Back home; the next big thing in my life would be the surgery which would complete my transitioning process. Not having had even an appendix operation, I viewed my first experience of an operating theatre with some trepidation. John had even tried to talk me out of it, insisting that he was quite content with the 'status quo',and 'didn't want me to put myself through so much.' I knew that I would never feel content, leaving things as they were. For a start, I wanted to be a woman in every way I could be for John. I would love to say that was the only reason, but that would be to make out I was totally unselfish, something sadly, I am not. Every day after I had my morning shower, I was faced with seeing a body in the mirror which did not match the person I knew myself to be, and I could not face going through my whole life feeling this way. If changing the person I saw involved some discomfort, so be it.

At my most recent consultation with Dr Brentwell he had expressed complete satisfaction and confidence that I was ready to take the final step of surgery and had offered to refer me to a couple of specialist surgeons if I wished to make my own choice. By now I had heard of many people going to other countries such as Thailand where the surgery could be done at a much lower price, but John preferred that I stay in Australia, provided that an experienced surgeon could be found. I was more than happy to do this, so that I would not be on my own among strangers, no matter how friendly they might be. Since I was staying in Australia, I was a little concerned about the possibility that news about my surgery might somehow become public knowledge. Sadly, there are tabloid newspapers who don't care how much personal damage they do to people so long as they can print a sensational headline. I therefore decided that I would like the surgery to take place in Sydney, in a private hospital, where there was even less likelihood of it becoming public knowledge. Dr Brentwell was totally sympathetic and came up with a couple of Sydney surgeons that he was happy to recommend.

“Dr Brentwell, I have trusted your judgement all through my treatment, and you are far better placed than I to decide which surgeon might be the most appropriate one. I would appreciate your guidance, then make an appointment to see him, and unless I feel some compelling reason not to go along with your recommendation, I will make the necessary arrangements for the surgery.”

Four weeks later I travelled to Sydney to see Mr Harry Langman, the surgeon Dr Brentwell recommended. Jenny came with me as usual. He examined me thoroughly and went through the procedures in detail, again pointing out like all the other doctors I had seen, the irreversible nature of the surgery, and how, while they could give me a vagina, should I ever have a change of heart, returning a functioning penis was beyond their capabilities. I reassured him that I had no intention of returning to a male body, especially since I had a loving and supportive partner who like me, only wanted me to achieve my desired outcome of having a body that matched my brain gender. I felt totally comfortable with Mr Langman and had every confidence in him, so it seemed logical to request that he perform my surgery.

Mr Langman explained that in order to minimise the time I would spend under anaesthetic, he would perform the gender reassignment surgery, while his assistant, who already had many years' experience, would perform the breast enhancement surgery. We made a final decision on the silicone breast implants and how these would be inserted via an incision in each armpit, rather than an incision under the breast area which leaves noticeable scars. He was happy to show me pictures of previous surgery he had performed (fortunately I am not squeamish), plus several letters from satisfied patients.

"It would not be ethical for me to put you in touch with former patients to hear their opinion of the surgery, so this is the best I can do." he said.

A date was finally set for my surgery in a couple of months' time. I was concerned about asking Jenny to accompany me for this, much though I wanted her to be there. It would mean being away from Tom for about a fortnight, and I felt it was too much to ask. Fortunately, both she and Tom said that she had been with me thus far and wouldn't be bailing out at this late stage. I was so relieved that a few tears flowed as I hugged her.

“I'll pay you back one of these days”, I promised her, and indeed the opportunity to do that did come, but only many years later.

The time waiting for the surgery seemed to drag, although I confessed to Jenny when we boarded the train for Brisbane that I was more nervous than I had been in years. In Brisbane we changed trains and took another one to Sydney. I did start to wonder how I would feel on the way home, having such a long journey after surgery.

The surgery was to be performed in a private hospital, and I was using my original surname of Cobb, even though I had been referring to myself as Lesley Brodie for some time. I did not want anyone to make a link between me and John if possible. That was another reason for the private and smaller hospital where I felt I could rely on a higher standard of discretion. This particular hospital apparently performed procedures (mainly plastic surgery) on 'celebrities' who were anxious that they halt the passage of time, and of course the utmost discretion was necessary for them too. I don't wish to denigrate the big public hospitals, many of whom treat private patients, but with their huge numbers of staff and visitors, the chances of being recognised are obviously higher and I wanted to avoid this at all costs.

Jenny and I were shown to my private room, which looked very like a five-star hotel room. Sadly, I felt that I would be in no state to appreciate its features for some days after surgery. I was given a light tea and told that there would be no more food until after the operation. When Jenny left to go to the nearby hotel, I felt like asking her to take me away with her! Then I steeled myself for what lay ahead, and even managed a reasonable night's sleep.

I was awoken early the next morning. It was not yet light outside. For some unknown reason, surgeons start their work at what seems a ridiculously early hour, and I was first on the list. I changed into a hospital gown, covered up with a blanket to keep me warm, and lay on my bed to await developments. My first visit was from the anaesthetist who checked my blood pressure and wrist band and confirmed the operations I was to have — something that happened several more times before I went into the theatre. Sensing my nervousness as it was my first ever operation, he gave me an injection which had the effect of making me feel quite drowsy and also a bit 'high', as though I was drunk. At least it made me feel that I didn't have a care in the world.

