Life and Death - a review

Browsing through facebook, I came across a link to an article about why suicide isn't just a men's issue. After I had finished reading, my mind thought back to one girl who claimed that the risk of transsexual suicide post-op was no greater than that of the general population. One of the skills being drummed into me in my current studies is that of critical thinking, which I like because I am inquisitive by nature and do prefer claims to be backed up by evidence if I'm to believe them. So, I decided to check her claim and do some research of my own.

I dived into my university library's database and began to do a search. Sadly, the first thing I noticed was the lack of research on the topic and the only journal article I could find was from a study performed in Sweden. Dhene, Lichtenstein, Boman, Johansson,  Långström, et al. found that post-op transsexuals were 19.1 times more likely to die from suicide. Although there are limitations to the statistics in this study, that is a sobering outcome that clearly refutes the previously mentioned claim. 

Reading through the article, the authors suggest consideration of improved care for transsexuals after their sex reassignment operation. This was something that my psychologist was surprised about when I told her that after care here was non-existent. Where I am, there is one channel to go through if you wish to have surgery here. Many girls decide to have their surgeries overseas in which case the same channel can be used in order to obtain that psychiatric approval letter or there are other avenues that can be followed. Unless I am mistaken (and please tell me if I am), none of them provide any form of follow up after surgery.

Having already written about how emotionally difficult SRS can be, it does seem strange that so much time is spent ensuring the patients well being prior to surgery but that none is allocated to ensuring their mental health after. I wonder if that also contributes to the stigma associated with the psychiatric process. If the process is supposed to be for the good of the patient, then it shouldn't wipe it's hands clean once the patient has been approved for surgery. Such actions tend to be interpreted as being indicative of a system that is only looking after itself. For the benefit of the ts community and for the safety of all those who transition in the future, something needs to change.

References

Dhejne C, Lichtenstein P, Boman M, Johansson ALV, Långström N, et al. 2011 Long-Term Follow-Up of Transsexual Persons Undergoing Sex Reassignment Surgery: Cohort Study in Sweden. PLoS ONE 6(2): e16885. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0016885

Three months on (and words of warning)

It's actually been more like three and a half months now, but pedantry aside, it's been a long three months since my operation. A lot of undesired events came together making it a very difficult time that almost killed me but I have survived to tell (part of) the tale. I have thought a lot about what has happened and have a word of caution to anyone planning to undergo SRS.


SRS is a very emotional experience.


Everybody is different of course and some people seem to just zip through it as if it were no different to having a tetanus shot at the doctors. However, not every finds it that way and I do personally know others that have found post-op recovery to be difficult also. That's not to say it was regretted or that I would have done otherwise, but the difficulty of the journey should not be under estimated. I'm also not just talking about the pain, but I am talking about the emotional experience as a whole. Pain is emotionally draining of course, but there are other factors involved also.


These factors I will get to shortly, but the main point is that SRS is a very emotional experience and you need to be prepared and be sure that you will be able to cope with that. If there are other pressures in your life that are taxing you emotionally, it may well be a good idea to postpone surgery until your emotional reserves are higher. For example, many ts's struggle with relationship breakdowns and/or divorce, trouble with work and trouble with family. I was definitely struggling with all these and throw in the fact that the pain medication had potentially negative interactions with the medication keeping my depression under control and it probably isn't a huge surprise that my mood in the last couple of months in particular have literally been at their lowest in my entire life. 


Pain in recovery was definitely an emotional draining experience for me. Keeping in mind that I have been in and out of hospital my entire life and that pain is not new to me, but the constant pain is still draining. Doctors and their procedures vary as do patients and some girls seem to not have any pain but I would suggest an approach with an expectation of a lot of pain. If it turns out you are pain free, consider yourself lucky. Some girls find that their breast implants hurt more than their SRS operation but I was not one of them. I also developed a pain and possible haemorrhage from a nerve stump that still hurts if I apply pressure on it. There's a little lump as though one of my testicles has been shoved up in an extreme tuck and that's also exactly what it feels like.


