March 15, 2015
I am now four months post-op from my phalloplasty surgery. I have had a rough recovery. I am still quite exhausted and am dealing with urinary issues that I never had before. My body feels like it has been through a war. And it has.
Before I say anything else, I want to be clear that this blog is purely my own experience and does not in anyway represent trans people in general. It is my life and I happen to be transgender. This blog is an attempt on my part to make sense of all the experiences I have had and to share them because for some reason sharing them makes me happy.
I loathed being a woman. When my mother promised me a new wardrobe when I started my period, I shuddered. When my breasts started to develop I refused to acknowledge them and wore baggy shirts. The estrogen/progesterone cycle caused my first real experience with depression and I got used to it over the thirty (thirty!!!!) years between 15 and 45 from when I hit puberty to when I took my first shot of testosterone.
My self-loathing became part of my identity and my inner turmoil became a magnet for external drama and trauma. I managed to find lots of needy people in more turmoil than me and I helped them. This made me feel better about my own conflicts.
I realize looking back that I had no way of communicating what I was feeling because I did not know that others did not feel the same way. That is the problem with one's internal state of being; it is impossible to truly know what someone else is experiencing. The things that felt natural to me like playing with GI Joes, wearing swimming trunks, playing with boys in the neighborhood, wearing boys pajamas, refusing to wear dresses, being mistaken for a boy, being called a boy's name, were fine when I was young. As I began to approach puberty, the tomboy status was not as welcomed and I had trouble finding my way. My mother was always accepting of me but this was bigger. My friends were each turning into something that I was not: a woman, and they were excited by and eager for the changes.
I remember when my daughter H started to develop breasts. I looked at her and said, "oh my gosh you are getting little boobies!" She said proudly, "Yes, I know! This one is Billy and this one is Suzy!" and then she laughed. I remember thinking, "Wow, she is a healthy girl. So this is how you are supposed to feel about getting breasts." I was truly happy for her.
And now I finally feel that way in my own skin. The body matches up with the mind and there is peace. Finally. Except that the man that I am is kind and easy going and the woman that I was was fraught with turmoil. I feel to a certain extent that I inherited someone else's life. I have a job that deals with trauma. I have a young child in my home who has intense emotional, mental and physiological issues from fetal alcohol exposure, genetics and trauma in her early life. I am lacking in stamina.
Becoming and being a man is an entirely different experience. When I started my transition I really thought I would remain the same person but with hair and muscles. I was wrong. I have fundamentally shifted in my thinking, my perceptions, my drive. I recently left the church that I was deeply committed to and find myself spiritually adrift.
My wife is taking a college class on Human Relations. One of her assignments is to describe what happiness is for her. She asked me. I said "Hell if I know."
I feel like I climbed a great mountain, with phalloplasty being the last summit. When I arrived at the top and looked out over the horizon, I saw great beauty but also great devastation. Now that I am complete, I have the task of cleaning up all the turmoil-based decisions I made. What I thought was going to be a cold beer with the guru at the mountain top, is actually a date with the janitor.
Pray for me. I need all the help I can get.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Before the Phoenix Rises
February 22, 2015
I missed a week of publishing. It was my youngest daughter's 11th birthday last Saturday (when I usually write my blog) and I was busy playing balloon-popping games with a gaggle of pre-teen girls. My daughter was so happy being surrounded by a group of girls; something that never appealed to me as a child. I frequently felt out of place.
When I was ten, I was invited to a birthday party sleep over. I was an only child and so I really did not know if my life and my experiences were that much different than other children. The party was for Michelle and about fifteen girls were there to spend the night, eat popcorn and play games including an immature version of Truth or Dare. I packed my Snoopy, my favorite pajamas, my slippers, and put on my favorite outfit for the party.
When I arrived I was the only girl wearing pants. I had on a light blue Hang Ten t-shirt and some bluejeans. I never went anywhere without my Adidas Superstars. The other girls were wearing party dresses with lace and frills. But I was used to that and didn't really care about what anyone was wearing. The shocker came when we got into our night clothes. Every other girl had on some kind of Baby doll nightgown with pom-poms, or ribbons of some sort. I brought my tan flannel pjs with green and brown trucks on them. I walked into the playroom and a hush fell over the group. "Nice slippers," Leslie smirked, "I think my brother has the same ones." I looked down at my dark brown corduroy slippers and quickly scanned the room for what the other girls were sporting on their feet. Pink and fluffy sums it up.
