Everything is going fine so far, especially if you happen to be a stockholder in a sanitary pad manufacturer. I'm going through those at a rate of six or seven a day. But I guess that is pretty much normal for this stage in the game and it's nothing to worry about. Dr. Bowers' post-op care literature says that the appearance is usually the worst around a week after you get home, so if this is the case I should see things start to improve in the next few days.
I have been pushing myself a little, though not in a way that is stressing the surgical area. There is a ten pound lift limit through the first month, so I am being careful not to overdo that. But I did brave the supermarket my first day home, which wore me out. I have caught up on laundry as well, which involved hauling everything to the basement and bringing it back up again; I just limited it to several small loads. When I say pushing it, I tend to mean staying active within my boundaries.
I really haven't found myself to be too limited as to my day to day home life. Obviously I have to plan things around thrice daily dilation, which can be a tad annoying. But beyond that, I have no trouble sitting or walking a reasonable amount. Driving is not an issue either. The neck pillow I bought to use instead of the cheap inflatable donut provided in Trinidad has reverted to its intended use for nearly a week now.
The biggest change has been the not working; which will last for a while. My medical leave was officially approved, which is good because it became official AFTER the surgery. I have a total of 12 weeks off, due to the physical demands of the job. My official return to work date is October 10.
I was ready for the break, but I think a lot of the stress I was finding on the job was related to the changing of my hormones combined with the stress of the upcoming surgery. Just about everyone who knows me well could see I was about half looney the last month and a half before surgery. What concerned some was the thought that perhaps I was getting that way because I wasn't sure I was doing the right thing.
I think those fears have been alieviated since this is all over with. My sister Jolene said she could hear the difference in my voice when I talked to her on the phone from Trinidad. I guess you could compare me to a teapot that has been taken off the stove; I'm no longer boiling over.
I have an appointment with my therapist this morning. Going into this, I was aware that a large percentage of post-ops have a bit of a letdown or a period of post surgery depression. I wanted to step up my therapy sessions in case something like that happens with me. So far there is absolutely no sign of it, but then I'm only going into my third week post-op. Rather there is the relief of this all being over with, combined with the feeling that I have a chance to live a good life now.
Perhaps in that latter thought I am somewhat insulated from the post surgery blues. I never went into this thinking that surgery was the end all and be all. I only saw this as a step that would give me the opportunity to live a good life rather than a magic ticket to happy land. Surgery only opened a door; I have to do the leg work and walk through it and make the most of it.
I have not had a single regretful thought since I woke up in the hospital after surgery (reacting to a sharp stab of pain by saying "what the hell did I do THIS for" in the hospital doesn't count) and so far I feel positive about where I am and where I am going. If things stay that way, this whole endeavor would have to be termed a success.
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Copyright 2009 - Mary Rae McPherson
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Thoughts From Trinidad
I am definitely feeling better this morning.
Yesterday's activities such as several walks around the ward, moving into the guesthouse and stopping at the pharmacy (yes, I did it myself rather than let Anne do it as she offered) really took it out of me. My legs felt like I had gone on a ten mile hike by the time afternoon was turning to evening and I woke up from a nap on the couch.
If anyone winds up here, I recommend a place called JoJo's. They have a great spaghetti with sun dried tomatoes and shrimp, and the Italian sausage spaghetti Anne had was good too. Then yesterday I ordered pizza from them and Anne, Joyce, B. and I all worked on it. Excellent. Enough shameless plugging.
A couple of other post ops have scattered to the wind this morning; only one I had met. As she was getting in the car with Robin to start her journey back to her native New York, a horn sounded from downtown. A week ago, that was us coming into town on the Southwest Chief.
I have already been here a week? It doesn’t seem possible. But yes, it’s Wednesday and a week ago I was a nervous wreck and doing my best not to show it until I would snap at someone over something totally stupid. Nice, really nice.
My moment of clarity came the morning of my surgery. I had been a nervous wreck, my feet were turning into blocks of ice, and I was just plain unpleasant to be around. I got in the bathtub to take a long, warm bubble bath before getting ready to go to the hospital. As I sat there in the soapy water, I finished shaving the area that would soon be the focus of Dr. Bowers’ attention. As I did so, for the first time I could see in my mind’s eye what was going to be there when this was all over with.
Suddenly I felt better. No, not better. I felt ready. I felt relaxed. And at the same time, I felt like a total ass for the way I had been behaving the preceding few days. Oh well, water under the bridge but something that could be made up for. Once I reached that point, I knew I was okay. Up until then, it was more a matter of faith.
It seems odd that three days from this evening I will once again be climbing aboard an Amtrak train, eastbound toward a new start in my old life. By Sunday night I will be around friends and co-workers, many of whom remember me from the days before the word transsexual and me were synonymous. When the train reaches Carbondale, it will be my father at the station waiting to pick me up. I will be staying the night in the same bed I slept in waiting for this trip to start, in the same room I called home a decade ago when I was just finishing up a degree a Southern Illinois University. The past and the present intertwine.
