he hated me...

...cuz i was doing so well...


* * * * * * * *
Jules had told me months ago that one of his new trans friends in Chicago was also getting top surgery from the same surgeon that I was going to on the very same day as me (Jules also went to this same dr last year). I later was bummed to receive the call when their office bumped me up one day earlier than my original scheduled date.

(Dawning on me now, I guess I haven't really talked much about my experiences directly with surgery. So here are some rambley stories:)

Last Tuesday was the newly scheduled date for my top surgery. We got to the plastic surgery clinic in Timonium, MD two hours early by accident, in an effort to by pass the two beltways' worth or morning rush hour traffic. While sitting in their parking lot outside their office's front door in some tiny discrete strip mall, nurse Betty came out, arms folded to yell at me. Turns out she meant to be yelling at another patient, who was now late. She mistook me for the late patient, and instead bumped me up two hours to the first appointment of the day, and moved that late guy back to my time slot. There was not enough time to be afraid. I dropped everything, and followed her in to the clinic, where I had met them before for my consultation.

She had me undress and put on a three sleeved (???) hospital gown, and she immediately snapped at me, commenting on how I put it on incorrectly. (So much for a good bedside manner!) She took me in to this tiny side room off of that examination room, to have me disrobe so she could take the pictures of my chest. (umm. awkward...) I tried to make some jokes, but for anyone reading this who might not have met her, Betty is not the jokester I would hope for under the circumstances. I "re-robed" and we returned to the exam room, where she called in my friend to go over the details of the post op care. I was tuning out, overwhelmed in a million fleeting thoughts that zipped through my mind without hesitation. My friend was taking notes on my behalf.

Dr. Fischer (who is amazing, and has the dreamiest bedside manner) entered the exam room with us, and had me disrobe again to "leave her marks" ~ meaning, a green sharpie to draw the dashes of where she wanted things to end up as the result of her "mad skillz." (It was awkward to have my friend sitting there through this part, as I am pretty modest about my body. Especially the parts that I disliked enough to get them removed from my body, but I digress...)

This great anesthesiologist came in, and we joked about that new movie "Alive" about the guy who wasn't fully sedated while overhearing his surgeon planning to kill him. It was just what I needed to take the edge off. Actually, what I needed, she provided in the form of a iv drip. She walked me to last room at the end of the hall within their clinic, and had me hop up on the surgical table. She comically remarked "A little nervous?" while I tried to play it off. Right~ I was hooked up to a blood pressure monitor, where she said my bp was 180/ over something I can't remember after freaking out over the 180 part. Whoa, I guess you can't lie to an anesthesiologist about being a little nervous. I was out.

I woke up approximately an hour and a half later, shivering on that same operating table. I was under an inflatable perforated hot air blanket, making me feel like I tipped an air hockey table on top of me in a drunken brawl. My shivers felt like full on convulsions to me, but apparently they were just tiny muscle twitches as the anesthesia wore off. The most excruciating part was when they took off the calf massaging sleeves that prevent blood clots. My hair was pressed in weird formations, and my shins were horrifically itchy to the point of extreme discomfort. And my nose was super itchy, and my recently released arms could not make their way to scratch it. The nurses propped me up, dressed me, and placed me in a wheelchair that then wheeled me out to my car, that my friend drove. My eyes weren't really opening, so I was hoping that I was in good hands as I was definitely out of it, and kind of bobbling around in my seat. We got back to the hotel and I instantly passed out in my double bed, only waking up to take sips of water with narcotics.

When I started to come to a few hours later, my friend Cayli's dad was talking on tv about the most stylish couples in Hollywood. It was very exciting to have as my first conscious image. I fumbled to find my cell phone laying next to me on my double bed to leave her a drug induced, incoherent message stating that fact. I then passed out again after snacking a bit on shaved turkey and triscuits. A few hours later I woke up in full force with an insane craving for barbecue ribs (which I never eat.) Thankfully, our hotel was next to a "Chili's" so my dream meal was brought to fruition instantly. BBQ ribs, a salmon fillet, mashed potatoes, and steamed broccoli. I was in heaven eating this super cheese ball meal that I would never eat sans narcotics. We made a bunch of calls to let everyone know I was alright, and I went back to sleep for the night.

The next morning we had to wake up early to get back to the surgeon's office by 8am for my post op check up. We snagged some food from the continental breakfast, although it looked as if I filled my sweatshirt with two dozen bagels, despite it actually being the flasks of the drains and the coiled drainage tubes concealed from embarrassment under my clothing.

I was sad when we got to the office, as I was remembering how Jules' friend "Red" was still having his surgery on Wednesday. I lost that sense of camaraderie when they split us up, and move my surgery to Tuesday. Then next thing I knew, Red and his girlfriends walked through the door. Without knowing who they were, or what they looked like, instantly, I recognized them, and that sense of camaraderie came rushing back.