Something I really didn't expect was how emotionally draining dilating would be. There is nothing sexually appealing about dilating. Just to make it clear to anyone who thinks it's an erotic adventure to have an excuse to be using these acrylic dildo looking tools, dilating is not sexually appealing! One of the biggest reasons why it is draining is because it's something that needs to be done whether you want to or not. When you first start dilating and for quite a while after, your genitals will still be healing and they will be bruised and sore and you still have to stick this dilator in there. It hurts, it's uncomfortable and it may even make you bleed. Even when every emotion in you says "No!" you still need to do it. It's no wonder that I liken it to having to rape yourself and I say that without a word of jest... 


Some girls have a moment of blissful revelation when, for example, they see themselves in the mirror for the first time. From what I understand, this is a very uplifting emotion that can help to counter the other negative experiences. Unfortunately, it is not something that I have experienced personally. Perhaps it is my literal nature where I just take things as they are but I was looking forward to that moment and it was a disappointment to not have felt it. That disappointment was perhaps an emotional drain as well and I would caution anyone against looking forward to that euphoric feeling. One of the names for our condition is Gender Dysphoria, with dysphoria meaning sadness. That is to say, you transition because you are sad with your current gender and it is important to not fall into the logical trap of thinking that because you are sad with your current gender that you will be elated with your new one. If you approach the change with an expectation of gender euphoria, you may be setting yourself up for disappointment.


Having said that, am I happy in my new gender? Definitely! There are definite downsides to it too, but transitioning isn't necessarily about traipsing around ensuring that everyone notices you're a girl. For me, at the moment, it's about getting on with life and not even thinking about my gender any more. 


Many people ask if I have any regrets. Truthfully, right now, I can't say that I don't. I regret that my relationship and marriage ended and it's still something that saddens me daily and makes me want to cry regularly. I regret that I have lost a lot of friends and that the dynamics with any remaining old friends has changed totally to the point where I haven't seen them for a long time. I regret that I will never be able to experience being the father of a traditional family. These are all things that need to be considered but, right now, I am happy to be me.

New Pain

A few days ago, I developed a new pain and swelling on the right hand side of my groin. (I hope this isn't a result of that cough!) Interestingly, the swelling on the left side has subsided significantly so maybe all the swelling there got lonely and decided to join the right hand side. It felt as if my right testicle was still there and being shoved up and squeezed tightly. Yes, it was excruciating at times and definitely deprived me of sleep. 

I took a photo of it and emailed my surgeon in Thailand while trying to remind myself that he was a doctor and these weren't dirty pictures. He replied the same day assuring me that the swelling was normal and it was definitely comforting to know that there wasn't some abnormal complication occurring. The bad news was that the pain seems to be caused by the stump of a nerve and may take months or even a year to heal. Hrmm... not so good. Suddenly, the pain I had experienced from tucking jobs gone wrong don't seem so bad any more. At least I could untuck at the end of the night and roll around in agony for only an hour instead of a year.

I miss my doctor, the friendly nurses and the visits while convalescing in the hotel. Apparently they miss me too. Let's hope this stump withers soon. 

Don't cough

Coughing hurts downstairs right now. It's funny how you discover new muscles when they cause pain. Coughing is also not a good idea when dilating although it is a quick, if painful, way of expelling the dilator. I always wondered how that infamous ping pong ball trick was first discovered and I think I might have stumbled on the answer. Hiccups also make it difficult to dilate.


I'm not looking forward to my first sneeze. 

Back Home and Initial Thoughts

Thailand is now just a wistful memory and I am now back home, or should I say, at home in a friend's home (thanks!). Spending time overseas is, with the right mindset, a pleasant break from reality. New sights, new people, new cultures and new experiences keep me occupied and even the difficulties in communicating can be an interesting challenge rather than an arduous problem. Assuming I saved and brought enough money, then money is, for a short sweet time, not a precious resource that needs to be closely monitored and agonised over where it would be best spent. Maybe it's the wonderful staff and service, but paying the hotel bill doesn't feel the same as paying the mortgage or paying rent. For that short time there is no need to worry about the daily grind, looking for or managing a job or career. But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end and the thump back to reality is somewhat jarring. 


Sitting here, after enduring yet another dilation session, I wonder if it's time to take stock of where I'm at and post my initial thoughts concerning my recent surgery. Perhaps the best time to think is not after these two aforementioned distressing events, but I've learnt that there is no time like the present and if I were to postpone writing my thoughts, I would never write them. If that sounds ominous, it's only because it is. Bluntly, I'm hoping things get better than the way they are now. 


