last few months my maternal instincts have been getting stronger. I wrote it off as fallout from my daughter who is pregnant with her second child. But the idea of being a mother to a child has really taken me. To my daughters I am still dad. That can never change. Nor do I want it to. But being a mom is so inviting! Even though I can never be pregnant, the idea of growing a life within me is more than intriguing. I see pregnant women and feel more than just a passing envy. I know that childbirth is not for the weak, but I would not fear it
I’m coming to terms with being a lesbian. I have learned not to ogle women. And realize that when I see beautiful woman and have erotic thoughts about them, I understand that they do not see me in the same way (mostly). I’m envious of the way hetero couples can display their affection for each other with kisses, hugs and hand holding. Were my partner and I to show such affection to each other, she and I would be instantly labeled “lezzy” and vilified.
According to my surgeon and endocrinologist the medical community considers me female. My last hormone level check showed my testosterone and estrogen levels completely normal… for a woman. This pleases me.
When I started to seriously consider a transition I felt so daunted. It seemed like everything I would have to do was another mountain to climb. When I got my right ear pierced to match the piercing I had on the left, I remember looking at myself in my cars rear view mirror in grand happiness at my bold feminine gesture. Then feeling overwhelmed when I though about all the effort I would have to go through to complete my journey. Jewelry, clothing, underwear, hair and makeup all had to change. Changing gender is the most arduous and challenging task a human in modern society can do. I had to face the possibility that I could lose everything I hold dear. Not just the material things, but more importantly, things like love and acceptance from family and friends.
In actuality, I lost very little. In comparison to some, I feel that I’ve won the transsexual lottery. The most important people in my life stayed with me, encouraged me, loved me. My darling three-year-old granddaughter calls me “Grandma Sandy” and my heart melts. She and I are “best buds” she watches me put my makeup on in the morning and I have to gather up all my shoes from her in the evening. She is smart, affectionate and wise. One day she and I will have a talk about me, but I am not fearful that she might turn away from me. I’ll still be Grandma Sandy to her, regardless.
I look back now on my journey and feel that I never had a mountain to climb. In fact as I started down the road, I found it paved, flat, and well lit.
When I made my first move to change/save my life, I felt I had stepped into the abyss. I had no idea where I would go or how I would survive. I stepped into the unknown and felt supported, buoyed up by some force. The words of Joseph Campbell came to me over and over: “Follow your bliss.” When you are following your bliss, people will appear in your field of bliss and open doors for you that you never knew existed. This was proven to me time and time again.
I learned to let my life, my extended re-birth, unfold at its own pace, in its own way. When something was right for me to do, it would appear. I learned not to force the pace of change. And actually found it to go quite fast. Though not faster than I could handle.
Here I sit at the end of my transition and the beginning of my life. For the first time I feel whole and normal. I never believed that one person could have this much joy. Every day is a treasure to me, a wonder to be explored.
To those of you who are following your own path, know that what awaits you is joy beyond belief and love everlasting. Be strong and you will persevere.
This marks the end of “Sandy’s Transition”. As I’ve said before, transition is temporary by definition and while I have some residual issues to take care of like completing electrolysis, I feel complete and no longer feel the need to post in this blog. The woman inside has finally been born outside. After nearly fifty-six years, my birth is complete!
-Sandy
My state of mind has been one of peace and calm. I feel so comfortable in my chosen gender that I find I must remind myself that I have not always been this way.
I think about other transsexuals who have fully transitioned and are post-op and I realize that I am now one of them as well. But I don’t think of myself as having joined some exclusive sorority. More like having survived a grueling trek.
I think about my time before my transition and wonder what all the fuss was about. It’s been so long since I’ve been down the rabbit hole of clinical depression that I have to remind myself that there was a significant part of my life where I would think about being female, then immediately feel that I needed to kill myself for being a pervert, a queer, someone who was a waste of skin. Eventually I started playing more and more aggressive suicide games, hoping that I would accidentally kill myself because I didn’t have the guts to do it right the first time. I would then call myself a coward because I survived.
I’ve willingly, even eagerly, had my face and body significantly altered, been rendered permanently sterile, and have had things done to my genitalia that make “normal” males shudder.
My mind and body have been altered through the administration of HRT and the blocking of testosterone and then the elimination of those glands that so horrified me.
I did not realize the extent to which my mind has been altered until recently.
Just a couple of weeks ago I was asked to help out in the production of the musical “Oklahoma” that was put on by the community theatre group I frequent. Doing tech on a play is usually hours of boredom followed by seconds of terror. During one of the lulls in the action, I picked up a book that was lying around backstage. It was “Little Earthquakes” by Jennifer Wiener. It’s a touching story about a group of women and the experiences in their lives during their pregnancy. I read a couple of chapters and I was hooked! I so identified with those women. I could feel their joys and sadness as their pregnancies developed.
This mildly astonished me. Normally I would read science fiction or action books. And here was this “chick-lit” book and I was carried away! I had to get it for myself. I’m reading it now on the train and have not enjoyed reading as much in quite a long time. I’m wondering if I’ll start liking romance novels next.