"Oooh! And MY brother has those same pajamas," Olivia quipped. A buzz went around the room. The girls surrounded me, looking at me, inching closer and closer. My heart raced. I didn't know what was going to happen. I started to feel very uneasy. Kelly came right up into my face and asked me, "What kind of girl are you?"
A tear began to well up in my eyes. "Umm, I don't know," I stated softly.
Michelle came sprinting into the room with a dangerous and triumphant look in her eyes. "I know what kind of girl she is, she's one of these... she's a lesbian!"Michelle had a magazine rolled up in her hands and with that tossed it across the room to Leslie who opened it while the room fell to a hush. It was a tabloid magazine. On the cover was a picture of a very masculine woman who was quoted as saying, "You can't call it rape, we were both women." Leslie proceeded to read the cover story which included details about a round bed, a meeting at a bar, and sex against the feminine woman's will.
The girls shrieked with laughter and made lewd comments. I felt dirty and ashamed. It was the first time I heard either of the words "lesbian" or "rape". I was upset by both. I developed a stomach ache and left the party. I was never invited to another all-girl birthday sleep over again.
Years later when I came out as a lesbian I had to deal with that awful misrepresentation of lesbians that I had lodged in my child mind. That story haunted me for years.
********
My mother told me this week that she read my blog. "You did?" I asked. My mother does not go on the internet. It turns out my son-in-law suggested it to her. My first thought was, "I hope I didn't say anything bad about her!" Then I felt kind of weird knowing my family is reading this, but also glad.
My 28 year old daughter gave birth to her second child two weeks ago. I am thrilled for her because she and I both were only children and in my mind she broke our curse. I was also hit by a terrible depression. For the record, I am glad to have transitioned. My journey is not easy. I am plagued by residual pain and am really, really exhausted, but nevertheless, my transition into manhood was necessary for me to stay alive and thrive as a human being.
However, the birth of my grandson marked a moment for me where I had to grieve giving up being a mommy and a grandmother. I gave birth to one of the most wonderful women on the planet and in my pursuit of being true-to-myself, I had to alter the most primary and instinctual relationship I have ever had: the relationship of mother and child.
I love being a father, but I am not her father. HR, my darling, I feel such great sorrow for the loss of that part of our relationship. I hope you can forgive me for what I needed to do.
In Greek Mythology, the Phoenix is a bird that is regenerated or reborn. It obtains new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor. Even though I have been in transition for six years, I do not yet feel like I have risen as the Phoenix does. I feel that I am still in the mix of the ashes and the breaking down of who I was, the metamorphic processes of alchemy; the regeneration of soul and purpose; the enduring of post operative pain and narcotics; the realities of facial hair and the limitations of a man-made phallus. I am more like a caterpillar still entering the cocoon; on the outside a functioning man and father; on the inside searching for my new psychological strongholds and ways of expressing myself that both honor my past and breathe life into the man I am meant to be.
In Love and Service,
Nick
I missed a week of publishing. It was my youngest daughter's 11th birthday last Saturday (when I usually write my blog) and I was busy playing balloon-popping games with a gaggle of pre-teen girls. My daughter was so happy being surrounded by a group of girls; something that never appealed to me as a child. I frequently felt out of place.
When I was ten, I was invited to a birthday party sleep over. I was an only child and so I really did not know if my life and my experiences were that much different than other children. The party was for Michelle and about fifteen girls were there to spend the night, eat popcorn and play games including an immature version of Truth or Dare. I packed my Snoopy, my favorite pajamas, my slippers, and put on my favorite outfit for the party.
