It was two years ago yesterday, September 1st, and I had a party. At least in my own mind, that was about all I could conjure up. A mental Happy Anniversary to me. Labor Day no less, everyone was grilling and having a party. I’ll pretend it was in my honour.
There wasn’t any fanfare or candles or cake with the cherry on top. I did ask Mrs. K to buy me a cupcake at the local bakery and as is her habit to save by buying in bulk she bought a half dozen. I only wanted one, still sticking to a diet that isn’t working.
The anniversary? It was exactly two years ago that I went through the first step of SRS, short for Sexual Reassignment Surgery. Now called Gender Affirming Surgery. I think I’ll be old school, preferring SRS to GAS. Sorry, I can’t tell anyone I had Gas. Or maybe I should!
You can read about the day and exactly what happened at the hospital in my earlier blog post THE SURGERY to get all the gory details. For a male to female (MTF) transition, Stage 1 of SRS simply involves the removal of both testes, or in medical terms a bilateral orchiectomy.
In olden days it would have been called castration. Since that word denotes a real negative vibe we’ll stick with saying that I am a post-op transsexual. No, I’m not a eunuch, that’s completely different. We don’t need a parade or a new flag for eunuchs do we?
Chemical castration was used in extreme cases for criminals, like pedophiles or sexual predators. I’m not certain that still takes place, probably in some red-neck states in the US. In the case of livestock it’s to fatten up those males not deemed to be of breeding quality.
So you see where I’m coming from as to the negative connotation. But there’s a world of difference when it comes to SRS and the decision to do so. Remember the Transition or Die motto, and in my case going through with the surgery had to happen or else I would continue to struggle in my search for contentment. Being transgendered is normal, natural, and cannot be denied, no matter how hard you try.
For the more feint of heart or narrow minded it’s just as easy to say I’m Queer. I’m certainly not afraid to tell people I’m a post-op trans person. I’m actually doing that more and more. Why? Because the cover of this book, meaning myself, doesn’t do a good job of portraying the fact that I’m Queer. My body has betrayed me by being too friggin’ manly caused by the ravages of testosterone over the years. I can’t change that fact.
I should hate my outward appearance and suffer from body dysmorphia, a mental disorder concerning body image. I simply accept the fact that my outward image is as it was meant to be, then why add that to the list of things. Meaning the lists of all the other complications in my life. Face facts, this is who I am. Period.
I’m proud of myself in making that extremely difficult decision to have the surgery. I have absolutely no regrets and would do it all over again if by some miracle they grew back. That’s a joke my friends. I take pride of the fact that I’m a post-op transexual, my commitment to my own self. I don’t shout it from the rooftops…but should.
So 2 years later and it has made little is different in my life. The depression and pain I constantly deal with is still there. The loneliness of not having friends or family nearby is still there. The unease of being Queer? Lifted, but not entirely. I am still transitioning.
That one step though, SRS, has eased my mind tremendously. I started my transition from male to female years ago and just never realized it. The decision to go on hormone replacement was the starting point, and with the surgery came the end of being controlled by what I deemed to be a toxic influence on my life, testosterone.
The only regret? I couldn’t do it sooner. At least that’s what I thought. I wasted my life trying to keep other people happy. Let’s leave it at I should have done it sooner, other people be damned. But that too is looking backward, and I can’t change what happened.
So yesterday was a quiet celebration on the anniversary of taking the leap. My anniversary present? I loved myself just a little bit more.