The following day was not so wonderful. The surgeon returned to check on me. The breasts were the only thing he could check at this point. He removed my ace bandages ,and I was able to see my breasts for the first time. I had been on hormones for a year and had developed some breasts, but because I was so active, they had not grown much. I now had full breasts. They looked a bit funny because the nipples were pointing a bit outward. The doctor told me not to worry and explained the exercises I needed to do to get them in to the right position. They would eventually get to the right position on their own, but with help they would get there quicker.
Once the bandages were completely removed, he extracted the damage tubes. Now that I only had the catheter and the other drainage tube, I could get up and use the restroom if I needed to. He only replaced one of the bandages that went around the top part of the breasts. The reality of what had just occurred over the last several days began to seep in after seeing my breasts—I smiled again. I would no longer turn back into a boy if I stopped taking hormones and testosterone blockers.
I had not used the restroom since before the surgery, and even though I had not eaten much food over the last couple of days, it still wanted to escape. I waited until I was 100 percent sure I had to go before I paged the nurse. I did not want a false alarm and repeat the process. The first time you move is when you get a chance to feel exactly what they did to you. I felt like a thick stick had impaled me. My left leg was still mostly asleep from the side effects of the epidural. I slowly shuffled my way to the restroom, making it there without a minute to spare.
I sat there not wanting to move. It felt like I had just passed my insides. I felt different, but I am not sure I felt better. I eventually got the nerve and strength to stand again. I was still wearing surgical pants that could have fit three of me. A chuckle came to mind thinking I had not seen a single person in Thailand who needed pants this big. The chuckle turned into a laugh, which turned into a stabbing pain in my groin.
I worked my way back to the bed where I laid until the next morning. Things had rather worked themselves into a schedule. January 2 the nurse brought me a pair of scissor clamps. She put the clamp on my catheter tube. My translator explained to me that I needed to learn how to go to the bathroom. Now that is not what I expected I would have to learn to do at the age of 43. I thought I had mastered going to the restroom a long time ago.
Since they had rearranged all my internal organs, I had to teach my bladder how to function. The goal of the clamp is to clamp the tube and not release it until I felt the urge to urinate. That was somewhat nice, actually. In the middle of the night, if I needed to urinate, all I had to do was release the clamp. I was still on IV and I had to go often, and this was far better than having to get up and shuffle across the room in the dark. Before the surgery, I had good bladder control, and I miss that now. One of the side effects of the surgery was a much smaller bladder. Having a small bladder is one of those unexpected things I had to get used to.
Sex reconstruction surgery changes everything. At first, nothing is really where it needs to be. Over time, things will settle into position. I had been using a penis to pee with for over 40 years. It was easy to aim and get where you wanted it to go. Now I did not have that and instead of a stream, I had a spray. Because of swelling and things still adjusting every time I went to the restroom, I could never be certain which direction it was going to spray.
The next day was one of the most painful of the entire transition. The pain was so intense I cried because of it. Getting up and down to go to the bathroom, my bandage had gotten loose around my breasts. I felt it starting in the morning like a heartburn, only this was on the outside. Pain medication had been reduced to just extra-strength Tylenol, and I just thought it was because of that. The pain kept getting worse. Then I leaned forward to adjust my position and about wet the bed. I would have if I had not been cathetered.
The pain became instantly intense. A level of pain I have never felt before. It was like a doctor was using a rib spreader on me while I was awake. I had Linda call for the nurse. My pain tolerance is pretty high, but this was too much. The nurse was not sure what was wrong and immediately called the doctor. While waiting for the doctor, I found rolling to one side helped, but the pain was still really bad. I could not help but think that if only my parents knew how much pain I was in, they would be incredibly happy.
The doctor eventually called back. It was probably only a few minutes, but then it seemed like forever. The pain meds they gave me did not touch it. Finally, one of the nurses put the bandage back on and wrapped it tight. This made a huge difference. What was happening was that the weight of the breast was pulling apart the newly healed muscles—they were ripping. Wrapping the breast kept the pressure off the muscles so they could heal. That afternoon I needed to start wearing a support bra twenty-four hours a day for the next five weeks.
I was a woman for a whole week before the doctor removed the packing. After surgery. they pack the cavity with dressing to keep it from healing shut. Your body treats the new cavity as a wound, and it would close in a matter of days without this packing. They slowly pulled away my bandages. You bleed a lot with this surgery, and my bandages were crimson with my blood. I could feel the packing as it was pulled out of me like the afterbirth from a new mother. They then removed my drainage tube and the catheter. This is the first time I could see between my legs. My penis was gone, what had been there since birth was gone. I smiled.
My birth defect had been corrected. The journey was over. The nurses washed and cleaned the area. I could feel the air as it move across an area that always had something there. I guess there must have been some pain, but I can only remember the emotions. Soon the nurses were done cleaning, and the doctor began examining his handiwork. He commented on how it looked, and then took a picture of it. Unable to see it for myself, he showed me a picture of my new vagina—I cried.