When I arrived I was the only girl wearing pants. I had on a light blue Hang Ten t-shirt and some bluejeans. I never went anywhere without my Adidas Superstars. The other girls were wearing party dresses with lace and frills. But I was used to that and didn't really care about what anyone was wearing. The shocker came when we got into our night clothes. Every other girl had on some kind of Baby doll nightgown with pom-poms, or ribbons of some sort. I brought my tan flannel pjs with green and brown trucks on them. I walked into the playroom and a hush fell over the group. "Nice slippers," Leslie smirked, "I think my brother has the same ones." I looked down at my dark brown corduroy slippers and quickly scanned the room for what the other girls were sporting on their feet. Pink and fluffy sums it up.
"Oooh! And MY brother has those same pajamas," Olivia quipped. A buzz went around the room. The girls surrounded me, looking at me, inching closer and closer. My heart raced. I didn't know what was going to happen. I started to feel very uneasy. Kelly came right up into my face and asked me, "What kind of girl are you?"
A tear began to well up in my eyes. "Umm, I don't know," I stated softly.
Michelle came sprinting into the room with a dangerous and triumphant look in her eyes. "I know what kind of girl she is, she's one of these... she's a lesbian!"Michelle had a magazine rolled up in her hands and with that tossed it across the room to Leslie who opened it while the room fell to a hush. It was a tabloid magazine. On the cover was a picture of a very masculine woman who was quoted as saying, "You can't call it rape, we were both women." Leslie proceeded to read the cover story which included details about a round bed, a meeting at a bar, and sex against the feminine woman's will.
The girls shrieked with laughter and made lewd comments. I felt dirty and ashamed. It was the first time I heard either of the words "lesbian" or "rape". I was upset by both. I developed a stomach ache and left the party. I was never invited to another all-girl birthday sleep over again.
Years later when I came out as a lesbian I had to deal with that awful misrepresentation of lesbians that I had lodged in my child mind. That story haunted me for years.
********
My mother told me this week that she read my blog. "You did?" I asked. My mother does not go on the internet. It turns out my son-in-law suggested it to her. My first thought was, "I hope I didn't say anything bad about her!" Then I felt kind of weird knowing my family is reading this, but also glad.
My 28 year old daughter gave birth to her second child two weeks ago. I am thrilled for her because she and I both were only children and in my mind she broke our curse. I was also hit by a terrible depression. For the record, I am glad to have transitioned. My journey is not easy. I am plagued by residual pain and am really, really exhausted, but nevertheless, my transition into manhood was necessary for me to stay alive and thrive as a human being.
However, the birth of my grandson marked a moment for me where I had to grieve giving up being a mommy and a grandmother. I gave birth to one of the most wonderful women on the planet and in my pursuit of being true-to-myself, I had to alter the most primary and instinctual relationship I have ever had: the relationship of mother and child.
I love being a father, but I am not her father. HR, my darling, I feel such great sorrow for the loss of that part of our relationship. I hope you can forgive me for what I needed to do.
In Greek Mythology, the Phoenix is a bird that is regenerated or reborn. It obtains new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor. Even though I have been in transition for six years, I do not yet feel like I have risen as the Phoenix does. I feel that I am still in the mix of the ashes and the breaking down of who I was, the metamorphic processes of alchemy; the regeneration of soul and purpose; the enduring of post operative pain and narcotics; the realities of facial hair and the limitations of a man-made phallus. I am more like a caterpillar still entering the cocoon; on the outside a functioning man and father; on the inside searching for my new psychological strongholds and ways of expressing myself that both honor my past and breathe life into the man I am meant to be.
In Love and Service,
Nick
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Repentance of Sin
Dear Friends,
Last week I was preparing to see my surgeon, Dr. Crane, to discuss my challenges with the salami, from here forward known as "Sal." I was having unusual swelling and quite frankly, it was making me depressed. It's like getting a Christmas present that requires 50 batteries, and I never got the batteries. Dr. Crane said as much.
He said, "You are at the three month mark where you want to get back to your life and be done with this process. It takes about a year for everything to work properly, sometimes longer."
Let's be clear. This is what I have done:
On the horizon I have yet to get my testicular implants and my erectile device, most likely in December 2015.
