Andie’s Place observations of gender dysphoria and beyond

I sometimes wonder whether I’ll run out of interesting thoughts for this blog and be really stumped. But life moves on and I’m aware as I do, that I may be able to draw others along in my wake. This week the day finally came and went that I had my first surgical consultation at the hospital where I shall go in a few months to be completed. It was so absolutely wonderful to be there, talking about procedures and schedules, knowing that what I need is finally, actually going to happen, with lovely people who want the best for me. In practice, this time I have to delay the process in order to fall within my next increment of paid sick leave at work.

It makes all the difference. After two years during which every appointment has been one of scrutiny, or justification or explanation, it is really good not even to have to tell my story over again and again. (They did ask for me to submit a summary of how my ‘Real Life Experience’ has been, and I did reply very honestly that I find the RLE description meaningless …) This was another of those uplifting moments when you know someone who can help you, understands who and what you are. After the consultation I actually stayed to have a cup of tea when I could have rushed off home, because suddenly there was no hurry any more. I’m on track and I really will get there.

Ironically, on the same day, I received a letter offering an appointment through London. I’ve covered the snail timetable before with regard to Charing Cross Gender Identity Clinic, but having been finally referred for surgery in September, and expected a first surgical in London in January, I still was surprised that this appointment would not be until about the day I expect to go in for surgery. I am so glad to have escaped the unnecessary snail trail, and that instead of me, the surgeon and scalpel meeting in London, we shall meet in Brighton, where I live. The surgery actually costs less here too. How absurd.

So this week I have felt like a phoenix aflame; the old sinks finally to ashes, and I am reborn (well, at least in parts!). I now have four months to feather the nest, increase fitness, lose a bit of winter fat (OK, it’s been around a bit longer than that), and gather friends for my recovery period. And usefully, to organise things at work so I let no-one down, and leave no loose ends.

Once again I have been lucky to know the right and helpful people. Circumstances have been kind to me, and everything still is falling into place. It’s been an amazing journey so far, and in every way just obvious.

So if you have played any part in my coming to know myself, in understanding what a lifetime of gender dysphoria was really about, or if you have simply been accepting, supportive and weathered my self-obsessive moments, thank you. I do appreciate it.

Over coming months I may cover some of the facts (gently) of what gender confirmation surgery (GCS) involves, and why it isn’t a ‘sex swap’, or a reassignment (GRS) to me. I think it’s important that it is more widely understood, rather than privately surmised about. At the same time, I realise that doing anything to such a sensitive zone of the body would make most of us squeamish. Think of it as corrective. This isn’t an amputation, but a remodelling using recycling techniques into a form that matches what my brain tells me is inherently there already. More later, but this phoenix is rising and ready to fly.