Over the last few months my maternal instincts have been getting stronger. I wrote it off as fallout from my daughter who is pregnant with her second child. But the idea of being a mother to a child has really taken me. To my daughters I am still dad. That can never change. Nor do I want it to. But being a mom is so inviting! Even though I can never be pregnant, the idea of growing a life within me is more than intriguing. I see pregnant women and feel more than just a passing envy. I know that childbirth is not for the weak, but I would not fear it
I’m coming to terms with being a lesbian. I have learned not to ogle women. And realize that when I see beautiful woman and have erotic thoughts about them, I understand that they do not see me in the same way (mostly). I’m envious of the way hetero couples can display their affection for each other with kisses, hugs and hand holding. Were my partner and I to show such affection to each other, she and I would be instantly labeled “lezzy” and vilified.
According to my surgeon and endocrinologist the medical community considers me female. My last hormone level check showed my testosterone and estrogen levels completely normal… for a woman. This pleases me.
When I started to seriously consider a transition I felt so daunted. It seemed like everything I would have to do was another mountain to climb. When I got my right ear pierced to match the piercing I had on the left, I remember looking at myself in my cars rear view mirror in grand happiness at my bold feminine gesture. Then feeling overwhelmed when I though about all the effort I would have to go through to complete my journey. Jewelry, clothing, underwear, hair and makeup all had to change. Changing gender is the most arduous and challenging task a human in modern society can do. I had to face the possibility that I could lose everything I hold dear. Not just the material things, but more importantly, things like love and acceptance from family and friends.
In actuality, I lost very little. In comparison to some, I feel that I’ve won the transsexual lottery. The most important people in my life stayed with me, encouraged me, loved me. My darling three-year-old granddaughter calls me “Grandma Sandy” and my heart melts. She and I are “best buds” she watches me put my makeup on in the morning and I have to gather up all my shoes from her in the evening. She is smart, affectionate and wise. One day she and I will have a talk about me, but I am not fearful that she might turn away from me. I’ll still be Grandma Sandy to her, regardless.
I look back now on my journey and feel that I never had a mountain to climb. In fact as I started down the road, I found it paved, flat, and well lit.
When I made my first move to change/save my life, I felt I had stepped into the abyss. I had no idea where I would go or how I would survive. I stepped into the unknown and felt supported, buoyed up by some force. The words of Joseph Campbell came to me over and over: “Follow your bliss.” When you are following your bliss, people will appear in your field of bliss and open doors for you that you never knew existed. This was proven to me time and time again.
I learned to let my life, my extended re-birth, unfold at its own pace, in its own way. When something was right for me to do, it would appear. I learned not to force the pace of change. And actually found it to go quite fast. Though not faster than I could handle.
Here I sit at the end of my transition and the beginning of my life. For the first time I feel whole and normal. I never believed that one person could have this much joy. Every day is a treasure to me, a wonder to be explored.
To those of you who are following your own path, know that what awaits you is joy beyond belief and love everlasting. Be strong and you will persevere.
This marks the end of “Sandy’s Transition”. As I’ve said before, transition is temporary by definition and while I have some residual issues to take care of like completing electrolysis, I feel complete and no longer feel the need to post in this blog. The woman inside has finally been born outside. After nearly fifty-six years, my birth is complete!
-Sandy
Monday, April 28, 2008
My GCS Procedure Part 2
My GCS Procedure Part 2
***LIGHTS ON***
Well actually this time it was a more gentle awakening than I have had in previous operations.
I became dimly aware of a hissing sound and then realized I had an oxygen tube in my nose. I felt the cool rush of the oxygen start to clear my head.
I heard other people around me and opened my eyes. I felt one of the nurses put something in my hand and say: “This is your morphine button. Use it when you have pain”.
I vaguely nodded.
I became aware of other sensations and sounds. There was a mechanical sound from end of my bed and I became aware of a gentle massage on my legs.
As I looked around I realized I was in a different room and it was near dark. I was lying horizontal and I then I realized it was over!
Actually, the realization was a bit more involved. Because I was not all quite there, I had to work it out.
I figured out that I was in the hospital, then I remembered that I just had a procedure. Since I have had many procedures, my first thought was; "What's next?"
Then I had to remember what procedure I had and that I just had GRS and I realized that there was no *next* operation, I was done!
A feeling of relief and completion came over me. I realized that I had completed my trek, my journey was at an end.
And deep in my brain, I FELT a switch flip from male to female. It was a palpable feeling and I'm surprised that the nurses did not hear it also.
I tried to look down but a sheet was covering me. I could see that I had a catheter and I had an IV in my arm.
I felt that there were ice packs down there and while I felt a bit uncomfortable, I was not in any real pain.
Much like when I had my orchiectomy there really wasn’t that much pain at all.
There were actually two nurses in my room fussing over me and checking that everything was proper.
They were in good spirits and joked good naturedly with me.
I wasn’t completely booted back up but no where near the lobotomized stat that I was in when I came out of my FFS surgery.
They were done soon and asked me if I wanted any ice chips. I was parched and said yes.
