August 14, 2001

Tomorrow we will make a trip to the Credit Union to get a cashier's check to send to Dr. Fischer's office for partial payment on Sam's surgery. It is the next step in the process of obtaining his chest reconstruction surgery. While the actual surgery is planned for early October, there are still many things that have already been done in preparation for it…and may more that will still need to be done.

Aside from making the actual arrangements with Dr. Fischer's office, I have already made his pre-op appointment with our family doctor, made hotel reservations, and networked with other SO's in the area who have been gracious enough to offer assistance in the event that we should need it. So much for the actual, physical aspects if preparing for this life-altering change. The emotional and spiritual preparation are a bit more complicated…and for that, I still have to make time to reflect and look inside myself to see what all this really means for me…and for us.

September 3, 2001

We've spent a lot of time talking about the surgery, making concrete preparations, and just mulling it over in our minds. Sam is anxious to get it done, and so am I…well…most of the time I am. I am more than a little bit apprehensive about how we are going to manage things post-op. If only I could see well enough to drive a lot of my worry would vanish. But, we must deal with reality, and with only one functioning eye that tests at around 20/400 with best correction on a good day, I don't suppose any fairy godmothers with drivers' licenses will be fluttering my way soon.

Oh, we have wonderful online friends who have offered to chauffeur us around in Maryland, and I am so very grateful for each and every one of them, but it's our trip back that has me worried. Sam insists on driving…although for the life of me I don't see why. But, he is as stubborn as they come once his mind is made up, so I'm left wondering how I can best help him given my limitations. I think of things as simple as closing a car door, moving the sun visor, lifting a soda can…all things that I doubt he will be able to do until after we have been home for several days. In the meantime, I will be his arms…poor as mine sometimes are due to adhesive capsulitis in both shoulders and bilateral tennis elbow. Ah well…we'll just do the best we can, take it slow, and hope for the best. I think I can remember how to turn on the ignition…even though it has been nine years since I last drove a car. I'll tell you one thing, it's making me rethink how heavy I pack those bags when I know I'll be the one who has to carry them. I just don't have the strength Sam has. I'll just have to pack light, I suppose.

The whole thing is weighing rather heavily on me now that I feel as if we have the financial aspects squared away. I guess I just had to have that resolved in my own mind before I would even allow myself to believe this is really going to happen. I really don't have all these inner conflicts about the surgery itself that I have heard expressed by some other SO's. After many years of living with and loving male-identified bio-females, I am full of joy for Sam who desperately wants his outer package to reflect his inner man. To know that others will understand more readily what he already feels inside, and what I can see so clearly will be a big relief for both of us. I will be glad to be the only one in this marriage with breasts. Suits me just fine.

It isn't that I am minimizing the struggles of lesbians who after much effort "come out" with great risk to jobs, child custody, housing, and other considerations essential to so many of our lives…to find a much beloved partner to share the life with…to walk hand in hand finally with the woman of their dreams…only to find that that womyn is not a womyn at all, but a man who was somehow born into a female body. If I had not had so many years of "lesbian life" under my belt…if I had not wrestled with the monster of identity crisis more than two decades ago, this might be a struggle for me as well. But with so many years in the LGBT community, I do not feel as if I have to prove myself to anyone. I am confident in my identity as a transensual femme…confident and proud.

September 20, 2001

I am finally getting back to a semblance of a normal routine. The horrific events of September 11, or what I am beginning to think of as "Black Tuesday", have triggered one of the worst episodes of my recurrent Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that I have ever had. The images of all those poor people…their loved ones grieving and searching fruitlessly…the evil destructiveness of it all have weighed heavily on my soul and have displaced the anticipatory mood that I was beginning to feel regarding Sam's surgery. Oh, we are still making our plans, but I am relieved at this point that we are planning to drive. Airplanes and flying are just too emotionally charged for me right now for me to even consider flying.