That's not to say that I regret having my surgery and am depressed about it, it's just that it's really been a rather large anti climax. Maybe I had unrealistic expectations or maybe I was just desperate to share in some of the overwhelming joy that I felt from reading and hearing other girl's stories. Feelings of rebirth, tears of joy seeing themselves for the first time in the mirror, a whole life changing experience. I'm used to walling up my emotions as a defence mechanism for survival and I wonder if I've totally lost touch with some of them because I felt none of that. To be honest, I don't feel like it is a defining moment that marks my move into womanhood; that moment is still the day I decided to that I would be me and walked down the street presenting as female for the first time in my life. My operation really just felt ho hum and in some ways, even more ominously, as though I've traded one set of problems for another.


Walking through the crowd in my dress, the wind billowing half of it like a sail with the other half pulling tightly against my skin, a round bump showed my not yet flat tummy. That was the only bump I had to worry about now and that felt good. In fact, having all my clothes now fit downstairs as they were designed is an uplifting experience. I'm still iffy about the fit upstairs but I'm trying to wait until everything has healed before becoming too worried about that. Unfortunately, the coldness of winter prevents any real display of beachwear but perhaps that's a blessing in disguise since I will be fully healed come bikini season and I'm looking forward to it. How I will feel after being able to use the women's change rooms and showers at the pool or gym is still a mystery as I'm in no shape to partake in any exercise right now and that includes sex-ercise... 


Healing has taken a lot longer than I expected and the level of pain downstairs much higher. I was always an odd one out, but I didn't expect that to apply after surgery too. Unlike everyone else I know, the pain and discomfort upstairs was present but not a huge drama while the pain downstairs is definitely greater and is the only reason for my consumption of pain killers. My continuing ambivalence towards dilation isn't helping. I had read about and tried to prepare myself for the fact that dilation would be uncomfortable but I guess I didn't truly understand it until I experienced it. Whilst I was prepared for the physical discomfort, I was not prepared for how emotionally draining it would be. Tonight, it was all too much and, once again, it made me cry. Forcing this object inside me, clenching my teeth in discomfort whilst simultaneously trying to relax to reduce the pain, I almost felt like I was raping myself. It was a disturbing thought and hopefully rape is something I will never have to experience. 


I think it will be a long time before I let anyone near my downstairs renovations. My body is wincing just thinking about it. Apart from the previously mentioned pains, it still feels mixed up. It sounds so obvious, but it feels exactly as though my penis has been chopped up with different parts sewn in different places. I'm not sure why I would have expected differently, but for some reason I thought that everything would have felt more natural instead of mixed up. Sensitivity is definitely present, but again, it's the sensitivity of the pain and discomfort of something that has been rearranged rather than any sexual pleasure.


This is why I'm definitely hoping that things will get better. I'm sure that there will be well meaning souls who would like to reassure me that things will but, strangely, I'd like to ask that you not tell me that. If my hopes are built up again for another anti-climax, I'm really not sure how I would cope.

Thailand Day T+16

(Graphic detail, extreme reader discretion recommended)


As I closed the door, my nurse piped up in her chirpy voice.
"Today we'll move to number two". 
I'm sure all the blood drained from my face as I froze for a moment in total shock. Moving to the bed, with a most worrying expression on my face, I squeaked, half pleadingly,
"Are you sure???"
"Yes!", she replied without pause. Ok, so much for the pleading. After a while, she may have sensed my misunderstanding when she added, "Start first with number one for thirty minutes and then number two for ten minutes". 
That made it seem a little more palatable, but not much. I prepared all the things I would need for today's session, it was becoming a bit of a ritual now. Taking the two dilators I would need out of the gorgeous little case I had been given to hold them in, I held the number two dilator with some dubiousness as to whether it would fit. I was still having trouble with the first dilator and felt like the total opposite of little kid that was having trouble eating his double scoop ice cream but was jealously eyeing a 20-scoop Vermonster ice cream sundae. 