We all sat there gabbing away, laughing, joking (as Jessica asked if she was going to need to wipe his ass... ooof.) Red asked what time I was going in to surgery, not having a clue that I was already done, and that my drains were tucked away inside my shirt. They were amazed that I had enough energy to laugh and joke, as we were all anticipating that I would need to be carried in on a stretcher. I was up and around like nothing had happened. If you looked closely you could tell that the compression vest that we have to wear post op was pinching slightly, as my shoulders were raised a tiny bit~but other than that, there were no clues that I had endured surgery like than 24 hours prior. It was kind of amazing.

They called me in to check on my results, and they said there was virtually no swelling. The amount of drained fluid was lower than they expected, in a good way. Dr. Fischer commented on how it was always such a pleasure to see me, since I was always in such a great, cheerful mood. (Nurse Betty was in the room, and shot her such a look, as Dr Fischer joked on how nice it was to be around such happy-go-lucky people...) I thanked them both profusely, and said that I would return in a week to get my drains removed at their office.

I went back out to say goodbye to my new friends from Chicago still waiting in the lobby, and wish them the best for a speedy recovery. It felt so perfectly synchronized to catch them when I did. They were all so great, and we instantly connected without even knowing each other. So perfect. We had been texting each other a little bit over the past week to check in on each other, and promised to hang out when I would have to come back to have my drains taken out one week post op.

So my appointment was set for this past Tuesday ~ one week after my surgery ~ and Jules drove us up to the clinic. Everything went fine, as it took two minutes to take the drains out. (What a weird physical feeling that was-to feel a cord moving through my chest under the skin! Like some bad sci fi film I would never watch.)

The most surreal part was to see my newly masculinized chest when they took off the compression vest that I have had on the entire past week. They removed the padding under the vest, and I could see the surgical tape covering the delicate stitches at the bottom of my pecs and around my aureoles. So, my chest was still a little camouflaged, but still visible none the less. It was surreal. It looked great, and I was happy with the results themselves. Tough to believe that it was really my chest, but I know after the next few weeks of still having to wear this compression vest to prevent swelling, that I will get used to the idea of this new feature of my body. (I must admit that I was a bit disappointed that after all my work outs that my pecs weren't super huge and rippling after surgery, my vanity will be the death of me!) But it was great, and Jules called Red and his friends still in the Baltimore area recovering. We got to see them after my appointment.

We caught up with Red, Jessica and Geral (sp?) in their super cute colonial style row house that they rented for several weeks in Baltimore proper while he recuperated. We all asked how Red was feeling post surgery. He looked straight at me, and said that he had a really reaction to the Oxycontin, and that it kind of threw him off. He continued by saying that when he saw me that day post op, he was excited to see someone doing so well, and thought other guys had maybe exaggerated about their negative experiences after surgery. But when he then had a rough recovery he said he was really mad at me, and said that he "kind of hated me" for a day, thinking: "Great, now I am going to look like some wuss because I am not doing as well as Lani. Not running around, shaking hands in the lobby the next day, laughing and joking." With a twinkle in his eye, and a half grin on his face he said that he kind of hated me for doing so well. He was joking of course, but I never thought about that~about comparing how we were doing, so it was kind of strange to hear. I didn't take offense, but felt badly that he had a rough bout. I also felt luckier still to see my experiences have gone so smoothly thus far.

I had been taking a sh!t ton of homeopathic meds and immune boosters for months before hand, working out for and hour and a half every other day for four months prior to surgery, and and hour every day for several weeks leading up to surgery. (With the exception of the week before surgery that was filled more with celebratory cocktail toasts and panini presses, rather than whole wheat toast and bench presses. Oh well...) I tried to keep myself in check, and I guess maybe it worked.

The 12 hours of traveling yesterday after getting my drains out stressed my body more than I anticipated. Other than that, I have been feeling absolutely great. The pain that I felt in my chest region was more of a muscle pull, and every so often a tightness around the stitches themselves if I moved my arms a bit too high or wide. Yesterday and today I feel these weird shooting pains that feel more like mini-electrical storms under the skin, which I have been told are great signs~meaning it is nerve sensation returning. Weird. We shall see how this all goes, but so far so good!

I just got to my parents' house, and they are still at work. A bit nervous to see how that reunion will go, so please still keep your fingers crossed for me, and as always~huge thanks for all of the well wishing!

(And thanks for Mel's family's support! Like a second family to me, and I am lucky to have you guys in my life!)

Off to take my first official shower post op (after a week's worth of sponge bathing. ugh~) God, think of how much money I'll save on soap now that there is less surface area to wash! ;)

Much love... always~