Be Careful What You Wish For

Approaching 6 weeks post op and almost everything is better than I ever dared hope for way back at the beginning. Lost in the heady mists of 2013 as those hopes are.

But now, here I am, entirely finished with the physical process. And yet barely out of the gates as a fully fledged woman. It has been one enormous, terrifying and gratifying journey since the day I started.

Sometime in 2013

You may not but I remember that fella so fondly. Everything I have is because of him. My friends, my home and the life I have today. None if it happened without him. I’m reasonably confident I don’t mourn him alone. And I’m incredibly indebted to him.

Sometime in 2017

To think that I got to today feeling intact is something I am grateful for every single day. I got to live the life I dreamed of. And it was worth every second, no matter how difficult some of them may have been. Traumatic even. But as we approach a new year, if there are changes you want to make then make them. Then never look back. Nothing is entirely impossible. And that’s as positive as I get for 2017. But here’s to Chris. That boy done good by me and I owe him everything.


It’ll Be Fun, They Said

Accidentally not blogged for a couple of weeks. And somehow, without really noticing, I find myself more than a month into my new reality. That “Time flies when you’re having fun” adage is, however, a crock of shit. 

Not that I have any real complaints. At best minor irks. I supposedly knew what I was getting into. Or so I genuinely believed but it turns out there is a lot more to having a new vagina than the relatively mild concerns of regular dilation and peeing like a wonky lawn sprinkler.

I had absolutely no intention of ever sitting awake in my bed at 3am, fully aware of every second of my suture lines starting to tighten. Nor would I ever have suspected that different types of sanitary towel could irritate my new flower in ways you’d never ever normally have cause to imagine. Although, on the plus side, I’m wholly up to speed with all of that now. 

But I still wouldn’t change a thing about how things are panning out. It is what it is. It’s not necessarily as simple as all that I expected but it’s chock full of experiences. Some good, some not so much. And it’s really just one day at a time now till I can sort of say that I feel recovered. Until then, my best advice is buy shares in bagged ice. They’re about to hit an all time  peak.


Can You Feel The Glove Tonight?

So, the truth about being Post Op is genuinely far stranger than fiction. I never ever doubted that my surgery would be life changing. I did, however, kind of underestimate just how much.

I don’t mean that I was naive. I honestly wasn’t. I knew what I had signed up to but the reality bites significantly  harder than any preconceived notion you might have given yourself by doing a little presurgery reading. Google did not even come close to informing me on what I’d actually be facing though.

Which is that aftercare is fairly time consuming and not really terribly exciting at all. At present I’m expected to dilate three times a day. Doesn’t really sound too bad does it? But any day of the week it amounts to about an hour and a half of your waking life. You could say it’s a pain in the butt but you’d probably want to check your dilation diagram if that was the case. It is a little tiresome though.

You might spend ten minutes setting up. You then spend ten minutes apiece with Little and Large and an awkwardly angled mirror. So far so good. You then still have to douche and properly clean yourself before dressing is even an option. It’s a major commitment to yourself. And ultimately your future happiness.

But it is pretty boring. So I thank God and the Baby Jesus for YouTube (other streaming services are available) as I have no idea how one would cope with the mundanity of meddling with yourself thrice daily otherwise. Don’t quite have a regular theme tune yet but today’s music choice a definite contender. Living the dream though kids, living the dream! Time permitting.

Scottish football humour in-joke


Always Tomorrow

I really don’t enjoy this time of year. It represents an entirely unnecessary anniversary that just continues to deeply sadden me. This coming Friday, November 17th, will mean it’s four full years since I spoke with either of my brothers. But I’ll be damned if I ever give up on either of them.

Like it or not, they eventually need to accept they have a brother who just became a sister. I often wish they’d just get the fuck over it already. Although truth be told, I didn’t really need them to make it here in any case. I had enough surrogate brothers and sisters ably taking their place. However, that’s still no reason for me to carry anger towards them. They seem to have enough anger to power the situation forward without my help.