The nurse came and spoon fed me some and that quenched me for a bit.
She asked if there was anything else she could do and I said no. So she showed me where the call button was and said if I needed anything just buzz.
I was exhausted but not really tired. So I pressed the morphine button about five or six times…
Very soon I was asleep again. But before I dropped off I just kept turning over in my mind; “It’s OVER! I’ve done it! I’m not half and half!”
I think I had the smile on my face the whole time I was asleep.
I woke up a couple hours later and it was still dark and just pushed the morphine button again.
I did that a couple of times. One time I awoke because the nurse came in and asked if I wanted some water. I said yes and she brought me some water.
I sipped it pretty quickly and she brought me another one. She told me to keep myself hydrated as much as possible. It would help clear the effects of the anesthesia and get my body started.
She reminded me that I had a catheter and not to worry about going to the bathroom. She then told me that the massager on my legs were to keep my legs from forming any blood clots and that I would have it on for a few days.
This also meant that I wouldn’t be able to turn over. I was starting to feel some low back pain from being horizontal. I knew that it would be difficult to keep from having a lot of pain from my back because of it. I would just have to endure it.
Some hours and much water and juice later, the doctor looked in on me.
She asked how I was feeling and wanted to examine me. I told her I was feeling fine. I was a bit uncomfortable but no real pain.
She pulled the sheet down and lifted up my gown. I couldn’t really see anything from where I was at, since I was still lying flat. But you can expect I was extremely curious!
The doctor asked me if I remember what happened in recovery.
I looked at her blankly and asked what happened.
“Well, as you were coming out of the anesthesia you had a panic attack and started kicking. I had to throw myself over your legs to keep you from hurting yourself. That’s why your legs are lashed to the bed!”
I lifted up a little bit and could see that they had tied my legs down to the bed with a sheet. I was very surprised.
The doctor continued to examine me and said that it looked like I had started bleeding as a result of my kicking. It looked like it would be ok, but she wanted me completely horizontal for another twenty four hours to make sure that no blood would pool in the middle of my body or groin area.
She asked if I felt all right and that if I wouldn’t start kicking again, she would take the lashing off.
I promised to be good and the doctor and the nurse pulled off the sheet lashing me to the bed.
I’ve had bad experiences before coming out of anesthesia but this one seemed the most extreme. Also the fact that I didn’t remember any of it surprised me. Usually I remember just about everything once I am conscious. The memory may be a bit blurry, but usually I remember something. This time, zilch!
Over the next couple of days all I did was lie in bed. All I did was listen to the leg massager or watch TV.
I had some visitors. Kate and her wife came by to visit. We had a great time chatting. Also Teresa who was Dr. Christine’s first patient (otherwise known as “The First Lady of Doylestown) came by to visit. And the good doctor’s third patient, Dani visited as well. As it turned out I was the fifth patient of Dr. McGinn.
The greatest surprise though was on the second day.
I was on the phone when the nurse comes in and says that I have a couple of visitors.
I turn and look and in walk the two Julies! Arm in arm and doing a “TA-DA!!!” pose!
They had driven from Chicago to Philadelphia to see me. To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement!
I was talking to Kate on the phone and the nurse came in and started snapping pictures. I am agape in the photos.
I started crying such happy tears. Being alone in a strange place and doing something that can be so scary is very stressful. Naturally I had tried to put on a brave face, but when my two friends showed up, so much of my stress just melted away.
I can just hear the exchange between those two when they came up with the idea:
“So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know, what do you want to do?”
“I dunno, you want to go visit Sandy?”
“Sure!”
Both say together:
“ROAD TRIP!!!”
Apparently they came up with the idea about the time of my going away party. Their escapades driving out to see me was so funny!
I was so touched by their visit. I could not have been more surprised!
We chatted for about an hour and then they headed out to find a place to stay. They intended to visit Philadelphia the next day then they were going to visit and head back.
I’ll post some pictures soon.
What a couple of neat gals!
Over the next couple of days, the time moved slowly. The ache in my back from having to lay horizontal was so great that I asked for morphine to help me sleep.
Each day the doctor would visit and check to see how I was doing. Each day brought me a little closer to freedom.
I wrote the following in my journal while I was flat on my back:
Kate and her wife gave me this journal as a present and I really appreciate it. I won’t be able to blog until I get to the hotel and get my laptop setup. This is my fourth day in the hospital and for four days I have been bed ridden. To say this has been tedious is an understatement. But:
I’M DONE!!!! XXXXX
The last vestige of my masculinity, my birth defect, has finally been corrected. I’m no longer half-n-half, no longer girl on top and boy on bottom. The feeling of relief is grand.
But it is entirely an internal feeling. The world has seen me as Sandy for almost a year now ( I went full time on April 16th of last year), my car and house and mortgage are all in my name. All in my gender, as is my drivers license and SSN. I am an empowered woman!
March 18th 2008 8:30 AM EST Fifth day post operative.
Just got done running the Boston Marathon!
The first five miles where the worst but after that it was all downhill.
