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,

1 comment:

  1. Thank you so much for sharing your story with me and with the world. On Facebook, I call you bro, you reply back with bro, yes in my heart I consider us to be friends and brothers, but I wish it were for real. Love you bro and God bless you. <3
    Alex oxo