There was less than six months between my trachea shave and my forehead surgery, and another six months between my forehead and my final surgery. The time between the first two surgeries was the hardest six months of my life, and the next six months were the longest. Between January and July I had to come out to everyone. That is a short period, because I procrastinated until I had my name change, which was the end of February, before I started.
Every time I went to one of the offices to work, several of my employees commented on how it looked like I was losing weight. I actually had not been, and I never paid too much attention to it. I did notice that my suitcases seemed to be getting heavier, but I just thought it was because I was a woman now and instead of two pairs of shoes and kaki pants with polo shirts, I was packing five pairs of shoes. As a woman I would pack more clothes than I needed, in case I required a different outfit for evening. My upper body strength and bulk melted away. Losing the bulk was great because it gave me the feminine look I wanted, but in the process of losing my bulk, I also lost a little pride because now I had to ask for help with my luggage.
Transitioning affects the whole person, physical and mental. It does not change you, but in the process of transitioning, you begin to break down the walls and barriers that you used to protect yourself. As these barriers come down, you can start to express yourself. It takes time to free yourself, and step by step you become free. I am not sure if you take a step forward if you can truly take that same step back.
I look at transitioning as this rickety old bridge that crosses a dangerous gorge: the only way to get to the other side is to cross it. You know you want to reach the other side but crossing the bridge is dangerous, and it could cost your life. For years, you tell yourself you can’t do it, and then one day you take a step out on that bridge. Oh, it is scary and exciting. Then you take another step and it is even scarier. You have a choice whether to continue or go back. You may go back several times, but each time you try to cross, you get a little closer to the other side before you run back.
It is so hard to turn back, but you just can’t go across. There are plenty of excuses why you should not go across. Then one day you try it again and before you realize it, you’re right in the middle; any wrong move and you may die. This is the point where you have to make a decision. If you take one more step you are closer to the other side, and it is safer to move forward. Once you have that first surgery, you have reached that halfway point, and you really have no choice but to move forward.
The next surgery was my facial surgery. Surprisingly, it was not nearly as painful as I thought it would be. It was far from comfortable, but once the swelling of the face went down, I did not have much pain. I had to wear ace bandages around the top of my head, and then another from under the chin and up and over the top of my head. I picked the worst time of year for that type of surgery because my face was completely wrapped and it was the middle of July. If you have a choice, schedule this surgery during the winter.
This surgery came with a lot of stitches and staples in the head. I think there were about 50 stitches and over 25 staples. I tried, but lost count. The pain distracted me. It took a good five weeks for everything to heal enough so that I could start running again. The numbness lasted about nine months. You can feel something touch your head, but it feels like your scalp is asleep. The pressure of the touch is all you feel,
It took about six months before the hair that was shaved for the incision returned. That really helped make the scalp advance look good. The scalp advance brought the scalp forward about 2 cm, but was not that noticeable until that line of hair grew back. Once the hair had grown back, the incision is completely hidden. My friend claims I cheated because before the surgery he and I had the same hairline and now when we stand side by side there is no comparison – have a full head of hair.
I tell people I did this surgery for everyone else and not for me. This is part of the transition that they see. I can have sexual reconstruction surgery—other than having an occasional unsightly bump in the front of my skirt, they would never know if I had it unless I told the0. Facial surgery it is instantly noticeable. What a difference it made for me. A smoother forehead, bigger eyes, and no receding hairline; I was transformed from a male to a female. I did not look anything like my old self.
The transition feeds off itself. The more feminine I looked, the easier it was for me to be myself. The more I let myself be free, the more feminine I acted. Over my lifetime, I built many walls, and during the transition, I broke them down one by one. Even though I had broken down the walls, it took a long time to go through the openings I made in them and experience what I had tried to keep out all those years.
Christmas 2009 finally came. I found myself counting the minutes up to it. It was a bitter sweet Christmas. It was a new beginning for me, but it was also my first one without my children. My parents never missed sending me a Christmas card, but this year I did not get any. Linda and I got up Christmas morning, got ready, and then went over to Linda’s son’s house to have some Christmas morning treats. We watched them and their children open their presents. It was nice that they asked us to come, but it was hard watching nine other children open up presents on Christmas day and not my own.
I called my children later that day and wished them Merry Christmas. As I talked to them, I choked back the tears. I told them that I loved them, knowing that in a couple of days I was going to have a major surgery. The surgery is safe, but with surgery there are no guarantees. You may not die, but there is always a risk of complications. I said good-bye and then went in the bathroom to let my tears flow for a while.
Once I regained my composure, I finished packing, shutting down the house for a month. We only packed light clothing for the trip. Even though it was winter in Thailand, it still got in the upper 80s during the day. You could feel the cold wind blow through our clothes as we loaded up the car and headed to the airport. It was finally here: the beginning of the end of a long journey.
The next morning we got to the airport early—I was not going to risk missing this flight. I did one last minute check on the weather, and it looked good in both Manchester, New Hampshire and Detroit, Michigan. I fly so much that the airline bumped me up to first class. I really did not care, because I wanted to sit by Linda who was stuck in coach. The first leg of the flight was quick and landed on time, but I think I held my breath until we took off. My biggest fear at that point that there would be a delay and we would miss our connecting flights to Tokyo .