I am watching Sam distance himself from the current events in a way that is not the norm for him. I wonder if the testosterone is affecting his ability to empathize or if he is just protecting himself…guarding against the pit of depression that has threatened to swallow me whole. I don't think he has changed in any appreciable way emotionally since starting the hormones other than perhaps to be a little more assertive than he used to be, so I am can only assume that he is doing what he must do to prepare psychologically for the first surgery he has ever had in his entire life.

September 25, 2001

Today we drove 184 miles round trip to Kentucky to have a last visit with Sam's Mom before the surgery. She made a splendid country ham dinner with all the trimming including green beans cooked all day, homemade creamed corn, mashed potatoes, tossed salad, stewed apples, cornbread, and blackberry dumplings for dessert. It was so delicious we ate twice. We are both gaining way too much weight and must really start to hold down the caloric intake soon, but today was not the day for that, believe me.

Sam's Mom is incredibly supportive for a lady from the Kentucky "hollers". She has known that Sam was transsexual since he was 15 years old - 30 years now. So, this journey we have undertaken was no real surprise to her. I think in some ways she is relieved that we are doing this, because now we won't be "gay" in her eyes. One just wonders how she will explain the sudden disappearance of her daughter and the appearance of a new male relative. Ah, well, I'm sure she will handle it with grace.

She has been supportive at all steps in the process ever since Sam told her he needed his birth certificate to obtain a legal name change. She helped us immeasurably in speeding up that process by providing Sam with a certified copy right when he needed it. And now she has really outdone herself by giving us $1200 dollars toward the cost of the surgery. As I figure right now, our known expenses are as follows:

Surgery fee   $5700.00

Consult fee          75.00

Hotel                  410.00

                   ___________

So far, we have been able to pay $3000. Add to that the $1200, and we will owe a total of $1985.00. That's not bad considering we are pretty low income. Of course, there will be other expenses associated with the trip, but my guess is they won't be more than an additional $500 if I know us.

September 29, 2001

We are both getting a little bit anxious. The departure date is getting closer, and the whole thing is becoming more real. I asked for support on the mailing list, and I have received some very nice responses. It helps so much to know that there are others who wish us well.

We located the pre-op prescriptions that we will have filled on Monday when I get my monthly refills. I cannot believe the date is approaching so quickly. I don't know if I am really prepared or not. The anxiety has absolutely nothing to do with the type of surgery, but just the fact of having such a rather larger surgery per se. I'm like an old mother hen, I suppose.

I had a bad day yesterday…in a confrontational mode online. I am fed up with the misogyny that is so rampant in the FTM community, and I am tired of saying nothing about it…so I said something. I got attacked repeatedly. Apparently I am not the first womyn this has happened to nor will I be the last. It is very sad for both of us that I am not valued in the trans community as much as Sam is. It is disheartening and not a little bit infuriating as well. I was able to post about these feelings to a list run by one who has walked this path before. Her remarks were very comforting, especially in light of the vitriol I found myself surrounded by on the FTM list. <sigh>

September 30, 2001

Well, the attacks keep coming online. Honestly these guys must have nothing to do with their time except attack and alienate other people. In the meantime, I have reevaluated my position with regard to the trans community, and I think I have decided to limit my involvement to those groups and organizations that proactively include SOFFAs. Anything else would be a waste of my time, energies, and money.

Meanwhile back in reality, we are scurrying around like mice getting ready to leave. We will leave in a few minutes to go to the pharmacy to fill Sam's pre-op prescriptions he received from Dr. Fischer. They include sleeping pills, antibiotics, and nausea medication for after the surgery. He will start the antibiotic Wednesday so that it will have a 48 hour head start on the surgery. Matt, my son who is a critical care nurse, gave me a hint last night on the telephone regarding preventing infection in post-op patients. He said that they place antibiotic ointment in the nose of their open heart patients before surgery as this is the most common location for humans to harbor MRSA (methicillin-resistant Staph aureus, a horrible infection that sometimes proves fatal). So off we go to Walmart for meds and other last minute shopping.