Even through the swelling, the stitches, the blood, it looked perfect. I was a complete woman from head to toe. The reality was finally sinking in. It is hard to describe what it feels like when you finally have a dream come true. A dream that you have had all but given up on at one point in your life. Now it was a reality; I was me! Post operation blues was a real worry—would I miss what I had just lost? Peace and contentment is what I felt, no regrets at all, and at the point of writing this book, I still have no regrets. I still wake up every day excited to be alive. Two years prior to surgery, I did not care if I lived or died; I just went through the motions of living.
I did have one dream about it. It was about six weeks after surgery. This was one of those really vivid dreams where everything is clear, and when you awake, it takes a few minutes to decide if it really happened or if it was a dream. I had dreamed my penis had grown back. I woke up incredibly upset. I guess if I had been excited about it coming back, I would have had some serious problems.
No sooner had the packing and drainage tube been removed, I started to experience what other women get to live with. I had my first pseudo-period. The hospital must have had some maxi pads left from the 50s because they brought me the kind that needed to connect to a belt. They did not stay in place; the slightest movement would cause the pad to shift, and the string that connected the pad to the belt was riding where the pad was supposed to be. A sudden burst of pain would notify me when the string shifted and began rubbing against the stitches. The bleeding typically only lasts for a couple of months, but the experiences really makes you appreciate what the female population lives with most of their adult lives.
Mobility became a lot easier without the tubes and IV connected to me. I was able to explore my room and even go out in the ward and do a little gentle walking. I would wear out quickly and need to go lie down. Swelling is a side effect of the surgery, and it makes you walk a little bowlegged. The first time I tried to sit down on a hard surface, the swelling was pushed up into my groin. I let out a small cry with pain—it also squeezed the bladder at the sa
me time, and I almost made a mess. The next day they brought me one of those buoyant rings that small children use to float in the pool. It had a hole in the center so that I could sit without something pushing on the swollen area. You learn very quickly to lower yourself very gingerly, or you will be instantly reminded of the surgery you just had.
Days after the surgery, I was still running on excitement of having it all over with. The honeymoon is over the day you start dilating. Traditionally, when you have a wound, you let it rest so that it can heal. Your body treats this new cavity just like that, and it will heal shut if you do not dilate. You must dilate three times a day for the first six months, then twice a day for the next twelve months, and then once or twice a week for the rest of your life. Be ready for this or do not go through the surgery. If you do not wear earrings for a long time, your earring holes will grow shut, and you will have to have them re-pierced. This is one of those surgeries where once is more than enough.
Nervously, I waited for my team to come in. I had always been a bit of a private person, and I was about to lose all that. Just like a shy mother giving birth, all modesty goes out the window during the process. The same with dilating in front of strangers. The doctor came in shortly after lunch with my coordinator who was male, my translator, and several nurses who were all female. My coordinate had some friends in his hands that I was going to get to know very intimately. There were three sizes of the friends, numbered one through three. I later gave them each names. Look, I feel you should at least know their names if you are going to be that intimate with something.
There was also a fourth one. The first three were straight and made out of hard acrylic; the fourth was opaque white and had a bit of a curve to it. This one was specially designed for the first times. I lay on the bed with nothing on but my bra. I had to spread my legs as they all looked on. The doctor put on his gloves and squeezed a large amount of surgical lube on the back side of his hand. He slowly rolled the white dilator in the surgical lube on the back side of his glove until about three quarters of the dilator was covered.
I was uneasy being undressed in front of all of these people, but knowing what was coming next was far worse. My whole body started to tense. The doctor told me to relax; at that point, it was like telling someone not to be cold. It was not going to happen. I could feel the cold end of the dilator as it touched the opening as it pushed back. It quickly came to the first muscle—ouch. The more it hurt, the more tense I became and the harder it was to slide past the muscle. I took a big breath and tried to relax. The dilator slowly worked past it and continued to slide in. This dilator had a tapered end and a slight bend, making it easier for it to follow the natural curve of my vagina. It was thinner than the others, but right now it felt way too big.
It was very painful the first time, but still less than the pain I had with my breasts. I could feel it when it finally reached the end of the vagina. I took a breath and finally relaxed. I was surprised that once it was in, it did not hurt that much. Just as I was thinking “I can do this,” the doctor reached for the #2 dilator. This one was clearly a bit thicker, uniform in size except for the rounded tip; it was graduated with inch markings, but worst of all, it was straight! It seemed wrong that you would have a perfectly straight dilator, when every penis I have ever seen was curved.
The doctor removed the first dilator, and proceeded to put a condom on number #2 and cover it with surgical lube. The circumference of a circle grows quit quickly with just a small increase in diameter. This dilator did not go in as easy, needing to be worked in. I was slowly being impaled by a dull stick. I had never experienced having something being forced in me. It was a strange sensation, and at that point I could not ever imagine it being pleasurable.