Two great things happened at Dr. Crane's office. He said that I could fold Sal and wear him sideways or up and that it would not cause any damage. This was of GREAT relief to me, because it was extremely embarrassing wearing Sal in the dangle position. Also, in the dangle position, he acted like a sponge, collecting fluid and increasing in weight throughout the day. Dr. Crane dilated my urethra to make sure I had enough flow for urination.
The other thing that happened is that the BBC was there making a documentary on trans people and I got interviewed. Sal might be featured on the billboards in the UK! Oh my gosh, I have tears welling up in my eyes!
On the down side, I am still struggling with getting off of my narcotics. I wake up with dread every morning which is very unusual for me. Recovering from these surgeries has left me feeling quite exhausted and vulnerable. In fact I feel more vulnerable now than I ever have which is an odd experience. The more complete I become, I am more aware of my feelings. I wish I was in a bravado mood, but I am not.
A few years ago I participated in a Lenten series discussion and was asked to present on Repentance of Sin. I didn't ask for the topic it was a card I drew. I thought "Oh, great. Why me?" But it turned out that in my heart I saw the connection between changing the course of my life from female to male as the turning at the core of repentance. I was living in sin by being a woman. Moving into integrity is my journey to becoming fully male; in thought, word and deed; in my physicality and in my soul.
My transition is my sacred journey. It is what calls me and connects me to the divine. It is my connection to God. In order for me to stay sane I have to stay in touch with each step and treasure it and be grateful for each experience.
Thank you for sharing this journey with me.
In Love and Service,
Nick
Last week I was preparing to see my surgeon, Dr. Crane, to discuss my challenges with the salami, from here forward known as "Sal." I was having unusual swelling and quite frankly, it was making me depressed. It's like getting a Christmas present that requires 50 batteries, and I never got the batteries. Dr. Crane said as much.
He said, "You are at the three month mark where you want to get back to your life and be done with this process. It takes about a year for everything to work properly, sometimes longer."
Let's be clear. This is what I have done:
- June 2008: Breast reduction from DD to A size breasts, pre-official transition
- May 2009: began official transition, shaved my head to have male-pattern baldness, lived as a man even though I still had a high voice, a female chest, and an enormous lady-ass
- May 2012: Hysterectomy and Oophectomy
- November 2012: Chest surgery; double mastectomy
- October 2014: Chest scar revision
- November 2014: Vaginectomy, urethral lengthening, making of phallus (November 10th is Sal's birthday, awwwww) and scrotum from thigh donor site, skin graft from other thigh
- Weekly injection of testosterone since July 2009
On the horizon I have yet to get my testicular implants and my erectile device, most likely in December 2015.
Two great things happened at Dr. Crane's office. He said that I could fold Sal and wear him sideways or up and that it would not cause any damage. This was of GREAT relief to me, because it was extremely embarrassing wearing Sal in the dangle position. Also, in the dangle position, he acted like a sponge, collecting fluid and increasing in weight throughout the day. Dr. Crane dilated my urethra to make sure I had enough flow for urination.
The other thing that happened is that the BBC was there making a documentary on trans people and I got interviewed. Sal might be featured on the billboards in the UK! Oh my gosh, I have tears welling up in my eyes!
On the down side, I am still struggling with getting off of my narcotics. I wake up with dread every morning which is very unusual for me. Recovering from these surgeries has left me feeling quite exhausted and vulnerable. In fact I feel more vulnerable now than I ever have which is an odd experience. The more complete I become, I am more aware of my feelings. I wish I was in a bravado mood, but I am not.
A few years ago I participated in a Lenten series discussion and was asked to present on Repentance of Sin. I didn't ask for the topic it was a card I drew. I thought "Oh, great. Why me?" But it turned out that in my heart I saw the connection between changing the course of my life from female to male as the turning at the core of repentance. I was living in sin by being a woman. Moving into integrity is my journey to becoming fully male; in thought, word and deed; in my physicality and in my soul.
My transition is my sacred journey. It is what calls me and connects me to the divine. It is my connection to God. In order for me to stay sane I have to stay in touch with each step and treasure it and be grateful for each experience.
Thank you for sharing this journey with me.
In Love and Service,
Nick
Sunday, February 1, 2015
What to wear with a giant salami in your pants?