My day started nice and early. About six o’clock, a couple of nurses came in and said that they were going to take out my foley! I was overjoyed, but I knew what was coming.
They fussed with the plumbing and prepared for the, removal. One nurse told me to hold her hand while the other pulled the pipe. It was quite a shock. But, having had a foley as both a guy and now as a girl, having it pulled was much easier as a girl!
Then they removed the pressure leggings from my legs. (Free at last!)
They said that they would be back after breakfast and help me to get up and go to the bathroom.
Breakfast came about an hour later and I really enjoyed eating without having to stay horizontal.
The marathon part was getting out of bed and walking the ten feet or so to the bathroom. My nurse, Terri helped me get to a sitting position. I sat there for a few minutes and tried to keep the room from spinning too much. She then helped me to stand and that actually felt good. Though my left ankle had pretty much given out while I was lying in bed and it was still sore. I think what happened was that while I was kicking as I came out of anesthesia, I must have hit my foot or ankle. Also since I’d been horizontal for so long I could only stand for a few moments before I started to get dizzy.
Terri helped me walk to the door of the bathroom and then things started getting woozy. She called for another nurse and they got a chair under me. I managed to get my butt in the chair before the lights went out. After a few minutes things cleared up. And I was able to make it the rest of the way into the bathroom and on the throne.
I had my first urination with the new plumbing! It was “odd”. I was very swollen and sore from the operation and the foley. I sprayed everywhere.
After that they gave me a shower and I felt wonderful!
Later in the day, Dr. McGinn came to visit me again and prepare me for discharge.
This consisted of pulling my vaginal stent packing. And then she demonstrated to me how to use my new friends, my dilators, Homer and Jethro. If you don’t get the reference, do a Google search. I named them that simply because that was the first name to pop into my head. Homer is the smaller Jethro is bigger. Though seeing them for the first time did scare me a bit: “That is going to go into me?!” The doctor just smiled and nodded and proceeded to show me the proper way to dilate. We just used Homer that time and Dr. Christine said that as I got more comfortable I could switch to the larger one, but I should wait a couple of weeks or so before doing that. I watched in a hand mirror as the doctor performed my first dilation.
After that she handed me the dilator and told me to do it. It’s a simple enough process and if you are really curious, I’m sure you can find examples. It’s quite similar to the organic dilating that has been going on for thousands and thousands of years. Though for me I received no sexual sensation from it. I did feel where my prostate was and the doctor said that would be my “G” spot.
After that the doctor said she would discharge me. Initially I thought that when I was discharged from the hospital, I would be able to drive. The doctor quite emphatically said no when I went in for my pre-surgical check up! So we made arrangements for me to get a ride from the doctor to my recovery motel. The motel was just about a half a mile from her office. Which was one of the reasons I chose that motel in the first place.
She helped me get my luggage into the room and settled in for the night. She gave me her pager number and said she lived just a little bit from there and could return at any time if there was any problem.
She wanted to see me the next day for a follow up examination in her office.
Over the next several days I would see the doctor every other day. During those examinations, the doctor removed the necrotic tissue from my skin graft. It is normal that some tissue in a skin graft will not take and will slough off on its own. This tissue is dead and has no active nerves so the process is painless. The doctor would remove some of this tissue to speed up the process. She also painted some of the area with silver nitrate. This is a caustic chemical, which helps to reduce granulated tissue.
Also during this time I had my first examination with a speculum. I was a little apprehensive at first, but the doctor said that she wouldn’t be looking too deep and she was using the smallest speculum, which was smaller than my dilator. My nervousness subsided and as promised there was no problem or pain.
Also during this period I was visited and ministered by some very close friends.
Teresa, the doctors’ first patient came by and stayed with me and showed me the sights as I was able to. My stamina was non-existent so I really couldn’t do too much and I had to dilate six times a day so at most I could do a couple of short outings a day.
My friend Kate and her wife were my angels. Kate and her wife drove the thirty or so miles from their house to DSI to shuttle my car from the hospital to my motel. I really appreciated that.
Kate’s wife drove me everywhere I needed to go to get supplies like pads and hand sanitizer and mineral oil. She also was a great companion. She let me babble on about my post-surgical condition and was most accommodating of my delicate state. She is a kind and wonderful lady. Kate is very lucky.
Soon my time in Doylestown came to an end. And with a certain sadness I said good-bye to my friends. This trip wasn’t supposed to be a vacation, but I really did enjoy myself.
My procedure was a success I had a wonderful time with some wonderful newfound friends. I’m still debating on whether or not to return, probably in the later part of the year, for a labiaplasty. But if I do, part of the reason will be to see my friends again!
The trip home was uneventful but tedious, and a bit uncomfortable. On the actual flight, I was seated in the window seat. Then there were two people seated next to me who could not get out of their seat without assistance. There was no way I was able to go to the bathroom for the entire flight. I’m glad that it wasn’t a flight from Thailand!
When I got home, I had a terrible headache and was exhausted beyond words. I just dragged my luggage into my bedroom, took a shower and fell into bed. I slept for eighteen hours.