October 2, 2001

We will leave late tonight…very late…as in early morning so as not to arrive in Timonium too early to check in to our room. We have our studio rented for a week complete with queen size bed, recliner, kitchen, etc. It should serve us well as a convalescence center for Sam. At least I hope it does. I am very worried about sleeping in the same bed as I would do anything to avoid causing him any unnecessary pain. He is a trouper, but no one likes to hurt.

October 3, 2001

We arrived in Timonium in mid-afternoon just in time to check in to our Extended Stay America reservation. We left at about 6:00 AM and headed east in I-40, taking I-81N as at the "Y" . We drove in the dark for quite a ways, then witnessed a gorgeous dawn pregnant with promise. The fog hung low for many hours, and as we traveled north through the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, the hills did seem "frosted" just like the Berkshires in the James Taylor song, except I suppose those hills were frosted with snow.

We finally made it to the VA7/340N route after nearly 400 miles of driving. The countryside had been breathtaking all the way, but now our excitement had more to do with anticipation of what was to come than of the historic and picturesque scenes we were passing. We were both absolutely exhausted. (Those two words would become a common part of our working vocabulary in the days to come.) Neither of us had had more than two hours sleep…and we are just too old at 45 and 49 to act like kids and stay up experiencing sleep deprivation.

We drove. We drove some more. The explicit instructions that I had obtained from Mapquest on the Internet made navigating the various exchanges quite smooth, but still we were tired and longed to lie down in a bed…*any* bed. But, in time, we did arrive and got settled into our quarters. We had a nice queen-size bed, a recliner, a kitchenette with a two-burner stove top, a microwave, and an apartment size refrigerator…not exactly home, but sufficient for a short stay.

True to his sometimes OCD nature, Sam wanted to check out the address for Dr. Fischer's office so that our trip there the next day would go off without a hitch. Luckily, I had "Mapquested" the directions from the hotel to her office. It was a mere 1.45 miles and was a straight shot. No problems there.

We collapsed into anxious sleep.

October 4, 2001

The pre-operative consultation with Dr. Fischer provided us both with quite a bit of relief. We were able to ask questions about a couple of areas that weren't covered in the information packet we had received. Specifically, we were concerned about post-op pain relief and obtaining an SRS letter so that Sam could send it to Michigan to arrange for the necessary changes on his birth certificate. Pre-op chest pictures were taken by Jayne. 1+2+3=6. No problems. Everything was going like clockwork.

We went to the gourmet market a few doors up from Dr. Fischer's office. We paid way too much for some really wonderful food, but we felt like a few little treats were in order for both of us. We bought gourmet coffee, a lovely dinner from their deli: roast chicken breasts, grilled veggies, oven roasted potatoes with tender skins, great bread. We had a feast laid out when we got back to the room. It helped to distract us a little.

Then we set the new clock we had purchased for the trip with a 2 inch LED readout so that I could see it…got in bed and fell asleep at 7:30 PM. Poor Sam had been told he could have nothing to eat or drink after midnight…he cheated himself out of several hours.

I tossed and turned for a while before finally settling down to sleep. This was my partner, my loved one of ten years who was going to have surgery for the first time in his life. The nurse in me was having an anxiety attack, hoping against hope that he would tolerate the anesthesia well. The lover in me mourned the loss of the touch of his desire that would have to be patient and wait as he healed. The wife in me was quiet, hoping that if I just didn't say anything, he wouldn't notice that I was terrified.

