This has been a crazy month. Transitioning puts you in situations you never thought you’d ever be in, and when I was younger and first trying to make sense of my dysphoria I didn’t for a moment imagine that one day I’d go into a room, be put under general anaesthetic, and have a Belgian doctor take my face apart and put it back together in a more feminine way.
So first things first: I had done my research, spoken to people, looked at all the before and afters and had consultations with some of the worlds leading surgeons in this field. I’d thought long and hard about the risks and how much I needed this surgery, and I’d come to the conclusion that if I had any hope of leading a normal, happy life, then my face had to change. That sounds melodramatic especially considering I’d been told that I passed OK by quite a few people, but to me there was that element of maleness in my face, and it stood out every time I looked in the mirror or glimpsed my reflection in the street. When you have that much doubt in your own mind, how are you supposed to be able to just carry on as normal? Some people can do that, and many on the support forums will say things like ‘hold your head up high and don’t give a crap about what anyone thinks’ as if it’s that easy. Well for me it really isn’t. My confidence is terrible, and it was stopping me from living any kind of life. Basically, unless I knew you, you wouldn’t be able to talk to me, not unless I really had to communicate with you. I’d be too scared that you’d notice the masculinity in my face and instantly reject me as a woman, perhaps filing me under ‘other’. So yeah, I needed this surgery, for me. I had to believe, I had to see a woman in the mirror, before I could even begin to convince anyone else that I am who I say I am.
However much I wanted the surgery though, I was still scared. Aside from childhood asthma and a miserable day having two of my fingers put back together, I’d barely ever had any kind of hospital visit for my own needs, and I’d never been under general anaesthetic. Plus my face, whilst visually displeasing to me, was perfectly healthy, and I would be putting that at risk. So perhaps instead of saying I was scared, the phrase ‘bricking it’ would’ve been a closer fit, but in a whirlwind few days the date was booked and money was paid, and it was happening. Months and weeks truned into days then hours, until one day, early in the morning, I was pressing a buzzer on the door of the clinic.
From here on in things moved quickly. I was shown to a room and asked to get changed into a surgical gown, then taken downstairs and hooked up to an IV. The staff at the clinic were lovely, and the nurse who was getting me ready was all smiles and reassuring words. They gave me a pill that was supposed to calm me down a bit, but I don’t think anything would’ve worked at that point. The anaesthesiologist (is that the right word?) came over and said hello in a cheery manner, and then Dr Bart himself popped his head around the curtain. Shortly afterwards I was taken through to the operating theatre, which is truly scary. There were so many people in there, so many instruments and machines that go bing!, and of course those huge lights coming down from the ceiling. I couldn’t describe the room to you properly even now. The machine was bleeping and for a while I stupidly didn’t realise it was my own heartbeat, and whilst I was trying to concentrate on making it sound less erratic (it didn’t seem polite for it to be so rapid) a mask was put loosely over my face and people started to move about with purpose. There was a slightly painful tingling throughout the more extreme parts of my body and I started to panic, thinking that something was wrong, but before I knew it, I was waking up in the recovery room. The panic had gone, I felt completely calm; even the absence of any evidence I still had a face didn’t seem to bother me. The nurse seemed to be there as soon as I opened my eyes, so I have no idea whether I had just come out of surgery or had been there for a while, but she told me where I was and that everything was fine.
All I had to do now was lie back and heal.
A Circular Square 