There’s one thing I haven’t said about Z, and it’s that she is my roommate. That’s right, I actually live with her, and that’s probably part of the reason that this drama has been stretching out for so long – it would have been easier for both of us at multiple points in the roller coaster ride to go our separate ways and never see each other again.
So anyways, on Monday January 14th, Z got her GRS surgery. The day before, I brought her to the hospital, helped her unpack her stuff, spent a bit of time chatting and then went back to an empty home with a list of chores to do (cleaning, disinfecting, buying supplies, etc).
Now, a quick review of what the whole process entails is that you go in the eve of the surgery, the next morning you’re taken, worked on, put back in your room for 2 days while things start healing (fairly heavy on painkillers at that point). After 2 days you’re transfered to an attached recovery home (kind of like a deluxe B&B) for another 7 days, over the course of which the initial bandages, then the “packing”, then the stent, and finally the catheter are removed, proper medical care and instructions are given, and the process of recovery starts. I say this really as an overview because now isn’t the time to go into these sorts of details…
But that’s mostly because I’ll be in that exact position in around 6-8 months. I realized over the course of the last week that the position that I’m in is extremely priviledged – living and accompanying someone through a surgery is one thing – doing it when you know you’re getting that exact same surgery in half a year, is absolutely amazing.
It wasn’t all titties and rainbows though – I mean, definitely not for Z who had to go through major surgery and recovery and indeed is still going to have various amounts of pain and suffering for weeks and months – I had some major realizations happen and this post is about sharing them.
As things were progressing – as I went to see Z every single day, texting her often, talking on the phone a few times, it started really sinking in that I was talking to my future self – I was experiencing, from the outside, every step of a gender reassignment surgery. Of course I didn’t see most of the actions that were taken, I didn’t live them either – but I heard so much about so many details, I feel I have a much better understanding of what I was “getting myself into” as some would say.
The biggest thing that hit me though, was that I want to have this surgery more than ever. Yes, even though Z’s crotch is currently a bloody mess, even though I know she experienced pain, major discomfort, after-effects of surgery and medication, I want to go through this. I’ve started feeling the pressure, the excitement, a fully emcompassing desire to get through this as soon as possible.
There are, of course, logical reasons for this – wanting my name and gender changed so I stop seeing my old name everywhere, wanting some people to stop telling I’m “not really a woman until I get surgery”, wanting to stop the people that are trying to convince me not to do it (not forcefully, I’m thankful for that, just in small ways).
But all of that… it’s just secondary to the core, which I don’t have words for. It’s an unnamable desire, an unexplainable pressure that’s felt deep inside. Seeing Z go through it and feeling this sort of pressure is confirming to me, one more time and possibly once and for all, that this really is the right path for me and that there is truly nothing, short of a doctor telling me I’d die on the operation table, that could prevent me from getting this done as soon as normal procedure permits.
But In the meantime, I have to be a nurse to Z, and this is turning out to be one of the best experiences I’ve ever had in my transition, it’s such an educational process, and I feel blessed (in the non-religious way) that I’ve been given the chance to go through it.