Since then I’ve been making a good recovery both in physical well being and my surgical sight. My depth is all I wanted it to be and sensation is returning. Though it will probably take a couple of months or more to get full sensation back. I have been experiencing some interesting sexual sensations during my dilation as I heal. I will probably be fully “functional” in time. Of course that is important to me, but not why I started down this path.
I’m sorry that this post took so long to write. Between my natural procrastination, my lack of stamina getting back into the swing of things at work, I had little time to get this written down.
I tried not to be too graphic in my description of the procedure or my post-surgical “exercises”. But if anyone wants a more detailed description of what happed or has any question, feel free to drop my a line.
-Sandy (proud girl number 5!)
***LIGHTS ON***
Well actually this time it was a more gentle awakening than I have had in previous operations.
I became dimly aware of a hissing sound and then realized I had an oxygen tube in my nose. I felt the cool rush of the oxygen start to clear my head.
I heard other people around me and opened my eyes. I felt one of the nurses put something in my hand and say: “This is your morphine button. Use it when you have pain”.
I vaguely nodded.
I became aware of other sensations and sounds. There was a mechanical sound from end of my bed and I became aware of a gentle massage on my legs.
As I looked around I realized I was in a different room and it was near dark. I was lying horizontal and I then I realized it was over!
Actually, the realization was a bit more involved. Because I was not all quite there, I had to work it out.
I figured out that I was in the hospital, then I remembered that I just had a procedure. Since I have had many procedures, my first thought was; "What's next?"
Then I had to remember what procedure I had and that I just had GRS and I realized that there was no *next* operation, I was done!
A feeling of relief and completion came over me. I realized that I had completed my trek, my journey was at an end.
And deep in my brain, I FELT a switch flip from male to female. It was a palpable feeling and I'm surprised that the nurses did not hear it also.
I tried to look down but a sheet was covering me. I could see that I had a catheter and I had an IV in my arm.
I felt that there were ice packs down there and while I felt a bit uncomfortable, I was not in any real pain.
Much like when I had my orchiectomy there really wasn’t that much pain at all.
There were actually two nurses in my room fussing over me and checking that everything was proper.
They were in good spirits and joked good naturedly with me.
I wasn’t completely booted back up but no where near the lobotomized stat that I was in when I came out of my FFS surgery.
They were done soon and asked me if I wanted any ice chips. I was parched and said yes.
The nurse came and spoon fed me some and that quenched me for a bit.
She asked if there was anything else she could do and I said no. So she showed me where the call button was and said if I needed anything just buzz.
I was exhausted but not really tired. So I pressed the morphine button about five or six times…
Very soon I was asleep again. But before I dropped off I just kept turning over in my mind; “It’s OVER! I’ve done it! I’m not half and half!”
I think I had the smile on my face the whole time I was asleep.
I woke up a couple hours later and it was still dark and just pushed the morphine button again.
I did that a couple of times. One time I awoke because the nurse came in and asked if I wanted some water. I said yes and she brought me some water.
I sipped it pretty quickly and she brought me another one. She told me to keep myself hydrated as much as possible. It would help clear the effects of the anesthesia and get my body started.
She reminded me that I had a catheter and not to worry about going to the bathroom. She then told me that the massager on my legs were to keep my legs from forming any blood clots and that I would have it on for a few days.
This also meant that I wouldn’t be able to turn over. I was starting to feel some low back pain from being horizontal. I knew that it would be difficult to keep from having a lot of pain from my back because of it. I would just have to endure it.
Some hours and much water and juice later, the doctor looked in on me.
She asked how I was feeling and wanted to examine me. I told her I was feeling fine. I was a bit uncomfortable but no real pain.
She pulled the sheet down and lifted up my gown. I couldn’t really see anything from where I was at, since I was still lying flat. But you can expect I was extremely curious!
The doctor asked me if I remember what happened in recovery.
I looked at her blankly and asked what happened.
“Well, as you were coming out of the anesthesia you had a panic attack and started kicking. I had to throw myself over your legs to keep you from hurting yourself. That’s why your legs are lashed to the bed!”
I lifted up a little bit and could see that they had tied my legs down to the bed with a sheet. I was very surprised.
The doctor continued to examine me and said that it looked like I had started bleeding as a result of my kicking. It looked like it would be ok, but she wanted me completely horizontal for another twenty four hours to make sure that no blood would pool in the middle of my body or groin area.
She asked if I felt all right and that if I wouldn’t start kicking again, she would take the lashing off.
I promised to be good and the doctor and the nurse pulled off the sheet lashing me to the bed.
I’ve had bad experiences before coming out of anesthesia but this one seemed the most extreme. Also the fact that I didn’t remember any of it surprised me. Usually I remember just about everything once I am conscious. The memory may be a bit blurry, but usually I remember something. This time, zilch!
Over the next couple of days all I did was lie in bed. All I did was listen to the leg massager or watch TV.
I had some visitors. Kate and her wife came by to visit. We had a great time chatting. Also Teresa who was Dr. Christine’s first patient (otherwise known as “The First Lady of Doylestown) came by to visit. And the good doctor’s third patient, Dani visited as well. As it turned out I was the fifth patient of Dr. McGinn.