The time between flights in Detroit was short, and we had to get off the plane and walk right to the next gate. I left the luggage by Linda while I went to exchange some money. As I was walking to the exchange, I heard my name being called. My heart sank. The first thing that came to mind was that the plane was oversold and I was being bumped. I approached the counter ready to argue my case. The agent politely informed me that they indeed had oversold the coach section of the plane, and asked if I would be willing to sit in first class. I explained that I would prefer to give it to someone else because I wanted to be with Linda on the 13-hour flight. The agent politely told Linda to wait. I got on the plane and in a few minutes, Linda joined me in first class. My journey was off to a wonderful start.
I was too excited to sleep. Linda managed to get in a little, but not much. We were both in pretty good shape when we landed in Japan. Less than an hour after we landed, we were back on a plane for the last seven hours of the trip. We landed near midnight thirty hours after we had taken off. We were not thinking very clearly, but we did end up finally finding our greeting party. We quickly loaded our luggage into the hospital van and headed out for the thirty-minute ride to the hospital. This trip would have taken at least ninety minutes during prime time.
I would not be admitted into the hospital until the next day. So we were just shown to our room. We just crashed. I set my alarm to wake up four hours later. A life-long journey was about to reach its climax in only twenty-four hours
. I was about to experience the longest day of my life—the wait was excruciatingly long. Pure exhaustion enabled me to sleep. The alarm had not even finished sounding when I jumped out of bed.
By the time Linda and I had freshened up, our coordinator had arrived and introduced us to our translator, Maam. She was cut from the same mold as most of the other Thai ladies I got to meet. She short, petite, but she had this wholesome, caring presence that really put us at ease. We got to know her well during the stay. She was this truly caring and passionate person, who wanted nothing more than to help people.
The day prior to surgery was packed full of pre-surgery busy work. We went from Admitting to chest X-rays. I was going to have a total of three procedures during my stay at the hospital. I was going to have breast augmentation and vaginaplasty, which is what most people think of when they think of sexual reconstruction surgery. I was also going to have hair transplants. I did have my scalp advanced earlier, but I was just old enough to have a well developed widow’s peak, which was going to be filled in with hair grafts.
The three procedures would be done by two different surgeons. One was going to do the breast and the vaginaplasty, and the other was going to do the hair transplants. Recovery for the breast and vaginaplasty took the longest, so I was going to have that surgery first, and then ten days later I was going to have the hair transplants. Dr. Thiti came in to meet me, and my consultant came by to get my paperwork. My heart sank when they told me that I was scheduled for a 4:00 pm the next day. I was hoping for surgery first thing in the morning.
My coordinator took my paperwork and left to make sure it was in order. If it were not in order, it would delay the surgery, or in the worst case cancel it. You must have proof that you have met all the requirements before you can have surgery. I needed proof that I had been on hormones for at least six months, as well as a letter from my psychiatrist that I was not suffering from any underlining illness and was of sound mind to make this decision. Living full time in my gender was also a requirement. Sexual Reconstruction Surgery is the last step of the transition process and not the beginning.
A lot of people think that SRS is the first thing you do. The road that you travel is littered with the bodies and lost souls of individuals who did not make it this far. I am not sure what is worse: living as the wrong gender, or starting on this journey and not being able to finish. I am not sure if I would have chosen to live if I had gotten this far and not been able to cross the threshold into womanhood.
The next doctor came in and started to draw on my head, figuring out how many grafts it would take to fill in the thin spots. It rather tickled as he did it. Fifteen hundred grafts were going to be required to smooth out my hairline. He explained the proceed to me in great detail. First, they would cut a strip of hair from the back of my head and then sew it back up. While they were stitching me up, a team would separate the hair follicles into grafts. Once they were separated, they would put each graft back in one at a time. This process would take about ten hours.
Linda and I were beat by the time we at dinner that night. We had just finished when our coordinator came back and insisted that they take us out. Once I had been admitted, I would not be able to leave the hospital. We were both tired, but we agreed to go. They took us to the night market and then to an outdoor restaurant that was about the size of a football field. The food was great, and it was our first exposure to Thai music. The restaurant had a stage from which a singer was singing popular Thai music.
Our group went to several other spots after dinner. Our last stop was the nighttime flower market. Thailand is awash with color. Every kind of flower you find in a floral shop you could find at the flower market, and some kinds of flowers you may have never seen before. It was beautiful. I was enjoying myself, but the lack of sleep over that last few days was catching up with me. It was at this point I just wanted to crawl in bed—I think it was only about 9:00 pm. We were saved from going to another spot by Linda’s bladder. Her full bladder was the perfect reason to get back to the hospital.