But that is still the future. Today, we are getting a visitor. I will be meeting a friend from the internet and telephone in person for the first time today. She lives in New Mexico, around eight hours away. She’s making this into a road trip, visiting mutual friends roughly halfway between here and there on the way to and from Trinidad. She had her surgery last year overseas, about the same time we really started to communicate more. In an odd twist of fate, she went to high school with my father; she was a sophomore when he was a senior. Her older brother was a friend of Dad’s. It is a small world, isn’t it?
Tomorrow I have my packing taken out and I lose the catheter (YES!!!!). Then comes the “fun” part: dilation. I got my dilators at the hospital yesterday, and was a bit surprised at how heavy the set was. Then last night, I took them out.
“You want me to put that thing WHERE?!?”
Well, with nine yards of packing in me at the moment, I supposed there is a lot of room in there. But still, those things seem HUGE to be shoving in an orifice at first glance.
“You wanted it, girl, well now you got it.”
So far I have been sitting up or standing all morning. I’m still moving slowly, but I am feeling better.
I also have something I want to do when I am back home and a little more mobile. Back in the late eighties, my sister and I went on a day trip to Cairo, Illinois. We went to a park at the very tip of the state, and stood at the point where the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers joined together. We also stopped at a restored Civil War area home called Magnolia Manor. I remember touring the home, and in one of the rooms was a Civil War vintage dress on display. I remember thinking it would be great to tour an old home like this in such a period dress.
By God, I’m going to do it!
Yesterday's activities such as several walks around the ward, moving into the guesthouse and stopping at the pharmacy (yes, I did it myself rather than let Anne do it as she offered) really took it out of me. My legs felt like I had gone on a ten mile hike by the time afternoon was turning to evening and I woke up from a nap on the couch.
If anyone winds up here, I recommend a place called JoJo's. They have a great spaghetti with sun dried tomatoes and shrimp, and the Italian sausage spaghetti Anne had was good too. Then yesterday I ordered pizza from them and Anne, Joyce, B. and I all worked on it. Excellent. Enough shameless plugging.
A couple of other post ops have scattered to the wind this morning; only one I had met. As she was getting in the car with Robin to start her journey back to her native New York, a horn sounded from downtown. A week ago, that was us coming into town on the Southwest Chief.
I have already been here a week? It doesn’t seem possible. But yes, it’s Wednesday and a week ago I was a nervous wreck and doing my best not to show it until I would snap at someone over something totally stupid. Nice, really nice.
My moment of clarity came the morning of my surgery. I had been a nervous wreck, my feet were turning into blocks of ice, and I was just plain unpleasant to be around. I got in the bathtub to take a long, warm bubble bath before getting ready to go to the hospital. As I sat there in the soapy water, I finished shaving the area that would soon be the focus of Dr. Bowers’ attention. As I did so, for the first time I could see in my mind’s eye what was going to be there when this was all over with.
Suddenly I felt better. No, not better. I felt ready. I felt relaxed. And at the same time, I felt like a total ass for the way I had been behaving the preceding few days. Oh well, water under the bridge but something that could be made up for. Once I reached that point, I knew I was okay. Up until then, it was more a matter of faith.
It seems odd that three days from this evening I will once again be climbing aboard an Amtrak train, eastbound toward a new start in my old life. By Sunday night I will be around friends and co-workers, many of whom remember me from the days before the word transsexual and me were synonymous. When the train reaches Carbondale, it will be my father at the station waiting to pick me up. I will be staying the night in the same bed I slept in waiting for this trip to start, in the same room I called home a decade ago when I was just finishing up a degree a Southern Illinois University. The past and the present intertwine.
But that is still the future. Today, we are getting a visitor. I will be meeting a friend from the internet and telephone in person for the first time today. She lives in New Mexico, around eight hours away. She’s making this into a road trip, visiting mutual friends roughly halfway between here and there on the way to and from Trinidad. She had her surgery last year overseas, about the same time we really started to communicate more. In an odd twist of fate, she went to high school with my father; she was a sophomore when he was a senior. Her older brother was a friend of Dad’s. It is a small world, isn’t it?
Tomorrow I have my packing taken out and I lose the catheter (YES!!!!). Then comes the “fun” part: dilation. I got my dilators at the hospital yesterday, and was a bit surprised at how heavy the set was. Then last night, I took them out.
“You want me to put that thing WHERE?!?”
Well, with nine yards of packing in me at the moment, I supposed there is a lot of room in there. But still, those things seem HUGE to be shoving in an orifice at first glance.
“You wanted it, girl, well now you got it.”
So far I have been sitting up or standing all morning. I’m still moving slowly, but I am feeling better.
I also have something I want to do when I am back home and a little more mobile. Back in the late eighties, my sister and I went on a day trip to Cairo, Illinois. We went to a park at the very tip of the state, and stood at the point where the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers joined together. We also stopped at a restored Civil War area home called Magnolia Manor. I remember touring the home, and in one of the rooms was a Civil War vintage dress on display. I remember thinking it would be great to tour an old home like this in such a period dress.
By God, I’m going to do it!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Journey To Trinidad, Part 8
Anne talks about her feelings while I am in surgery, and later on I wake up in the hospital room. You hear me say "wow" at one point. It was at that point that it hit me that I was now a post-op. I was saying "wow" rather than "ow."
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