Just about at the half way mark, since I stopped hormones, and the pace is hotting up. Not sure whether that’s a gear metaphor (moving up to third) or a horse one, which I find that bit more pleasing.
So. The last few weeks have been gentle trot, but, as we cross this weekend, I have a sense of days and time moving up to a slightly more energetic canter. Too, today, another milestone clicks over. 25 days and just 600 hours to go! (is this getting tedious yet? I promised not to list EVERY milestone – and I won’t do it again til we’re down to 300 hours!)
When will it be over?
And I’m hating it. First is the just waiting and the wanting to be there now. Its like Christmas and birthdays and anniversaries and every other big date rolled into one. Not good. I’m impatient and, both metaphorically AND in reality, drumming my fingers on the desktop of the universe. 🙂
And I am also hating the loss of hormones. I feel hollow: less cosy, less at one with the world. No major side-effects, that I’ve noticed: though I am definitely spottier, my complexion has suffered and, not sure if its my imagination, but body hair is being just that bit more recalcitrant. Ugh!
Leaping from tall buildings
So what’’s this about second thoughts? (as it says in the title) Is she – no doubt to the delight of her sister – about to throw in the towel and go “nah!”.
Well, as it also says. Not exactly. Though I am having all sorts of eccentric imaginings and I am beginning to focus in on what it is that is most scary.
First the imaginings. They are a bit like standing on top of a tall building and looking over the edge. Or rushing down a motorway at 3 in the morning. Have you never just had an impulse to jump? Or to take your hands from the steering wheel and let the car do its own thing?
I know I have – and not from any suicidal impulse, either. Talking to friends, it seems fairly common – though you’ll either understand it perfectly if you’ve felt it, or not at all if you haven’t. Its just a big mad urge to do the unthinkable. To soar. To freewheel. To launch into air and feel the impossible for a few moments – before the inevitable splat on the concrete below!
And so with the op. As it gets closer, I whirl around every possibility. Can i? should i? Will i? Over and over and over. I know I will be asked again at the very last minute and, as with the jumping, I imagine just looking back and going “no”.
Except. That isn’t what I want. Because the moment I imagine that, I imagine the after: a life with THIS body; a life as I have lived; and it isn’t what I want. Its just… in the hollowness of the moment, anything is imaginable.
The real fear
Which brings me back to just what IS scary now. Not the psychology of losing my “maleness”. Long, long since past that decision. I don’t like that anatomy. Have no affection for it. Won’t miss it. Don’t worry, folks: there will be absolutely no regrets at all on that count.
Second is the bigness of the op and I’ll admit: that still scares a little – no matter how encouraging the surgical team are. It’s a big feck-off op. Period. And I don’t even like needles! So I am bound to be a bit scared of that, although… I am beginning to come to terms with that, too. I’ll grit my teeth when the anaesthetist pricks my arm, but the odds are good. I’m OK. Just.
Which leaves the third and biggest thing: the sense (not entirely unconnected from some of the eeyore tendency that I correspond with) that the after could be very complicated. And painful. The need to make sure I get my hormone package right. The need to dilate. Douching. Granulation. Oh hell! It makes my head spin just thinking about it.
Its not that I’m not prepared for that – so much as I guess once upon a time I thought it would be simple: quick snip, bit of bodging around with my plumbing, and I’d be done.
Its not reason to change my mind because… well, see above. I couldn’t stand NOT doing this. It just weighs heavily. Though that may also be a (lack of) hormone thing.