The greatest surprise though was on the second day.
I was on the phone when the nurse comes in and says that I have a couple of visitors.
I turn and look and in walk the two Julies! Arm in arm and doing a “TA-DA!!!” pose!
They had driven from Chicago to Philadelphia to see me. To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement!
I was talking to Kate on the phone and the nurse came in and started snapping pictures. I am agape in the photos.
I started crying such happy tears. Being alone in a strange place and doing something that can be so scary is very stressful. Naturally I had tried to put on a brave face, but when my two friends showed up, so much of my stress just melted away.
I can just hear the exchange between those two when they came up with the idea:
“So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know, what do you want to do?”
“I dunno, you want to go visit Sandy?”
“Sure!”
Both say together:
“ROAD TRIP!!!”
Apparently they came up with the idea about the time of my going away party. Their escapades driving out to see me was so funny!
I was so touched by their visit. I could not have been more surprised!
We chatted for about an hour and then they headed out to find a place to stay. They intended to visit Philadelphia the next day then they were going to visit and head back.
I’ll post some pictures soon.
What a couple of neat gals!
Over the next couple of days, the time moved slowly. The ache in my back from having to lay horizontal was so great that I asked for morphine to help me sleep.
Each day the doctor would visit and check to see how I was doing. Each day brought me a little closer to freedom.
I wrote the following in my journal while I was flat on my back:
Kate and her wife gave me this journal as a present and I really appreciate it. I won’t be able to blog until I get to the hotel and get my laptop setup. This is my fourth day in the hospital and for four days I have been bed ridden. To say this has been tedious is an understatement. But:
I’M DONE!!!! XXXXX
The last vestige of my masculinity, my birth defect, has finally been corrected. I’m no longer half-n-half, no longer girl on top and boy on bottom. The feeling of relief is grand.
But it is entirely an internal feeling. The world has seen me as Sandy for almost a year now ( I went full time on April 16th of last year), my car and house and mortgage are all in my name. All in my gender, as is my drivers license and SSN. I am an empowered woman!
March 18th 2008 8:30 AM EST Fifth day post operative.
Just got done running the Boston Marathon!
The first five miles where the worst but after that it was all downhill.
My day started nice and early. About six o’clock, a couple of nurses came in and said that they were going to take out my foley! I was overjoyed, but I knew what was coming.
They fussed with the plumbing and prepared for the, removal. One nurse told me to hold her hand while the other pulled the pipe. It was quite a shock. But, having had a foley as both a guy and now as a girl, having it pulled was much easier as a girl!
Then they removed the pressure leggings from my legs. (Free at last!)
They said that they would be back after breakfast and help me to get up and go to the bathroom.
Breakfast came about an hour later and I really enjoyed eating without having to stay horizontal.
The marathon part was getting out of bed and walking the ten feet or so to the bathroom. My nurse, Terri helped me get to a sitting position. I sat there for a few minutes and tried to keep the room from spinning too much. She then helped me to stand and that actually felt good. Though my left ankle had pretty much given out while I was lying in bed and it was still sore. I think what happened was that while I was kicking as I came out of anesthesia, I must have hit my foot or ankle. Also since I’d been horizontal for so long I could only stand for a few moments before I started to get dizzy.
Terri helped me walk to the door of the bathroom and then things started getting woozy. She called for another nurse and they got a chair under me. I managed to get my butt in the chair before the lights went out. After a few minutes things cleared up. And I was able to make it the rest of the way into the bathroom and on the throne.
I had my first urination with the new plumbing! It was “odd”. I was very swollen and sore from the operation and the foley. I sprayed everywhere.
After that they gave me a shower and I felt wonderful!
Later in the day, Dr. McGinn came to visit me again and prepare me for discharge.
This consisted of pulling my vaginal stent packing. And then she demonstrated to me how to use my new friends, my dilators, Homer and Jethro. If you don’t get the reference, do a Google search. I named them that simply because that was the first name to pop into my head. Homer is the smaller Jethro is bigger. Though seeing them for the first time did scare me a bit: “That is going to go into me?!” The doctor just smiled and nodded and proceeded to show me the proper way to dilate. We just used Homer that time and Dr. Christine said that as I got more comfortable I could switch to the larger one, but I should wait a couple of weeks or so before doing that. I watched in a hand mirror as the doctor performed my first dilation.
After that she handed me the dilator and told me to do it. It’s a simple enough process and if you are really curious, I’m sure you can find examples. It’s quite similar to the organic dilating that has been going on for thousands and thousands of years. Though for me I received no sexual sensation from it. I did feel where my prostate was and the doctor said that would be my “G” spot.
After that the doctor said she would discharge me. Initially I thought that when I was discharged from the hospital, I would be able to drive. The doctor quite emphatically said no when I went in for my pre-surgical check up! So we made arrangements for me to get a ride from the doctor to my recovery motel. The motel was just about a half a mile from her office. Which was one of the reasons I chose that motel in the first place.