But they perhaps quite legitimately feel how they feel. Although it still remains something of a mystery to me as they’ve yet to take even 30 seconds to have their say in any respect at all. Ultimately kind of sad not to have merited a minute between them. But I still have the choice to care about them. And I absolutely do. Always will.

It’s a difficult enough anniversary though, put through an additional wringer by November 18th marking 20 years of our Father passing. A time I’d love to speak to them both more than ever. But it just won’t be. And you do sort of make a kind of weird peace with that. I stand by the notion that enough time can maybe heal most things though. I made a similar post last year. No doubt I will again next year. Despite all of it, I intend to stubbornly cling to the world weary idea that there is always tomorrow. Because that’s all I’ve ever really needed to manage to get by. Day by day by stupid and sad day.


Instruction Manual

Ever since I started this blog the posts that traditionally do best have been the ones that show me in a terrible or embarrassing light. So in that spirit, let’s talk about the reality of Week One of piloting a brand new vagina.

I had never harboured any notion of being Sportsperson Of The Year previously. But if being able to pee with great precision against your own leg/legs were to become an Olympic sport any time soon then it would appear I have the potential to be a World Class athlete. Sponsored by Tena Lady, I might just be unassailable by the competition. Unless Iceland happened to be fielding some sort of incontinent ringer.

There remains the possibility that this deft little skill is but a temporary blip as things settle down but I do have nothing else to base my opinion on. My previous arrangement was just much simpler by comparison. It was also pointable. Something I had not often appreciated fully, now that I think on it.

And yet, I’m not distressed at all. The complicated alchemy that has turned lead into gold was never going to be without some difficulties. More than anything else I really think it’s a sense of humour that’s going to be needed most to see me through the months ahead.

A steep learning curve does lie in front of me though. But I look forward to every little educational step on that journey. And if I am going to share the triumphant moments here then it’s only fair that I’m also open with you whenever it’s monumentally rubbish. Which, as it happens, is quite a bit initially. Although if we were to be betting on leg versus bowl, it would currently offer significantly better odds than roulette for example. Every cloud Ladies and Gentlemen, every cloud! 😉

Hydration is awfully important


I Left My Parts In San Francisco

Headed home this afternoon and looking forward to being safely back in Glasgow. I loved my time in Brighton though and it’s always going to be where the new me was ultimately born. But Glasgow is my home. And in a totally Barry White way, it’s my first, my last and my everything. I love no place more.

So I’m absolutely ecstatic about landing back home today. Even although it is with less of me than left last week. A fact that is strangely comforting. I return home having achieved something. I know not what exactly. But definitely something.

That I might feel a personal sort of triumph is perhaps not unexpected but then what’s really changed? I am still the same idiot I was last week at my core. Barring the replumbing job, all I’m really unveiling on my return is sort of Idiot v2.0. Because nothing important about me has actually been changed. I hope that most people get that.

I will concede that I am coming home a little cosmetically changed however. But hopefully that’s for the better. The actual physical change most will never see but mentally it’s been a watershed moment too. I am finally home in more ways than one. And I’ve realised that the management of my expectations around this will be key in my recovery. 

He, him and all variations thereof will not necessarily cease because this version of me suddenly appears to be anatomically correct. And I think that’s OK too. I’m bringing home the mental space to allow others to catch up to my final transition as additional hand luggage. Hope to Christ that someone is meeting me at the airport. Might need a hand up the stairs with that.


Oscar Mike Foxtrot Golf!

Packing out, drains and catheter removed and this soldier is now officially on manoeuvres. In unknown and hugely terrifying territory. Fortunately this is a solo mapping mission and no casualties are expected.

Just watching the packing come out was like witnessing an eighth wonder of the world. It was exactly like a ten minute version of the magician’s trick with the hankies and the flags of all the different nations. But truly awesome to behold.

And then I finally got to meet my two new best friends in the world. My soon to be trusty dilators, whose names were an absolute no brainer when it came to it.

The most important thing is that I’m completely on track and already healing very well. Although it does resemble a Rocky/Clubber Lang throwdown to be fair. But I fully work and all is good with my world. I apologise if I’ve ruined that show for you now 😉

Nice pear!