I have had chronic illness for many years now. Shortly after our first anniversary, I fell ill with what has subsequently been diagnosed as Wegener's Granulomatosis, an autoimmune disorder in the same category with more familiar diseases like Lupus, Rheuamtoid arthritis, and Scleroderma. In the beginning, I was very ill, especially in the early days before they had a clue as to how to treat me. I was hit hard in the eyes, lungs, joints, and skin…requiring 14 eye surgeries, lung biopsy, long-term antibiotic therapy, numerous hospitalizations, and long-term corticosteroid treatment. Finally I was placed on immunosuppressant therapy in 1998, and I have had a gradual reduction, if not elimination of systemic symptoms, although I do flare periodically. I am blind in the left eye and twice legally blind (20/400) with best correction in the right. I can no longer drive, require special glasses to read large print, and special fonts on my computer browser so that I can see what is on the screen. I have been treated by the best retinal specialists in the Southeastern United States having been treated since '84 by the senior partner of the only retinal group in East Tennessee and having had a consult to the best that Emory University's Eye Clinic in Atlanta has to offer.

Sam has been by my side throughout the entire ordeal…never complaining, never faltering. He's my rock…my shelter in the storm. I love him with all my heart.

So, remember his devotion to me as I tell you how I cared for him during his post-op convalescence. He deserves the best.

October 5, 2001

The alarm goes off, and I awake instantly…quite out of character for this sleepy head whose circadian rhythms are more attuned to the PM side of life. But today is different. Today…well, today is Sam's SURGERY! I look over at him as he awakens, and he immediately curses our early bedtime as he is very thirsty and wants his normal morning soda. But today is different…it's the day Sam will have the surgery he has waited 30 years to get. From the time he was 15, when he first told his Mother that he felt as if he were transsexual…when he first wrote to Louisiana for the precious if limited information on how one could actually change from female to male. Today, he would wake up with breasts, and tonight he would no longer have them. And…more than that…he would have the male chest that proclaims to the world…I am a male. The chest that would virtually guarantee that Sam would always pass…as he does most of the time now. The chest that would allow him the freedom to wear the clothes of his choosing in sizes that fit.

We were to arrive at the clinic at 8:30 AM. We nervously got dressed and when the time was right, we called Jimmy's Cabs for a ride to the clinic. Our driver was a sullen, Middle-Eastern-sounding male who gave off lots of negative energies. But we tried to ignore him, hoping to keep our collective spirits up.

As we arrived, we took a seat in the beautiful waiting room with its textured teal green walls and lovely décor'. I could think of nothing but the surgery. I could only hope against hope that everything would be okay, because I certainly didn't know what I would do if it were not. Summoning all my powers of distraction, I tried to breathe deeply and ask the Goddess to help both of us on this important day.

Jayne came to the waiting room door and called us back to the examining room. We had waited a little longer than we had anticipated. Apparently the CRNA was a bit late. She eventually arrived and spoke with us about the anesthesia. Papers were signed giving legal consent, and we were on the road. Sam went back to the OR, and I went back to the waiting room for the longest wait of my life.

I was petrified. I was afraid to even move…terrified that the moment I left would be the exact instant in which I would be needed to talk with the doctor or nurse. So, I got out my yarn and my crochet hook and began to make a filet crochet afghan patterned after a Victorian lace doily. It would look great against the dark, forest green of our living room couch. I crocheted and crocheted and crocheted. I ripped out row upon row as I discovered stupid mistakes that I, as one experienced with the hook, never normally make…but nothing was normal about today. Nothing.

The minutes became hours. I never even got up to go to the bathroom. Patients came and went as did myriad deliverymen. I had brought a thermos of coffee, but it only gave me terrible heartburn. I waited. Finally after four hours, Jayne came to the waiting room door to tell me I could go back to the recovery area to see Sam. He looked fine, but was obviously still drugged…giving us all a laugh with his whisperings about "military espionage" in hushed tones as if it were a big secret. I got a big kick out of it. I haven't seen Sam drunk in quite a while.

Jayne was careful to show me Sam's "outfit". He was wearing a chest compression vest that came to his midriff…and he had a IV of Ringer's Lactate flowing into his right forearm. We unhooked the vest, which also had adjustable Velcro closures on the shoulders, and peeked in at the dressing. She carefully lifted it to reveal the double incision and bilateral nipple grafts, both closed with absorbable suture and reinforced with Ster-strips. Two Jackson-Pratt drains protruded from their respective insertion points high in the midaxillary line at the end of each incision. Everything looked great except for some slight draining around the right insertion point. The drainage was dark and bloody, but without noticeable clots.

