A very small thing indeed…

Well, it is. Really it is.

I shall await the reaction from some of those who have gone before: not least Liz, who seems to regard me (and treat me, on occasion), most endearingly, as a slightly naïve teenager. Which in some respects, of course, I am.

Still, though, something happened over the holiday to the way I think about THE OP.

It suddenly got a whole lot smaller. And no: for once I am not going for the rather obvious double entendre.

Rather: the last year or so has all been about the big one, the big decision, the big surgical intervention. Everything I do, every move I’ve made has been focussed, one way or another, on THAT question. Will she, won’t she?

Its been a subtle shift. Maybe the subtlety is why it took me a while to notice it had happened. Because suddenly, it doesn’t seem so important.

Oh? So she’s NOT going to go thru with it?

Er, no. The exact opposite.

I still understand just how big a procedure it is. I still fear, with a vengeance, it going wrong: the corrective surgery that may follow. All the rest besides. Bu-ut…the idea that what I am contemplating is somehow major, life altering…

That’s gone.

I don’t attach any importance at all to what I still have, except in this respect: that my physiology now is just inconvenient. It gets in the way of being as much a woman as I can. It gets in the way of clothes, of swimming, of intimacy.

It just gets in the way…

Well, we knew that? Yes. The difference, I guess, lies in the difference between those who still ask, in almost hushed tones, how will you feel when…you know…when you have “it” removed. As though I still view it as something valuable. My precious! So to speak.

Between that reverential question and the shrug with which I can now reply. Like, so what? The sooner its gone, the better. Because the sooner its gone, the sooner I can start to recuperate. End of.

Which makes the decision still a biggish one in terms of risk. But as far as life-change goes? Tis maybe the least of the decisions I will have to make in the up and coming twelve months.

jane
xx

3 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    Liz Church said,

    One small step…

    I think it was about six months into transition when I was sat in the bath thinking how ridiculous it all looked down there. I went to the doctor’s, arranged another appointment with the psych’ and told him that surgery was now essential.

    Three and a half years later, no longer did I have the morning ritual of the wrestling match to get my knickers on. Seems such a trivial thing, but the sudden ease with which I could get dressed made me smile with relief.

  2. 2

    cnlester said,

    Congratulations x

  3. 3

    I always knew that ‘it’ was out of place. The idea of surgery did scare me (who isn’t a little apprehensive of any surgery?) but I knew it to be the lesser of two evils – I was unable to contemplate a lifetime with the wrong plumbing.

    Surgery itself was surprisingly an easier affair than having my wisdom teeth out was. It wasn’t taken lightly though. Some-one asked me how I knew I had made the right choice. I came to the conclusion it was akin to knowing that you had fallen in love. You can’t exactly describe how you know, but you just know.

    For me the moment of utter contentment was wearing my first bikini to the pool at the local gym, and being able to go swimming for the first time in ten years.


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