February 1, 2015
I am going to see my surgeon tomorrow to get advice on dealing with the salami. You may not realize that phalloplasty, or penis construction, does not give a man erectile tissue. Since most men do not walk around with an erection all the time, and would be embarrassed if they did, this issue is a big one.
When transmen decide to go through the surgery, we have to decide how we want our new man-toy to be in terms of length and girth. Wow, what a great option! Except that the thing never retracts; it is the same length whether happy or sad, asleep or in use. The pump I mentioned on my last blog only makes it rigid, not longer.
The combination of the dense fat on my leg (in spite of being 15% body fat at time of surgery) and the creation of a urethra (so I can pee through my phallus) has left me with a very large salami that does not retract. It is very hard to hide.
I tried bending it at the base and wearing it "up" as opposed to "left" or "right"but that only caused me intense pain like when your foot falls asleep.
When I was a child, I had a very personal relationship with Jesus. This is odd because my family was not religious. My father was Jewish and changed his name so that no one would know he was Jewish. That might seem odd today, but his grandmother and grandfather fled the Czar in Russia and eloped to the United States. She kept a kosher kitchen but her children avoided religion.
Nevertheless, I had visions of Jesus frequently and on the rare occasions that I did go to church, I wished to wear the robes of the priest and to stand at the altar delivering the gifts of God to the masses. Now, more than ever it would be so helpful to wear a robe for my work uniform! I honestly never thought I would regret giving up the option to wear a dress.
I wanted to pursue being a priest but as a woman I felt a huge disconnect. I simply could not be Mother, I HAD to be Father; Father Nick.
Now I still long for the priestly robes and to prepare a sacred altar. I recently decided to get ordained from a non-denominational-easy-ordination church so I could legally perform weddings and ceremonies for friends. I have to say that I am really surprised at how happy it makes me to have this piece of paper. It has stirred something up for me and I am now looking for ways to share some of my spiritual experiences, including this blog.
I hope I have something great to report from my visit with the surgeon tomorrow.
In Love and Service,
Nick
I am going to see my surgeon tomorrow to get advice on dealing with the salami. You may not realize that phalloplasty, or penis construction, does not give a man erectile tissue. Since most men do not walk around with an erection all the time, and would be embarrassed if they did, this issue is a big one.
When transmen decide to go through the surgery, we have to decide how we want our new man-toy to be in terms of length and girth. Wow, what a great option! Except that the thing never retracts; it is the same length whether happy or sad, asleep or in use. The pump I mentioned on my last blog only makes it rigid, not longer.
The combination of the dense fat on my leg (in spite of being 15% body fat at time of surgery) and the creation of a urethra (so I can pee through my phallus) has left me with a very large salami that does not retract. It is very hard to hide.
I tried bending it at the base and wearing it "up" as opposed to "left" or "right"but that only caused me intense pain like when your foot falls asleep.
When I was a child, I had a very personal relationship with Jesus. This is odd because my family was not religious. My father was Jewish and changed his name so that no one would know he was Jewish. That might seem odd today, but his grandmother and grandfather fled the Czar in Russia and eloped to the United States. She kept a kosher kitchen but her children avoided religion.
Nevertheless, I had visions of Jesus frequently and on the rare occasions that I did go to church, I wished to wear the robes of the priest and to stand at the altar delivering the gifts of God to the masses. Now, more than ever it would be so helpful to wear a robe for my work uniform! I honestly never thought I would regret giving up the option to wear a dress.
I wanted to pursue being a priest but as a woman I felt a huge disconnect. I simply could not be Mother, I HAD to be Father; Father Nick.
Now I still long for the priestly robes and to prepare a sacred altar. I recently decided to get ordained from a non-denominational-easy-ordination church so I could legally perform weddings and ceremonies for friends. I have to say that I am really surprised at how happy it makes me to have this piece of paper. It has stirred something up for me and I am now looking for ways to share some of my spiritual experiences, including this blog.
I hope I have something great to report from my visit with the surgeon tomorrow.