For the record, I've never been to Vermont and I've never had a Vermonster, but judging from the description it sounds like something I would have, at one time, ordered and eaten in a hearbeat. Only half a dozen years ago, after I was well past my eating prime, I was in Japan with my now ex and her sisters and brother in law. We stopped in somewhere for a drink since we were getting thirsty and, eyeing a sundae on the menu, I knew I just had to eat it. My ex's youngest sister egged me on to order it, but I don't think she thought I actually would, much less finish the whole thing. Nobody believed that I actually finished the whole thing. I'm not sure even the staff believed I ate the whole thing by myself. It came in layers of hot chocolate fudge sauce and scoops of ice cream. I know that doesn't sound impressive.. yet. This thing was so big, it came with a chocolate brownie, half a banana, a chocolate wafer straw, a large triangle wafer and the obligatory whipped cream with glacéed cherries. The piece-de-resistance, however, was that this ice cream sundae had, buried like an iceberg, it's own rather large ice-cream sandwich (an ice cream within an ice cream! I love it!) and the size of the sundae made the toppings combined look small. It was totally heavenly, down to the last finger swiping chocolatey smear of goodness. But I digress...


Returning back to the dilation, the thought of what was ahead of me must have made me tense since I had more trouble than usual with the first dilator. I managed to get through the session despite my nurses insistence that I should keep pushing harder. Then it was was time for the dreaded step up. My nurse was going to do it for me and I hoped she would be as gentle as possible. 


"Pain?", she asked as she pushed and I felt the soreness of a bruised muscle being tortured even further.
"Yes", I replied squeamishly, trying not to shout it out to prove a point.
"For me, every easy", she said smiling. My eyes opened with incredulity and I chuckled a little with shock.
"Yes! For you, it's easy!", I replied. 
"Yes, this easy. Other girl are tighter, more difficult."


Oh my God... I can only feel sorry for those other girls. I sincerely did not want to cry every time I had to move up in dilator size. 


At the end of the session, after my nurse had left, I collapsed in bed to recover as usual feeling extremely sore and daunted that I would have to do this on my own in the afternoon. My subconscious mind must have totally rejected the idea too since I fell asleep at the time when I was supposed to do my afternoon dilation. I woke up in a panic and had to do it a couple of hours late. Seeing that my schedule had been pushed back, I decided that I would push back my night session an hour to compensate and give myself a bit of time to recover also. Oh darn, wouldn't you know it, I'm too busy blogging instead...

Thailand Day T+15

(Yep, Adult topics so reader discretion advised again!)

After my nurses left, I slid back down into bed to try and relax before I had my shower. Dilation is still an ordeal, necessary and something I can at least cope with but tormenting nonetheless. It didn't help that I still have this strange, uncomfortable sensation and pain running through my clitoris and pain running down my labia; presumably where the stitching is although I'm not yet at the stage where I've gone exploring and precisely located the source.

Trying to describe the feeling to my nurse a few days earlier, I had gotten as far as making a squeezing motion with my right thumb and forefinger (like Darth Vader's choking move - ah! that's what it is! When I find the Sith lord that is doing this to me, I am going to go so Jedi on their ass) and saying "squeezing pain" before she interjected. 

"Yes, squeezing feeling? And shooting pain?", she asked. That pretty much sounded like it. 

"That normal", she said reassuringly. "Lot of nerve there so that normal. If don't feel pain and don't feel anything, then something wrong." Unfortunately, that made sense and it looked like I had a bit of suffering to go endure.

Today as I was trying to relax with the usual pains and discomforts added to by the aftermath of dilation, I noticed the pain was a little different. Those sporadic shooting pains that always caused me to pause and tense up for a split second were, I assume, from nerves reconnecting and healing. Apart from those pains becoming more frequent and the general discomfort and pains being more intense today, they seemed to feel slightly different.

"There's a fine line between pleasure and pain", sang Chrissie Amphlett at one time and it seemed as though the pains were starting to head towards the line. I'm not saying that any part of this time in bed, hopelessly trying to relax, was anywhere near pleasurable. It was just this odd feeling that maybe the nerves were starting to reconnect up the right way. Any moaning that occurred was definitely in pure agony and wondering when the pain would end. At the same time, there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel... or maybe I was just suffering from scintillating scotoma...

Thailand Day T+14

Mum came to visit me in my room today which I guess is kinda nice. One of Dad's old classmates is in the hotel industry and so we generally get really good rooms from him whenever we travel. This time, he knew one of the big wigs in the hotel chain in Thailand that was coincidently the same hotel that I was at so Mum ended up with a really good rate on a pretty swish room. She came down today and had a third go at trying to convince me to move up to her room with her. 