Soon Sam was coherent enough…even though he still muttered occasionally about "covert operations"…to start thinking about leaving and going back to the room. He was very cooperative as I dressed him in his charcoal grey fleece pants with pockets (apparently this is very important…it's a "guy thing"), royal blue cotton short-sleeved front button, collared shirt, black cotton socks, and his prized grey suede slip-ons. He would have looked dapper if he hadn't been so pale. Even the healthiest person who tolerates the anesthesia beautifully doesn't look their best immediately post-op. We got his jacket on him and helped him into the wheelchair.

Then I asked Jayne where I could call for the cab. She pointed me to a phone, but expressed doubt that they would show up for hours. 15 minutes later, a cab from Jimmy's Cabs pulled up out front. The huge African-American fellow who was our driver was a pleasant young man, in stark contrast to our morning driver. This guy looked like he moonlighted as a linebacker. I felt safe.

We were back at the room in minutes, and our driver deposited us at the side door closest to our room. Sam had to steady himself on the wall as we made our way down the short hall, but we made it without a fall…and he was finally safely in bed. He slept. I crocheted some more. At least this time, I had a television, a bathroom, and a refrigerator.

When he finally awoke, he was very, very thirsty and had a ravenous appetite. After some Sprite, he partook of a gourmet repast consisting of veggie juice and reconstituted chicken noodle soup that was mostly broth. He ate three bowls of the stuff, poor baby. He was so hungry. But sleep took him again…and when he woke up the next time was able to eat something more solid and satisfying without any of the nausea that is common to post-op patients. We were sailing through this.

While I won't beleaguer you with the details, let's just say that bathroom function is very important in post-anesthesia patients - both functions. I had to do some convincing, but I finally persuaded Sam to go whether he felt like it or not. We were successful in one department. Can't let that kidney function go unobserved. My nursing background made me urge him repeatedly to keep watch on these things or else he would pay the price. I won't go into any more detail than that, but heed my words if you ever have surgery…it could save you a lot of problems.

So, we ended the evening by watching a little TV and falling into another exhausted sleep. We were both tired. Sam had his pain pills to ease him into sleep…and I had exhaustion from an anxiety-ridden day unlike any in my recent memory.

October 6, 2001

Neither of us slept well. The bed was just not our bed…know what I mean? We woke up repeatedly throughout the night, and finally gave up and arose around 7:30 AM. Not our usual rising hour, but it would have to do.

It was unseasonably hot for October in Maryland, and we had to keep the drapes closed all the time to keep out the heat and help our air conditioner. Vestiges of my old nemesis, depression, were creeping up on me despite my medication…mostly, I think, because of the lack of exposure to sunlight resulting from this. So, I went outside…just walked around the perimeter of the parking lot…anything to be out in the sunlight. It helped a bit.

October 7, 2001

We were both getting a little stir crazy by the third day. It was actually the second day post-op, but it was the third day of confinement by my reckoning. Sam was doing well, able to get up and walk, sit at the table to eat, even drive the car to the store for some goodies and souvenirs, although he couldn't tolerate a long outing…still, it was nice to get out and about. We went to a discount department store similar to our Kmart, and he found a winter coat at 30% off. He bought me a beautiful forest green cardigan of my favorite type. We found presents for my longtime friend, Jo, and my son and daughter-in-law, Matt and Billie Jean, who were feeding our beloved cat, Her Royal Highness Miss Betty Woo Boop, and her canine counterpart, Babe.

We went "home" tired, but happy to have gotten out and anticipating more adventures the next day.

