Friday was my appointment with the doctor. I can’t describe the stress of lying with my legs spread and my feet in stirrups while a total stranger examined my crotch. It was a little comfort that the doctor was a female. She examined my genitalia, fondled them and photographed them. She assured us that the surgery would be minor, but would require an overnight hospital stay. She said she preferred that I talk to a counselor, but my mom and I convinced her that it was unnecessary. I was surprised and happy when the surgery was scheduled for only a week from that day.
The surgery was uneventful. I remember them putting a mask over my mouth and nose. A few seconds later a nurse was asking what my name was. I thought, “You have me on an operating table and you don’t even know my name?” I told her my name and asked if they were going to do the surgery.
The nurse said matter-of-factly, “Oh, it’s done.”
I opened my eyes wider and looked around. I was in the recovery room. What I gauged as a “few seconds” had actually been more than an hour. Much of my lower body was numb. I was desperately thirsty, so my mom brought a coke with a flexible straw. It was the best drink I had ever
tasted.
There’s not much more to say about the surgery. I went home the next morning with a catheter still in. Lisa took it out after a couple of days with my mom’s supervision. I was now a girl without excess body parts. It really felt strange when I felt down there. It felt like a huge gap. It was good to put on my clothes without having to tuck in excess parts. For a while, I made it a point to wear tight pants or shorts to emphasize that I was finally all girl.