Hrmm.. three dilation sessions lasting half an each and four breast massage sessions at twenty minutes each? Sorry, but I think I prefer my privacy and I'm kinda comfy in this little room of mine. Even if she does go for a walk each time, I still much rather prefer my privacy but I got the feeling she wasn't happy with my stance.

Perusing and shuffling through my things as she is prone to do, that's when she picked up my dilator (and not gently by the end either).

"What's this?", she asked inquisitively, turning it over and around in her fingers and inspecting it from every angle. Yes, I do wash it clean after every session... 

"Uhm, it's a dilator", I replied shyly since I knew where this was going.

"What do you do with it?", she asked rather forwardly. 

I was in bed under the covers since I was tired and in pain and discomfort. At this point however, I was trying not to giggle although I may have smirked.

"Uhm... you kinda have to stick it inside you", I replied. In slow motion, I could see the cogs ticking in her brain as at least part of the information started sinking in.

"Urrgghh! Oh God!", she exclaimed putting down the dilator as quickly as she could without dropping it like a dead rat. 

Maybe I am evil, but it was really, really hard not to laugh.

The dream of the moving implant

I drifted off into another mini sleep and began dreaming that I was compressing and massaging my breast implants like I was supposed to. As per the technique I was taught, I used both hands to apply pressure on the breast directly towards the chest. I decided to shift the direction of the pressure slightly and suddenly the implant painfully slipped out of its position and gave me a breast somewhere closer to my abdomen. Panicking, I tried to apply pressure to shift it back up and like a bag of oily jelly, it began to achingly move out of control all over my body to unexpected directions. I chased it down to my butt, up my abdomen, through the centre of my chest and even, at one point, under my rib cage. How I got it out of there, I do not remember. Finally, I managed to coax it back vaguely to it's proper position and decided to lie and wait for the nurses in absolute grief and agony.


Fortunately I woke up at that point, my heart pounding again in absolute fear. My breasts were still aching from the implants and a quick check confirmed they were in their correct location, I think. Glancing at my phone, I noticed that this extensive ordeal had occurred whilst I had been asleep for less than five minutes. 


I hate these dreams.

Thailand Day T+13

(Contains some adult themes, so reader discretion is advised)


I awoke with my clitoris throbbing with pain between my legs. It was only past midnight and a couple of hours since I had last take some pain killers but I had take some more even though the instructions said I should be waiting another couple of hours. Lying back, I tried to apply pressure in certain areas hoping to ease the pain just a little. It felt like someone had tied a string around the head of my penis and was pulling the knot tight. If that sounds painful and most uncomfortable, then your're getting an idea of how I was feeling.


Morning arrived all too slowly. Another couple of rounds of pain killers had been swallowed as well as my other medication even though I was supposed to take them after meals. I wouldn't be going anywhere for a meal today and I didn't even want to eat anything for breakfast. My nurse arrived at about 10am to help me dilate again. In some ways I had been glad that they didn't work on Sundays as I was joyed at the one day reprieve I had from that torturous exercise. Part of me, however was worried at whether the lack of dilation would have a detrimental effect.


My dilation session did not go well. It felt as if the dilator was way too big and it was uncomfortable, still painful and strangely violating. I bit my lip trying to relax as my nurse asked me to relax but as she helped force the dilator in, I couldn't help it any more and I cried. Shuddering sobs ran through my body as the tears streamed down my face. I tried to stop my body from quivering as it just made the dilation worse, but I kept crying through the whole thirty minute session.


My nurse was also massaging my breast implants and, although the pain from the bruising and swelling was tolerable, occasionally, at certain positions, a sharp pain would sear through my nipples and I would have to cry out and ask her to stop. I felt sorry for her because she seemed so sorry that she was causing me so much pain today, but I know it had to be done. 


I thanked her softly when she left and lied under my blanket and sobbed some more. Anguish, fear, bewilderment, inadequacy and thoughts of futility running through my head. I stayed in bed the whole day, watching the scenery of the ceiling go by. I have another dilation session by myself in an hour and I am scared. Hopefully, sex feels nothing like this, otherwise I'm going to be celibate for the rest of my life. 