A note about Sam's progression: although there isn't a lot to say about these interim days after the acute shock to the system of the surgery and anesthesia wear off…the drudgery of dealing with the vest and the drains would try the patience of Job. Although he was progressing nicely…drainage was gradually reducing in amount and becoming lighter in color, bandage changes and wound cleaning were less painful, swelling was going down…the reality of living with all this began to wear on poor Sam. He was quite a trouper, but no one likes this stuff. Frankly, it's painful, messy, and just a tad gross for the uninitiated in things medical, but the driving motivation of being free to have others see him as he sees himself helped to "float" him through it.

October 8, 2001

We took it easy this day. Didn't go anywhere much in particular, but were anxious to "get on with it" in general…both of us were becoming a little homesick although neither would admit it. We passed the time with CNN's account of the war in Afghanistan, movies from the free premium channels, and the monotony of meals, dressing changes, and drain emptying. I was documenting everything for the folks at Dr. Fischer's office, just in case we ran into a problem. Fortunately we never did.

October 9, 2001

Today we decided to do something different. We were both more than a little bored, and Sam was feeling much better. So, we decided to take a short jaunt in the car. Sam is a thoroughbred racing fan...a die-hard from Kentucky, you know. So, nothing would do, but that we at least get to *look* at Pimlico, home of the Preakness. (They weren't racing that day, but what the hell...he just wanted to *see* the track.) So, I get out the telephone book, look up Pimlico, get an address, map a route, and off we go to see his beloved race track.

We could have gotten there on a much quicker route by taking the freeway, but it was Sam's first jaunt behind the wheel, so we stuck to back roads where there was less traffic and a slower pace. First we drove through cornfields and woodlands, suprisingly beautiful countryside to be in such an urban location...then we encountered some more urban-appearing areas...lots of immaculate grounds...a huge temple with ornate carvings on the front...then suddenly as if from nowhere, there were sidewalks full of lots and lots of people dressed only in black and white. I mean these folks were everywhere. I don't recall *when* I have seen so many pedestrians in a long, long time. There were families...the men proud in their Fedoras, the boys in their skullcaps...with slightly arrogant looks on their plump faces...followed by their worried, thin sisters...mothers with the perennial strollers.

We saw a couple approaching us...heading straight into traffic who were not up on the sidewalk as they were supposed to be...I noted, puzzled as to why they would deliberately expose themselves to the danger of oncoming cars, that the couple consisted of an elderly man and a woman on his arm who was about my age. Their arms were locked tightly as if to shield...the elderly woman who followed them, frantically pushing her wheeled walker. What devotion that husband and daughter had for the elder wife/mother who apparently could not climb the steep curb to get up on the sidewalk. Ramps on the curbs in the entire area were noticeably absent. So, rather than leave her at home, they provided her protection...a living wall that gave her the freedom to walk with them. I was truly touched.

We then smelled barbecue...and the landscape changed radically and abruptly as we entered the neighborhood inhabited by the descendants of the horse grooms and trainers of many generations. (Of course they have been displaced now...they are as much a minority in those jobs as they are in many others, but they remain in the neighborhood where their predecessors settled.) The loud colors and raucous signs were in stark contrast to the manicured lawns from just a few blocks before. The trash accumulated in the gutters...street sweepers were apparently reserved for those who paid more taxes than these poor folks. As we rounded a corner you could see down the street lined with row houses...and one had a beautiful European style front garden with lots of something fiery red blooming everywhere. The yards were neat and clean, but many of the homes needed repair.

Then we saw the track...but, you know, for me it was an anticlimactic thing, seeing that track...even though it was the first thoroughbred race course I have ever seen in my life. The people who inhabited the nearby neighborhoods whose ancestors came originally from Israel and Africa were *much* more interesting to me.

We drove back the same way we had come, savoring once again the rich texture of the cultural diversity of Baltimore.