She helped me get my luggage into the room and settled in for the night. She gave me her pager number and said she lived just a little bit from there and could return at any time if there was any problem.
She wanted to see me the next day for a follow up examination in her office.
Over the next several days I would see the doctor every other day. During those examinations, the doctor removed the necrotic tissue from my skin graft. It is normal that some tissue in a skin graft will not take and will slough off on its own. This tissue is dead and has no active nerves so the process is painless. The doctor would remove some of this tissue to speed up the process. She also painted some of the area with silver nitrate. This is a caustic chemical, which helps to reduce granulated tissue.
Also during this time I had my first examination with a speculum. I was a little apprehensive at first, but the doctor said that she wouldn’t be looking too deep and she was using the smallest speculum, which was smaller than my dilator. My nervousness subsided and as promised there was no problem or pain.
Also during this period I was visited and ministered by some very close friends.
Teresa, the doctors’ first patient came by and stayed with me and showed me the sights as I was able to. My stamina was non-existent so I really couldn’t do too much and I had to dilate six times a day so at most I could do a couple of short outings a day.
My friend Kate and her wife were my angels. Kate and her wife drove the thirty or so miles from their house to DSI to shuttle my car from the hospital to my motel. I really appreciated that.
Kate’s wife drove me everywhere I needed to go to get supplies like pads and hand sanitizer and mineral oil. She also was a great companion. She let me babble on about my post-surgical condition and was most accommodating of my delicate state. She is a kind and wonderful lady. Kate is very lucky.
Soon my time in Doylestown came to an end. And with a certain sadness I said good-bye to my friends. This trip wasn’t supposed to be a vacation, but I really did enjoy myself.
My procedure was a success I had a wonderful time with some wonderful newfound friends. I’m still debating on whether or not to return, probably in the later part of the year, for a labiaplasty. But if I do, part of the reason will be to see my friends again!
The trip home was uneventful but tedious, and a bit uncomfortable. On the actual flight, I was seated in the window seat. Then there were two people seated next to me who could not get out of their seat without assistance. There was no way I was able to go to the bathroom for the entire flight. I’m glad that it wasn’t a flight from Thailand!
When I got home, I had a terrible headache and was exhausted beyond words. I just dragged my luggage into my bedroom, took a shower and fell into bed. I slept for eighteen hours.
Since then I’ve been making a good recovery both in physical well being and my surgical sight. My depth is all I wanted it to be and sensation is returning. Though it will probably take a couple of months or more to get full sensation back. I have been experiencing some interesting sexual sensations during my dilation as I heal. I will probably be fully “functional” in time. Of course that is important to me, but not why I started down this path.
I’m sorry that this post took so long to write. Between my natural procrastination, my lack of stamina getting back into the swing of things at work, I had little time to get this written down.
I tried not to be too graphic in my description of the procedure or my post-surgical “exercises”. But if anyone wants a more detailed description of what happed or has any question, feel free to drop my a line.
-Sandy (proud girl number 5!)
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
My GCS Procedure, Part 1
My GCS Procedure, Part 1
Well I've pretty much put my thoughts together from the trip and the operation, so here goes.
As you may recall, my plans called for me to stay for a couple of days in the Extended Stay hotel which was just a couple of blocks from the hospital.
I had opted to go to DSI which stands for Diversified Specialties Institute. It is a private hospital and from what I could tell specialized primarily in women's issues. Given that there was no price difference, I opted for DSI over Doylestown Hospital. Doylestown hospital is a community hospital and as such my elective surgery could be bumped or postponed by an emergency operation. There was much less chance of that at DSI.
On my last night at the first hotel, I prepped myself for surgery. This consisted of magnesium citrate cocktail in the evening followed by a fleet chaser in the morning.
Between excursions to the bathroom, I repacked my travel bag for the stay at the hospital. I wasn't sure how active I would be so I packed some pajamas and nighties as well as some underwear. I put the rest of the clothes into my big suitcase which would be in the car while I was in the hospital.
As is normal I was to be NPO after midnight, but I was also restricted to a liquid diet for most of the day.
By time the magnesium citrate got done with me I was exhausted anyway and pretty much just fell into bed. It wasn't much after midnight when I fell asleep. I woke up about 05:00 to do the fleet thing and then had to report to the hospital by 06:30.
I checked out of the hotel and put my big suitcase in the car and put my travel bag next to me. I drove the couple of blocks to the hospital. It took me two tries to figure out where I was to check in. The main entrance was still locked, and it wasn't clear that I was to check in at the side ambulance entrance.
I parked the car and went in to the side entrance and was greeted warmly by the attendant on duty. I have to say that the entire staff at DSI was incredibly nice and compassionate.
I was quickly checked in and soon a nurse came to escort me to the changing area.
As I was escorted to the prep area, the nurse asked if I needed to use the washroom. I said yes and she pointed to a one seat toilet.
As I sat down to relieve myself, I realized that that was the last time I would ever IN MY LIFE(!) have to urinate with a hose! The thought was a revelation.