I think we fell asleep immediately when we finally lay down. I cannot recall dreaming; I was so tired. The alarm went off at five am. I woke up excited but extremely tired. Linda woke up a bit after several cups of instant Starbucks coffee I had brought from the airport. Today was the day—all the planning, all the tears, all the stress, all the hiding, all the lying, and all the losses had led me to this day. A lifelong pursuit came down to this one day. I wondered what life would be like afterwards; I had spent all my life working towards this moment: now it was here and soon it would be gone.
Soon after we woke up, a nurse came in with breakfast; we had not placed an order, so what we got was a surprise. It was a porridge of rice and broth, a side of fresh fruit, and some toast. I think they could have served raw liver that morning and I would have liked it. The charge nurse came in as we were finishing and put an armband on me. It was official: I was now a patient. There was not a lot we could do that day but wait. I don’t think either one of us was in any mental condition do anything too strenuous. Somehow, I was coherent enough to get my computer connected to the Wifi and was able to get out a few email messages to let friends know I was OK.
There was no lunch for me because of surgery, so Linda went down to the café. The food at the hospital was very good and was always accompanied with fresh fruits—we got to look forward to the fruit; over our stay, we counted eleven different types in all. At 1:00 pm the nurse returned with a surgical gown to wear. Once the gown was on, she put in my IV. At 3:30 a team of people arrived to take me down to the OR triage area. They gave me a nice warm blanket, which felt heavenly because the halls were very cool. The final day was coming down to the final hours. The feelings were intense—I cannot think of another word to describe them.
It was like any other hospital; everything is on schedule until the day starts. The later it is, the more behind things get. I was supposed to start surgery at 4:00, but things where backed up. We waited in triage for forty-five minutes before the anesthesiologist came in. She explained the drugs she would be using and double-checked to make sure I did not have any allergies. She left and it was about thirty more minutes before several nurses returned to move me into the OR. Now it was a matter of minutes
Before I could go into surgery, I had to endure one last indignity as a male. They needed to go in and shave the surgical area. I had several hernia surgeries before where they had to shave the same area, but they did not do that until I was asleep. They had to shave the entire area, even the scrotum. Thanks to hormones, that was no longer a big task. It was the last time I ever saw it. I quickly touched it one more time, knowing that in a few hours it would be gone forever. I smiled.
Once the nurses finished, they moved me back into the triage. I had to wait some more; every minute seemed to take twice as long. I had lost track of time by this point, but eventually the doctor did come, and they put the sleeping drugs into my IV. I said goodbye to Linda, realizing that when I returned in six hours I would not be a man, but I would be myself. I was asleep by the time I got to the OR.
It was near midnight before I was coherent enough to talk, though I do not recall much of what I said. Apparently, I said it was a piece of cake and would be willing to do it again. They wheeled me back to my room. By this point Linda was beyond exhaustion; I have never seen someone that tired. I, too, was tired, and our emotions were a bit on edge. They came back around after a couple of days of good sleep, but that night neither one of us had ability to think clearly. I should have given Linda one of my sleeping pills, but that night I could not put together a single complete thought.
We were not in much better shape the next morning. I was on pain medication, so I was not too uncomfortable. I kind of drifted in and out of consciousness that morning as the anesthetic worked its way through my body. Once I came to, I started to take stock of my new body. My breasts felt huge; even though I had asked for B cups, they felt larger. They were wrapped and swollen, so th
ey looked and felt like D’s. I was worried that if my skin stretched any more, they would explode. I had a drainage tube under each arm to keep the fluid from building up in my chest.
I was surprised that recovering from breast surgery hurt more than the sexual reconstruction surgery. Because I was an elite athlete, the doctor recommended a low profile form that gave me nice volume but did not protrude too far forward to interfere with my running. I touched my very own breast for the first time, and when I did, I felt nothing. They were still numb. In a few days, I felt them in a big way. They were held in place with two large Ace bandage wraps that went around my entire chest several times. The bandages where wrapped tight to keep the breast from moving.
I had two drainage tubes, and a catheter came out of the bandage between my legs. It did not hurt much, just kind of an even throb. I found it very difficult to be comfortable constantly lying on my back, unable to roll over on my side or move much. The slightest move in either direction would pull on one of the tubes, delivering a sharp pain. My left leg was numb, and it felt like a million needles were pricking me. This was from the morphine; it took a week before the tingling was finally was gone.
I laid there the next couple of days. I dozed and so did Linda. We were finally getting caught up on our sleep. That night it was New Year’s Eve. Linda and I had brought a pint of brandy from home. It was about 9:00 o’clock when we toasted each other and the new year. We toasted to what we gained and to what we lost in the journey to the Great Elephant Ride. I had made it: I was starting 2010 as a new woman. I can honestly say it still seemed surreal. We both went to bed minutes after our toast. For some reason, I woke back up about 11:50 and laid there on the 19th floor overlooking the Bangkok. A few minutes later, the city was awash in color as the fireworks exploded all over the city. I will never forget that moment as I entered 2010 as a complete woman.
The next day was New Year’s Day, an official Thai holiday. Linda, now feeling better, was able to get out to the local market and partake in some of the local festivities. I was just content lying in bed. I was not hurting, just tired physically and emotionally from such a big event. It was a wonderful day.
The Great Elephant Ride Page 15