My Dream

Three days after surgery,I lie on my back, deep rhythmic throbbing of bruising in my chest and slight pains of discomfort from my groin. Tubes runfrom various points in my body carrying deep red blood to drainage bottles while a catheter extends from a pile of bandages around my groin to a bag at the side of my bed. Lifting myself to sit up the slightest amount is an effort and the pain of rolling to one side is not worth any minor perceived increase in comfort. So I try to pass the time, shifting my weight in the little ways possible to gain a slight grasp of some sleep. Any sleep is fleeting, lasting thirty minutes to an hour at the most, even during the long nights when I wait for the next day to arrive. Such short grasps are too short for dreams and reserved for mere sensations. My muscles twitch in defense to some unknown fear or I wake myself as I jump to the sensation of falling into a deep abyss.

Today was different.

I was standing outside a shanty looking house in a rough part of town. But the outside camouflaged the luxurious interior of my home with brightly painted white walls and polished steel framed leather designer furniture. It had such a modern feel which perfectly suited my wife who was standing behind a shelf housing a sculpture that I had given to her. We held each other and we kissed and for a brief moment we were still married and I was happy. Just like my sleep, the moment was fleeting.

She left the room and went outside and though I tried to follow, she was gone. Standing in my way was a group of ruffians intending to do me harm. I tried to defend myself and I awoke to my legs kicking wildly at the air and blanket in my bed.

So, now I lay on my back, trying to hold the tears from streaming down my face. I don't know what she is doing or if she is happy or well. I don't know if she knows where I am. All I know is that I still have a love for her and though I tried to follow her, I couldn't.

Thailand Day T+7

My eyelids were heavy and I tried to open them slowly. Two nurses were looking over me, one holding my hand.
"Good morning, wake up", she chirped brightly. I tried to respond but my throat could only whisper softly. A small wave of panic washed over me as I wondered if the trachea shave had damaged my vocal chords. Another wave of panic washed over me as I realised I couldn't feel anything below my waist. 
"My legs", I tried to whisper to the nurse. "I can't feel my legs."
"That's normal", she reassured me. "It's the medication."
I closed my eyes, hoping she was right but still feeling scared.


As the nurses flitted around the room, one of them eventually brought in a few things and gently told me that she would be sleeping here with me tonight to make sure I was ok. She would be sleeping on the floor no less. I felt guilty but reassured by her presence and I don't know if she heard as I tried to whisper a thank you. In hindsight, I guess it may have been technically morning but it was still night time.


I drifted off to a short and shallow sleep. Waking up, I tried to call for the nurses attention but my voice made no sound. I tapped on the side of the bed hoping she would hear me and I saw her comforting silhouette in the darkness. I don't even remember what I asked her for, but whatever it was I needed I remember she brought it quickly and that I was very thankful. 


Another short and shallow sleep followed before I woke up in a sweat. Eventually, I tapped again on the side of the bed, relieved when I saw her silhouette pop up again.
"Hot", I said. I hoped I didn't sound like I was whinging. She got up and turned off a fan that, until then, I didn't realise had been running. Stepping out of the room, she turned on the air conditioner to blow refreshingly cool air through the horizontal railings at the top of the wall. To my surprise, she didn't go back to bed but began cleaning things up. Before too long, a couple of other nurses joined her upstairs and I felt guilty again for depriving her from her last hour of sleep. 


I dozed in and out for minutes at a time during the morning until at some point the nurses came in and told me I would be moving to my room downstairs. Once again, I thought that I might have been wheeled there in my bed but was a little surprised when I was told to sit up and realised that I would have to walk. Forcing myself up, I realised I was in for a challenge. An instant bout of dizziness and weakness struck me and it was a miracle that I didn't just collapse back onto the bed. Instead, I somehow managed to maintain my sitting position for a few minutes, waiting for the symptoms to ease, but they didn't. Placing my feet in a pair of slippers, the nurses helped me to stand and I felt like I was going to fall over at any second. I was thankful for the three nurses supporting me but was scared that I would crush them if I did fall. They were petite Thai girls and I probably weighed two of them put together. One of them held my drip bag over her head and as she went down the stairs first, they all started giggling. Even I showed a small smile at how silly this whole situation must have looked. 


We made it downstairs safely and I collapsed, gratefully, into my new bed as the nurses went and fetched my belongings. I closed my eyes but sleep was always fleeting from that point. Where I thought I might have dozed for several hours, I would open my eyes only to see that all of ten minutes had passed. Once awake, the itchiness took over. For some reason, every part of my body was intensely itchy and I scratched what I could reach without hurting myself due to the constrictions of bandages and stitches. 