Then some orderlies arrived, alien-looking in their green uniforms and caps, and they started to wheel me to the lifts. It was a strange experience, lying flat on my back, looking up at the passing ceiling lights. We turned several corners, went through some heavy plastic swing doors and were then into the theatre suite itself. Mr Langman appeared, almost unrecognisable in his green scrubs and cap. He offered me a few reassuring words, checked yet again the procedures I was going to have, and then disappeared. I was then wheeled into the theatre and helped to shuffle my way across from the bed to a very narrow operating table. Now I was staring up at the enormous operating lights suspended above me. The anaesthetist stretched out my arm and located a suitable vein on the back of my hand and put in a cannula, really the only slightly painful experience. I saw him pick up a syringe filled with fluid, attach it to the cannula, and then.....nothing.

“Miss Cobb?” A face floated into view and gradually came into focus. I tried to speak but my mouth was too dry.

“Ah, you're with us now. Miss Cobb, the operations are over and they went very well.” I managed to nod in acknowledgement and croak a “Thank you.” I realised I was back in my own bed and in the recovery room.

“We'll be taking you into Intensive Care overnight, but it's just a precaution. I'll get you some ice to suck as you can't have a drink yet.”

I was grateful for the ice slowly melting in my mouth and relieving the dryness. I think I drifted off to sleep for a while, and then some orderlies came, and I was wheeled into the Intensive Care ward. It seemed only a few minutes later, but it might have been hours, and Jenny was sitting by my bedside patiently waiting for me to wake up. I managed a smile on seeing her.

“Jenny. It's so lovely to see you." I half whispered, half croaked. "I must look a real mess with all these bandages.”

“Spoken like a true woman,” said Jenny.”I've rung John to let him know that all is well. He hopes to come down in a couple of days to see you.”

“Please Jenny, tell him I'm fine. I know he needs to be there at present, and I have you to keep me company, and believe me, I'm so grateful for that.”

“Alright, I'll tell him,” said Jenny “But I don't know if he'll take any notice.”

I think I must have drifted off to sleep after that. The next few days are ones I'd rather forget about. No surgery is a 'walk-in-the-park', and this certainly wasn't. I had a massive bandage between my legs, and a catheter in place which wasn't very comfortable. Even after all these years the word 'dilator' still sends a shiver through me, necessary though it was. My breasts were well bandaged too, but at least I could see that they were greatly enlarged from what they had been. The doctors were very good with their pain management. I can't remember now if it was my breasts or the catheter which caused me the most discomfort, and for a while I tried to stick it out rather than keep asking for pain relief. Finally, one of the nursing staff told me that putting up with excess pain would only hinder my recovery, so not to be a heroine and ask for relief when I needed it.

On day three, I finally got out of bed for a while, and went for a short walk, or should I say 'shuffle'? My intravenous drip was still attached, and suspended from a metal pole on wheels when I went walking. The next day, I managed a little further, and didn't need so much pain relief, so there was definite improvement. On the fifth day, after another visit from the surgeon, my catheter was removed on condition that I could urinate, which thankfully I was able to do. The thought of having a catheter re-inserted is a great motivator!

John phoned every evening, and I gave him an update on my progress, and told him how much I was looking forward to returning home. Jenny was marvellous, visiting me every day and telling me of her adventures around Sydney. Lovely though the staff and hospital room were, it all seemed like living in an artificial bubble, while the real world was going on outside, and I couldn't wait to rejoin it.

On the seventh day came the news I was waiting for. I was now walking quite well, and when Mr Langman called in, he said that I could leave hospital, provided that I stay in Sydney for another week, close to the hospital, and didn't exert myself too much.

An appointment had been made for me to see him at the consulting suite in a week to check on my progress. Jenny offered to play 'nurse' and make sure that I was doing everything I should to assist my recovery. I suppose modesty is the first thing you lose on entering hospital, so it did not bother me in the slightest that she would be viewing my more intimate areas, and that they wouldn't be looking their best. It didn't seem to bother her either, so my suitcase was packed and for the first time in what seemed forever, I stepped out into the sunshine and breathed some fresh air.

Jenny and I did take a few excursions, including viewing the new Opera House which was well on the way to being completed, and we had a boat cruise on the harbour. I did find that I became tired very quickly, so we never ventured too far, and when necessary, took a taxi back to the hotel. John kept in touch every day, but said nothing more about coming to Sydney, which in a way was a little disappointing, although I understood that he was very busy. I wasn't particularly looking forward to the long train trip back home, but it had to be faced. I even thought about flying to Brisbane to reduce the length of the trip and was a little surprised when Jenny did not seem particularly enthusiastic about it.

I made a final visit to Mr Langman in his rooms and he said he was well satisfied with my progress, and all I needed to do was not exert myself too much, which I promised not to do. The next morning after breakfast Jenny and I started packing all our things for the journey back. I was busy packing my suitcase in the bedroom when there was a knock on the door and Jenny went to answer it.

When she returned she said “I've got a surprise for you.”

I turned and it was John! I flew into his arms and he hugged me tightly, in fact a little too tightly because I winced with discomfort, and he release me at once looking contrite.

“It's alright,” I said, “I just forgot in the excitement of seeing you. It's such a wonderful surprise."

To be continued