October 10, 2001

We arose at a more normal (for us) 8:30 AM, and after a little breakfast, began to pack and load up the car for the trip home. Of course, Sam could do very little, but he really did try to help. This was an odd situation for me. With our background in the Butch-Femme community, I was pretty spoiled when it came to such things. I do all the cooking and laundry at our house…yeah, I may be an Amazon in spirit, but when it comes to division of labor, we're pretty traditional. I don't usually load cars with luggage. That's usually Sam's job…but not today. Today I had to be strong for him…for us…and load up so we could go home. I did it. I didn't particularly enjoy it, but I did it. At least they had a luggage cart…even if they did give you a 20 minute limit…whew! I admit it…this femme sweated! I would definitely say I was sweating, not "misting" by the time the last piece went in the trunk. We were off to the Advanced Center for Plastic Surgery once again.

We had elected to see Jayne, the nurse, as opposed to another visit with Dr. Fischer. To gain an appointment with her, one had to arrive at 8:30 AM, and Sam nipped that right in the bud. Because we chose a follow-up visit with the nurse, we were able to arrive at a leisurely 11:00 AM. We were seen shortly after we arrived. Jayne seemed pleased as punch with the results and proudly announced that Sam would definitely be their "Poster Boy". I assured her that I would send pictures as soon as I could take them…and would continue to throughout his convalescence. She seemed grateful.

So, we hopped in the car and began another 10 hour trek back to our Appalachian home in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains in Knoxville. All the way back, we sang and despite eating out of the cooler, short breaks, and the eventual dark of night, we were absolutely jubilant when we finally passed that all important "Y" and got back into familiar territory on good old I-40W. I swear, either one of us would have carried that car home from there.

October 11, 2001

Still exhausted from the trip and the entire ordeal, we both spent today resting. I got online briefly just to get the word out that we were back home and safe, but undoubtedly failed to notify important folks in my haste to get back to my recliner and the sweet peace of inane television programming that lulled me to sleep.

October 13, 2001

Well, this day has been one spent writing. I have composed most of this journal from the 3rd on from notes and memory. It has factual inaccuracies, no doubt…but that's not what this narrative is about. I have written it in hopes that I will give some SO a bit clearer picture of what may be in store when her/his loved one says they want to have "top surgery". It's quite an adventure, and one that we have not yet completed. It looks like it will be several more days before I can pull Sam's drains. Oh yeah, I'm going to pull his drains for him. I've pulled scores of them in the days when I was charge nurse on a surgical floor, but most folks are required to stay in the Timonium area for the full 10-14 days needed for the drainage to get down below 25-30 cc/day. We're lucky in that respect.

As a result, Sam, the die-hard shower man, is still confined to the bathtub. There are still two more days to wait before I can feel his loving touch again…and 11 more days for him to spend day and night in that cussed vest that is causing him so much pain at this point. He remarked today that the only thing that prevents the pain is to "not move". From the early days of our relationship, I have regaled Sam with one of the basic tenets of the fundamentals of nursing practice - (drum roll) - the hazards of immobility. He knows that skin breakdown, joint impairment, kidney stones, pneumonia, and a host of other ills await the poor soul who elects not to move at all after surgery. So, we compromise. He moves less than I would like, but more than he would like. He's not stupid. He knows what he has to do. It's just hard when it hurts so much.

He's a great guy. He's done so very well. I am so proud of him…and always will be.

Meanwhile…I'm struggling with my anger at the trans community…the FTMs who while they may be the minority who are so vocally misogynist in online venues. Hearing of others experiences and feelings that are similar to mine is giving me mega-motivation to activate and do something to reach out to the other SOs who are in the position I find myself in…to help in some way to illuminate a dark corner in which, once again, women's lives are trivialized and negated. That entire quagmire is part of why I am writing this journal and will publish it far and wide to the best of my ability and opportunity…if for no other reason but to say that this is my experience every bit as much as it is Sam's. This is my experience, my feelings, my perceptions, my trip, my caring, my love, my life. No amount of naysaying by those who do not like women can invalidate that. The more I hear, the madder I get…and anger is a great motivator…if used wisely. I hope I can do that.

Click here to visit Bethie and Sam's Transition Site.