The Healing

Walking out to my van to pick up a Stewart’s coffee this morning, frosty leaves crunched under my feet and I thought about how three and a half months ago, the summer heat would be mostly unfelt while I was to be stuck indoors healing from surgery. In all that time of rest, I didn’t have much energy or head space to type out what it was like. Now I have a day off from work and I am ready to reflect.

July 26. Caiius, Katelyn, and my sister Sarah gathered at my apartment before noon to accompany me on my drive to Northway Surgery and Pain Center. As I left my building, two of my neighbors were sitting on the shared porch, mother and daughter. Kathy asked, “Is it your birthday? We saw your sister carrying a gift bag.” “Yes. Well, sort of a birthday. I am having surgery today.” I felt nervous about sharing the details (and didn’t), because Kathy’s daughter had surgery to remove breast cancer earlier in the year. Their faces changed to concern and I heard one of them say “I’m sorry.” I smiled and said, “This is a good thing. I have been waiting for this.” They wished me well as my group of support and I made our way to the car.

After checking in at the surgery center, my supporters found their seats, where I’d later find out they spent many hours, taking shifts to leave the facility for food or to spend time outside. My nurses were all very accommodating, albeit not very good at getting my pronouns right. I was just happy to be there. The week leading up to this moment was incredibly stressful - I had gotten sick and spent a whole day on the toilet the day before giving blood and my potassium was too low to be safe for surgery - and there was very real possibility that the surgery would have to be postponed and my deposit not returned. BUT It was happening. I was on a cloud and my inner child was swinging their feet with a full heart.

So many times that afternoon, I was told that I can ask any questions I have to the surgeon or the anesthesiologist, and I had none. Being rolled in to the procedure room, I remember being told I might feel cold and that they would give me a blanket if I needed. It was definitely cold. I was knocked out before I could even ask for warmth. Truth is, the warmth was the sleep and knowing that when I wake up, a dream of mine is now reality.

Waking up is a foggy memory. I remember thanking every nurse, even holding their hands. Some of them probably had nothing to do with my procedure. I was just full of gratitude and drugs.

My support group walked me slowly back into my apartment, where the same two neighbors sat in the same spot on the porch. A few days later, they left a note and a small gift bag. In the note: “You looked so excited and hopeful before surgery, and even though you were woozy & had a good amount of pain when you arrived home [we] could still see that excitement! Please let [us] know if you ever need anything!… Heal well, and while perhaps not a ‘true’ birthday, Happy Birthday & congratulations!” I left them a thank you note and let them know my new name.

Within a few weeks, it was discovered that my small Pride flag that I had on my little section of the shared porch was mysteriously ripped apart. My supportive neighbors replaced it and added a trans flag. The mixed feelings are complex. However, the love is felt.

The first week of healing is obviously the hardest, but the drugs I was prescribed helped with that quite a bit. It was absolutely necessary to get acclimated to sleeping in a sitting position. A very comfortable throne of pillows was made on my bed and traveled with me to my couch when I was ready for that. I had to wear a binder for two weeks, and the first week I had two drains clipped to my binder, which required a daily ritual of emptying. Caiius and Katelyn are angels for keeping close watch on me during those first weeks, making sure I ate, took my medications on time (even in the middle of the night), and occasionally bathing me. My long-time friend, Heath, had dropped off weeks worth of prepared meals, easily frozen and stored. I had food dropped off by my sister’s in-laws, as well. Between those amazingly generous efforts and my angels buying groceries as needed, I was far away from worrying about money and nourishment for well over a month. I drank So. MaNy. Blue Gatorades. Now, when I’m on the road and stop for a drink, I grab a blue Gatorade and remember.

During my second week of healing, another long-time friend stayed with me for a few days. Julia was present while I adjusted in my glorious liberation from the dreaded binder and got to watch as my nurse gently removed stitches from my nipples with Michael Bublé playing over the loud speaker. Here are some photos Julia snapped with a nice camera during that visit.

Gradually, I became more and more comfortable spending time outside and going on short hikes with my visitors. Watching my body heal has been such an incredible experience. The human body is so amazing. Even being three months and 18 days out, I am seeing changes in my chest. The swelling and puffiness is decreasing, the scars are leveling and releasing sutures. For the first time, I smile at my reflection. This is the wildest and most positive change of my life. And it was paid for by generous donations from a supportive community. The impact of this is so great. It will be carried with me forever.

I’ve been back to work since week 6 of healing. Most of my work has been physical outdoor work, and my clients have been quite amazing with their patience and understanding of my limits. Fear of discrimination still hums in my nervous system, but so far, people have proven to be kind. They still see my humanity. They call me by my name. This pushes me forward and gives me hope for my future.

Thank you all for being a part of this, even just reading about my experience. Thank you, thank you.

Here’s the most recent picture I have on my phone, from visiting my dear friend Maia last Wednesday.