Time passed ever so slowly.

Thailand Day T+6 - The Day

(Yes, I fiddled with the dates so that this blog would appear on the day it happened rather than the day I wrote it...)


Packing my bags, I made sure that I hadn't forgotten anything. That sort of paranoia had always been a weakness of mine. I surveyed the room that had been my home for the past nine days and even though I knew I would be returning to this hotel and to a similar room, it was with a tinge of sadness that I closed the door for the final time. Sometimes I get attached to things far too easily.

Armed with a little bag of clippy Koalas I had bought back home (but were of course made in china), I handed one to the nurse who had picked me up from the hotel. She thought it was very cute and clipped it on the rear vision mirror in her car. My doctor and his assistant were waiting with smiles in he reception area of his surgery. Just like last time, it seemed so reassuring.


"I spoke to your Mum this morning", said the assistant, "and she's coming on Wednesday."
"Really?", is all I could muster as a reply. My heart sank a mile and although I tried to maintain a happy demeanour, I know my face is a dead give away to my feelings. I'm definitely not a poker player. 


I sat on the couch, totally unprepared for the news and fearing what might transpire. At least it was after the operation and that would have to be a positive. Ms Som, the assistant, could read my mind and was very apologetic. 
"I'm sorry", she said, "I thought you had organised it."
"It's ok", I lied. I tried to reassure her than everything was all right, but I was never a salesman and I can't sell things I don't believe in. It was one of the reasons I had left my job as scientific researcher even though I was apparently at a level of being nationally recognised as a leader in my field. My only problem was that I never claimed to have a field. Trying to chase funding by convincing others that my hammer was the best tool for their job was not something I could do and I much preferred choosing the best tool for any job, even if it was a tool I hadn't yet used. Surely the other team leaders weren't that deluded and were instead masters of deception. Harsh? Maybe, but that was the way I saw it and it's probably a topic best left for another time.


I handed out koalas to all the nurses, clipping some of them on their uniforms, which bought giggles and smiles of appreciation. My shoes left downstairs, I proceeded to my room upstairs where I donned a backwards gown and was left to lie in my bed, pondering what was going to happen.


"Goodbye little guy", I said softly. I don't know if that sounds weird, but I'm not good at breakups. What do you say to a friend, which you don't hate, but isn't a positive force for your life? Normally, I wouldn't say anything and allow the toxicity of the relationship to poison me until they left anyway, leaving me to deal with the aftermath. My psychologist had tried to tell me that I shouldn't value other peoples feelings and expectations above my own but, for some reason, I always felt expendable, unimportant, worthless. Perhaps that explained why I never feared hospitals and operations, including the one I was about to have. Dying on the operating table didn't seem like a problem for me. Assuming I was not sent to an eternal torture that was worse than what I had lived, it would actually be a liberation. Death never used scared me, possible pain before death did, but dying itself didn't because I had faith in where I was going. My faith has been questioned in times past, not only by myself, so room for fear now existed but I now existed with hope rather than faith. 


Nurses came in, telling me it was time for surgery. I was hoping they would wheel my bed in, but this being a private surgery, I had to walk. My first sight was the surgery table which looked like any other surgery table except for two black arm rests extended perpendicularly to the table. I imagine the positioning was required for the breast implants which would be going in through the armpits, but it did make the table look a little like a crucifix.
"It's... uhmm.. interesting", was all I could think.


Flicking my left hand, the anaesthetist had trouble finding a vein in which to put the cannula. Given that I hadn't been allowed to drink anything since 7am that morning and it was now close to 3pm, I was probably severely dehydrated and it was no wonder finding a vein was difficult. Scarring on both my forearms and right wrist didn't make his job any easier but eventually he put one in. 
"Not good", he said after a while removing it and attempted to find another location which he did. At least all the staff seemed to be in good spirits and they, I assume, made jokes and laughed. Not being to understand Thai, I could only look at them bewildered and hope that any jokes were good ones. One of the nurses looked reassuringly at me, stroking my right arm until it was time to administer the anaesthetic. 


I felt myself drifting off to sleep hoping that everything would be ok on the other side.