After I finished, I stood and I looked down at my withered penis and felt my empty scrotum for the very last time. I knew that I would never see it like that again. I smiled wistfully, tucked for the very last time, pulled my panties into place, pulled up my pants, washed my hands, and left the toilet.
The nurse showed me to a curtained off area, then gave me a gown and closed the drapes for me to change.
I changed then got on the gurney and covered myself with a sheet.
Through out this whole process my mind is going around and around; "This is it! This is REALLY happening!"
I was calm and excited at the same time. I had no second thoughts or regrets. This last step was finally immanent and I was ready.
I guess it's part of the confirmation of being a transsexual. To have your genitalia radically resected and to be permanently rendered sterile is not only not worrying but comforting.
Over the next hour or so a number of nurses came in and preped me for surgery. I had a heploc IV put in and another set of blood tests taken. We could not proceed with the surgery until the test results were returned even though I had a complete set of blood test done just a few days before coming to the hospital. I found out later that it was a hospital procedure to have their own tests performed.
A little while later, the doctor of anesthesia came in and reviewed my status and talked about what was to go on.
Dr. McGinn came in a little while later and we spoke briefly. She said she would see me soon.
The anesthesiologist gave me a shot and said "This is a shot to relax you and get you ready for the surgey."
I knew what that meant. I kept repeating to myself "Remember! Remember!" I didn't want to just fall asleep in the changing area. A nurse came and wheeled me down the hall. I was starting to feel a little woozy. I was wheeled into the operating room. I saw the lamps and operating table where I would be spending the next five hours or so. There were people setting things up for the procedure
Then...
***LIGHTS OUT***
As you may recall, my plans called for me to stay for a couple of days in the Extended Stay hotel which was just a couple of blocks from the hospital.
I had opted to go to DSI which stands for Diversified Specialties Institute. It is a private hospital and from what I could tell specialized primarily in women's issues. Given that there was no price difference, I opted for DSI over Doylestown Hospital. Doylestown hospital is a community hospital and as such my elective surgery could be bumped or postponed by an emergency operation. There was much less chance of that at DSI.
On my last night at the first hotel, I prepped myself for surgery. This consisted of magnesium citrate cocktail in the evening followed by a fleet chaser in the morning.
Between excursions to the bathroom, I repacked my travel bag for the stay at the hospital. I wasn't sure how active I would be so I packed some pajamas and nighties as well as some underwear. I put the rest of the clothes into my big suitcase which would be in the car while I was in the hospital.
As is normal I was to be NPO after midnight, but I was also restricted to a liquid diet for most of the day.
By time the magnesium citrate got done with me I was exhausted anyway and pretty much just fell into bed. It wasn't much after midnight when I fell asleep. I woke up about 05:00 to do the fleet thing and then had to report to the hospital by 06:30.
I checked out of the hotel and put my big suitcase in the car and put my travel bag next to me. I drove the couple of blocks to the hospital. It took me two tries to figure out where I was to check in. The main entrance was still locked, and it wasn't clear that I was to check in at the side ambulance entrance.
I parked the car and went in to the side entrance and was greeted warmly by the attendant on duty. I have to say that the entire staff at DSI was incredibly nice and compassionate.
I was quickly checked in and soon a nurse came to escort me to the changing area.
As I was escorted to the prep area, the nurse asked if I needed to use the washroom. I said yes and she pointed to a one seat toilet.
As I sat down to relieve myself, I realized that that was the last time I would ever IN MY LIFE(!) have to urinate with a hose! The thought was a revelation.
After I finished, I stood and I looked down at my withered penis and felt my empty scrotum for the very last time. I knew that I would never see it like that again. I smiled wistfully, tucked for the very last time, pulled my panties into place, pulled up my pants, washed my hands, and left the toilet.
The nurse showed me to a curtained off area, then gave me a gown and closed the drapes for me to change.
I changed then got on the gurney and covered myself with a sheet.
Through out this whole process my mind is going around and around; "This is it! This is REALLY happening!"
I was calm and excited at the same time. I had no second thoughts or regrets. This last step was finally immanent and I was ready.
I guess it's part of the confirmation of being a transsexual. To have your genitalia radically resected and to be permanently rendered sterile is not only not worrying but comforting.
Over the next hour or so a number of nurses came in and preped me for surgery. I had a heploc IV put in and another set of blood tests taken. We could not proceed with the surgery until the test results were returned even though I had a complete set of blood test done just a few days before coming to the hospital. I found out later that it was a hospital procedure to have their own tests performed.
A little while later, the doctor of anesthesia came in and reviewed my status and talked about what was to go on.
Dr. McGinn came in a little while later and we spoke briefly. She said she would see me soon.
The anesthesiologist gave me a shot and said "This is a shot to relax you and get you ready for the surgey."
I knew what that meant. I kept repeating to myself "Remember! Remember!" I didn't want to just fall asleep in the changing area. A nurse came and wheeled me down the hall. I was starting to feel a little woozy. I was wheeled into the operating room. I saw the lamps and operating table where I would be spending the next five hours or so. There were people setting things up for the procedure
Then...
***LIGHTS OUT***
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