In Love and Service,
Nick
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Mourning the Past
January 27, 2015
I am eleven weeks post-op from the greatest surgery ever.... the Christmas of all surgeries, my phalloplasty! ta-da! While other younger transmen are already up and bicycling (and using lube with a magazine), I am still nearly bed-ridden, hobbling around like a decrepit old man.
Almost immediately after I came home from the surgery, I heard from my uncle that my father was near death (we have been estranged for many years) and was attempting to block me from his will. I never expected to receive anything from him but to know that a legal document was made many years ago, and I was still to be included, along with my cousins, was heartening. To find out that now he is going out of his way to further wipe me off the windshield brought up many painful memories.
I started my official transition from female to male in the Spring of 2009. I have been on hormone therapy since July 2009. I wear a beard, am quite hairy, and have a nice physique. But now that I have a penis and testicles, I have metamorphosized again. There is something about having my new genitals that expands my life energy in a way it never did before. (I'm not talking about an erection :))
Having another dagger from my dad brought up so many memories of his abuse. I remember trying to protect my mother and becoming her protector. I knew that was my job. When he left I was the man of the house, except I was a little girl.
One of my life-long friends who I grew up with, warned me there would be some psychological adjustment when I had my surgery. I really didn't think that was true. I mean, what was the big deal? The doctor was going to take some tissue off my leg, roll it up and sew it on. In nine months the nerves will grow and I will have sensation. Then I get a pump and then I chase my wife around! End of story.
Not so. I have been grieving.
I grieve for the woman I was, taking so much flack from people. I lived as a lesbian, and was naturally butch. So many people projected their own stuff onto her as a man-hater, etc. I sometimes talk about her in the third person because it was like a different life. She was tormented; always hating her breasts and curvy body. She was luscious and could never appreciate any physical part about herself. She was frequently put down for not being feminine enough. She smushed me down as well as she could and tried not to let me show. Now, six years after letting her go, I have an altar for her. I admire and respect her deeply.
I grieve for the mother I was. I have one natural daughter. Now that I have had my surgery it is final. I didn't mention that I had a vaginectomy as well. That was really intense and I had no idea I would have so much pain at the surgery site. Now I am her father, except that she has a father and I no longer have any trace of having the miraculous blessing of giving birth. This has been hardest on her.
I grieve for my little dicklett. I have a giant sausage now lurking in my pants. For several reasons, I chose to use my thigh as the donor site. I used a technique that has a very high success rate with lots of nerves and blood vessels left in tact. I also have a chub. And I mean a CHUB. It is going to take another 6 months for it to completely lose the swelling from surgery. The genital region has the most blood vessels in the body which means lots of blood flow, but also lots of swelling.
When I had my dicklett, (the clitoris on testosterone becomes a little micro penis with a head and a mind of its own) I was not fully a man (my belief system; there are lots of men without penises) but my pants fit nicely and I would not have made the top ten list of newest porn stars.
I am having a hard time dealing with the sausage in my pants.
My healing is slow. I still have intense body pain. My leg took a really long time to be able to walk on. I am struggling with narcotics; I need them but they make me feel bad.
I have been stuck in bed for THREE MONTHS and have had time to reflect on my life. I am angry for the ways my father abused me and my mother. And I am angry that he did not make any attempt to understand me as a lesbian or as a transman. On the other side, I have developed an incredible series of meditations and prayers as my experience of God unfolded for me. But that is another blog.
Thank you for reading my post.
In Love and Service,
Nick
I am eleven weeks post-op from the greatest surgery ever.... the Christmas of all surgeries, my phalloplasty! ta-da! While other younger transmen are already up and bicycling (and using lube with a magazine), I am still nearly bed-ridden, hobbling around like a decrepit old man.
Almost immediately after I came home from the surgery, I heard from my uncle that my father was near death (we have been estranged for many years) and was attempting to block me from his will. I never expected to receive anything from him but to know that a legal document was made many years ago, and I was still to be included, along with my cousins, was heartening. To find out that now he is going out of his way to further wipe me off the windshield brought up many painful memories.
