14 hours to go.

Current emotional state: singing Disney songs* and getting a little teary. It has just sunk in that I’m doing something pretty brave. I got a call from the surgery today to confirm my surgery time – I now go in at 8:30 and should be done by 11. They’ve asked me to wear loose fitting clothes and nothing that goes over my head… thank goodness for my large collection of snuggly flannel.

In my suitcase I’m taking a few changes of clothes, an array of drugs, Calvin and Hobbes comics, my laptop, and snacks for later tonight. I’m nil-by-mouth after midnight, so I want to make sure that I have a full-ish stomach, and drink plenty before I go to bed. I’ve picked up a little bit of a sniffle after all my traveling, and I’m really hoping that tomorrow that will be feeling better, not worse. In the bag that’s coming to surgery with my is my phone, keys, wallet, a printout of my long and short term aftercare instructions, my compression vest, and a list of who to inform once I’m in the recovery room… and who to call if something goes wrong.

The surgery will be giving me narcotic pain relief for the first little while after surgery, and then I start topping up with ibuprofen, so I’m taking a stash of that. Narcotics make you constipated, so I’ve also been told to take a laxative in order to help with that. A few friends who have had the same or similar procedures recommended a cold pack, which was not on the advice list but seems like a really great idea.

Coming with me is a very dear friend of mine who is incredibly dear to me – when the surgery told me I’d need a supervising adult she seemed the perfect choice to celebrate this important and vulnerable and risky and joyful moment with me. She’s not so keen on the whole being there for 7:30am part, but there’s coffee at the air bnb, so we’ll make it work.

There was so much I was going to put in this last blog post. I particularly regret not to be showing you my version of the cha cha slide plank challenge, which I’ve been doing for a few months to build up my pecs… maybe that can be a recovery goal. But I do want to offer a story, and something my roommate said today.

One of the last people I left in England is a fantastic and beautiful human being who I’ve worked with for years… who felt the need to say goodbye to my boobs. So I let her. And she let me know later that it made her feel better about some of her surgery unease. So when my roommate was nervous I offered her the same opportunity, and she very gently cupped my lower ribs and said this:

“Friends, I never got to know you or name you, but I’ve always accepted you as part of a whole, whatever gender that whole happens to be. But you don’t belong to this body anymore, and you’ve got to go. Goodbye.”

…. I’ve got to go. Goodbye.

*”Son of Man” and “We Know the Way” if you must know. I know that “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” is the queer Disney anthem, but it doesn’t quite resonate with me in the same way.