The doctors at the hospital were known for preserving the nerves. Every nerve that got preserved I felt right about then. I don’t have to tell you just how sensitive this area is. You hear about girls getting a piercing between their legs and how painful that was. I had an entire row of stitches in mine. And every time my clitoris got bumped, I could feel every one of them.
The dilation continued for twenty minutes. The next ten minutes I spent sitting in a pan of Batedine solution, which was followed by a douching and a soap scrub of the area. Once that was all done, they put antibiotic cream on the incisions. I did this three times a day right after each meal. The total process at first took about an hour and quarter. After about four weeks, the process was down to about forty-five minutes, and at about five months I was able to get it down to about thirty-five minutes. You cannot skimp on this or you will find yourself back in the hospital starting all over again.
The following day it was time for my hair surgery. This is a long surgery: it started at 8 am in the morning, and I was done at 5:00 pm. The pain came more from the surgery I already had than from the surgery I was having. First, they removed a strip of hair from the back of my head where it is the thickest. To do this, I had to lay on my stomach and remain motionless. They locked my head down and in a box, and for an hour I was staring at the bed. With only have local anesthesia, I didn’t feel pain, but I did feel everything they did, such as the unmistakable pull of the thread for each stitch.
I laid on my stomach on a board that had a slight incline to raise my face off the bed and make it easier for the doctor to work. My newly constructed breasts were pushed against this hard surface. It was very difficult to lay still: I tried to use my arms to push up to lift the weight off my breasts, but every time my pectoris muscles flexed, giving me a jolt of pain.
My breasts were throbbing by the time they were done. They removed the head clamp, and I was able to roll over and look at the lights for a few minutes. A small bladder reminded me that I had not gone to the bathroom recently, and I was helped up and escorted out to use it. I expected to see that my breasts had gone flat, but they had puffed back out and throbbed like a sore tooth.
When I returned to the Operating Room, there were five people in surgical scrubs sitting in front of microscopes. The hair that was removed from the back of my head was being separated into individual hair follicles. As they were being separated, two other surgeons, one on each side of me, inserted them into my forehead. I could feel each one being inserted; as time wore on, the general anesthesia wore off. It started to get very painful from the inserting of the follicles and from sitting on a swollen bottom for that long.
The hair is very fragile for a while like any transplanted flower. It takes time for the hair to grow roots in their new home. So for about four weeks you have to be very careful; you can only pat them dry for the first week and use baby shampoo for the next several weeks, being careful not rub the transplanted area too hard. It was about four weeks when the newly transplanted hair started to fall out. This is typical; the transplanted hair will fall out, then grow back and then fall out, before it permanently grows back. It takes about eight months before it looks like normal hair.
I was glad to have that surgery done. The only thing left to do was recover. The next two weeks I progressively got better. I was lucky and healed very quickly. I went into surgery in excellent shape. It was about week three that my healing began to hurt. They use dissolvable stitches. As the stitches dissolve, the ends come lose and have sharp ends that poke you when you stand, sit, lay, or walk.
These stitches could strike at any time. If you were sitting, they could make you stand up right away. Recovery was not as bad as I expected. Other than stitches and bleeding to contend with, the last two weeks at the hospital were event free. It was about nine weeks before the last of the stitches fell out. Most fell out between weeks four and six. However, a handful of them lasted a while.
Twenty-five days after I had arrived, it was time to leave. We had grown close to several of our caretakers, and they threw us a little going-away party. I had fallen in love with the fried chicken sold by the street venders. The meals were included in my package, but Linda had to purchase her own meals. I would often give her mine, and
I would go down to the street vender and bring back fried chicken and sticky rice. I would get caught almost every time. So when we left, they gave me a stuffed pink dog and a coloring book that was used to teach children all about chicken.
The time had come to leave our temporary residence in Bangkok and go home. I was anxious to get back. This had been the longest trip I had ever been on and the longest I had been away from my company. Even though I checked in every day, I still felt out of the loop. I was ready to go home, but there was not the level of excitement that I had on the way to Bangkok.
The day before we left, the underwear bomber had tried to blow up a Northwest flight. We were flying back on Northwest airlines. They had significantly beefed up security. We were good travelers and got there two hours ahead. It was 3 a.m. in the morning, and it took every extra minute we had. Once we got through security, it was time to get on the plane. I had saved up my miles to get us into first class. Recovering from surgery, it was worth every mile I used. The next thirty hours was the hardest sit I have known.
We arrived the next day in Manchester, New Hampshire safe and sound. The flights were all on time, and we ended up getting in to Manchester about three hours early. That was a real blessing. Linda and I were absolutely exhausted and hurting. We had to go to the store and get some food, or we would be very hungry in the morning. We made it home and dragged our bodies and luggage into the house, only unpacked what we needed, and laid on the bed. The Great Elephant Ride was over. We had ridden the elephant and survived to tell about it.
Now that the ride was over the healing could begin.
Post Op: Let the Healing Begin
The Great Elephant Ride Page 16