I started my official transition from female to male in the Spring of 2009. I have been on hormone therapy since July 2009. I wear a beard, am quite hairy, and have a nice physique. But now that I have a penis and testicles, I have metamorphosized again. There is something about having my new genitals that expands my life energy in a way it never did before. (I'm not talking about an erection :))
Having another dagger from my dad brought up so many memories of his abuse. I remember trying to protect my mother and becoming her protector. I knew that was my job. When he left I was the man of the house, except I was a little girl.
One of my life-long friends who I grew up with, warned me there would be some psychological adjustment when I had my surgery. I really didn't think that was true. I mean, what was the big deal? The doctor was going to take some tissue off my leg, roll it up and sew it on. In nine months the nerves will grow and I will have sensation. Then I get a pump and then I chase my wife around! End of story.
Not so. I have been grieving.
I grieve for the woman I was, taking so much flack from people. I lived as a lesbian, and was naturally butch. So many people projected their own stuff onto her as a man-hater, etc. I sometimes talk about her in the third person because it was like a different life. She was tormented; always hating her breasts and curvy body. She was luscious and could never appreciate any physical part about herself. She was frequently put down for not being feminine enough. She smushed me down as well as she could and tried not to let me show. Now, six years after letting her go, I have an altar for her. I admire and respect her deeply.
I grieve for the mother I was. I have one natural daughter. Now that I have had my surgery it is final. I didn't mention that I had a vaginectomy as well. That was really intense and I had no idea I would have so much pain at the surgery site. Now I am her father, except that she has a father and I no longer have any trace of having the miraculous blessing of giving birth. This has been hardest on her.
I grieve for my little dicklett. I have a giant sausage now lurking in my pants. For several reasons, I chose to use my thigh as the donor site. I used a technique that has a very high success rate with lots of nerves and blood vessels left in tact. I also have a chub. And I mean a CHUB. It is going to take another 6 months for it to completely lose the swelling from surgery. The genital region has the most blood vessels in the body which means lots of blood flow, but also lots of swelling.
When I had my dicklett, (the clitoris on testosterone becomes a little micro penis with a head and a mind of its own) I was not fully a man (my belief system; there are lots of men without penises) but my pants fit nicely and I would not have made the top ten list of newest porn stars.
I am having a hard time dealing with the sausage in my pants.
My healing is slow. I still have intense body pain. My leg took a really long time to be able to walk on. I am struggling with narcotics; I need them but they make me feel bad.
I have been stuck in bed for THREE MONTHS and have had time to reflect on my life. I am angry for the ways my father abused me and my mother. And I am angry that he did not make any attempt to understand me as a lesbian or as a transman. On the other side, I have developed an incredible series of meditations and prayers as my experience of God unfolded for me. But that is another blog.
Thank you for reading my post.
In Love and Service,
Nick
Saturday, January 10, 2015
The Beginning
Nick here at the opening ceremony of a momentous occasion: the (largely) uncensored sharing of what is most important to me in this crazy life of mine.
Welcome to my life. I am glad you are here.
In some ways I am a typical 51 year old man; I am paying off a bunch of debt from when the economy tanked, I have a higher sex drive than my wife, and I am collecting cool stuff for my rec room/man cave.
I am not so typical in that I was born female and recently underwent penile construction surgery (called a phalloplasty) from which I am still in recovery. It is an insane process with a pretty amazing outcome.
I am also deeply spiritual and have been called forth to not only share my transgender story with you, but to share original music and meditation/ spiritual activation tools to help you create your life the way you see it in your heart.
I am excited to share these gifts with you and your family and friends.
Until next time
In Love and Service,
Nick
Welcome to my life. I am glad you are here.
In some ways I am a typical 51 year old man; I am paying off a bunch of debt from when the economy tanked, I have a higher sex drive than my wife, and I am collecting cool stuff for my rec room/man cave.
I am not so typical in that I was born female and recently underwent penile construction surgery (called a phalloplasty) from which I am still in recovery. It is an insane process with a pretty amazing outcome.
I am also deeply spiritual and have been called forth to not only share my transgender story with you, but to share original music and meditation/ spiritual activation tools to help you create your life the way you see it in your heart.
I am excited to share these gifts with you and your family and friends.
Until next time
In Love and Service,
Nick
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