Hurts…
although not half as much as it has. It’s been 6 weeks now since my surgery, “The” surgery. The one where the doctor creates a vagina out of what was a penis and scrotum. It’s frankly nothing short of miraculous. I marvel at it every day. I can’t get over the magic of what my doctor created between my legs. Especially after having the other equipment for 58 years of my life.
Why now? What’s the point of getting a vagina at 58 one might ask.
That’s a BIG question, but it really boils down to feeling integrated and “safe.” I transitioned socially 6 years ago, and for the entire time I was “tucking.” That is, tucking my penis and scrotum so that I wouldn’t have a male bulge. Uncomfortable? Definitely. Although I designed a special garment for this purpose. It was actually a modification of an existing method. I had a tailor sew a dozen of these special tucking thongs so I could always have a clean one. I had them in different colors and patterns to make them seem just a bit less awful. But the problem was, I hated it and it made me feel vulnerable. Especially in a bathing suit. And I really love to swim.
I did my best to not worry about being noticed or “outed” by someone. The first time I swam after my transition was terrifying. I had to go into the women’s locker room and change. I knew some women changed in the stalls, so I adopted that method for a while. Later I switched to a club that had shower stalls and I was able to change in the shower. Tucking was stressful and I always had to plan “how” I was going to deal with my genitals.
Especially after the political mood of the country changed and being Transgender wasn’t “hip” anymore. President Trump was doing his best to kill the American Care Act which is largely responsible for Trans people having access to hormones and appropriate care. He often seemed to have a special hatred for Trans people. Who knows why, but I knew if my hormone blockers were taken away I would “DE-Transition.” All the hair I had worked so hard and spent so much money to get rid of would come back while the hair on my head would start receding again among other equally awful symptoms. I simply couldn’t have that. That would push me to the ragged edge where bad things happen quite often to people in my community. No, I needed to get rid of these parts that would start sending way too much testosterone into my system again. I realized the only answer was a vagina.
So Began my 3-year “Vagina Quest.” Why 3 years? Largely due to uninformed healthcare professionals and opportunistic doctors. As a Transgender woman, I can’t just go to “any” doctor or clinic. There are only so many that offer these special services. It wasn’t that long ago that there was no transgender-care available and I was self-prescribing and getting my hormones online. Even that had been a step up from when I used to go to Mexico to get them. Unfortunately, doctors who offer Transgender services tend to be very young or even “PA’s” or “Primary-Assistants.” I often found myself teaching them about Transgender health rather than the other way around. Certainly better than when formerly I went to doctors that were shocked when I pulled my pants down, but still not optimal.
When I asked my PA for a referral to a surgeon she looked at me with a blank expression and said, “I’ll ask about that.” After waiting 6 months and getting no referral, I asked again. Once again, the same answer. This ate up a year before I knew I wasn’t getting anywhere. My next step was to look up “Gender Reassignment” surgeons on Google. The number one GRS (Gender Reassignment Surgeon) is a Transgender surgeon in San Francisco whose career I had followed for many years. She was akin to a Demi-God in the Trans-woman community. Meeting her was like meeting an “A-list” celebrity. Having her do your Vaginoplasty was the gold-standard. Something to brag about. I decided to contact her clinic. After some back and forth with the office staff I was told it was a 3-year wait and I would have to put down a $1000 deposit to secure my place in line. The surgery itself would be $20,000 and that didn’t cover the anesthesiologist. Okay, that was a lot to swallow, but she was the best, and I didn’t feel good about going to Mexico or Thailand. “Only the best for my vagina” I thought, so I gave the woman on the phone my deposit. She said she would notify me when I was, “a year out” from my surgery date. “Ugh!” I thought, I resigned myself to the long wait.
A year later after putting down my deposit, my world turned upside down. I still hadn’t made it to the point of being notified that I was within a year of surgery and now I didn’t have the money anyway. My business had failed and so had my personal relationship. I had to move out of the house I shared with my partner. I asked my celebrity surgeon’s office about getting my $1000 deposit back, but the woman on the phone became annoyed and angry and said, “deposits are non-refundable!” “Thanks,” I said sarcastically, even though I felt like saying how messed up it was that a Transgender surgeon would take advantage of her community members this way. I knew expressing my anger and disappointment over the phone was pointless. I was severely disappointed and my life was a wreck. I felt powerless.
About 6 months later after I had reorganized my life I began to try and secure a surgery date again. My insurance at the time was Covered CA. I was more knowledgeable now about other surgeons in the plan and how to go about getting a referral. I was able to walk my PA and therapist through the hoops necessary and eventually had an appointment with a new surgeon. After 2 visits I was given a surgery date! Things were finally looking promising! My vagina seemed right around the corner!
But fate once again had other plans and 3 months before my surgery date Covered-California dropped me for not making enough money in the previous fiscal year. My precious surgery date was canceled. I couldn’t have been more devastated. During the 6 months since my female ex and I had parted, I began to find myself interested in dating men. They were definitely interested in me and I was hopeful that I could have a relationship with one. But there was a problem, I didn’t have the prerequisite vagina! How could I date a man without one? Along with my concerns about de-transitioning, my need for a vagina had taken on another seemingly important facet. When my surgery date disappeared, so did my hope of having a male partner. I was at rock-bottom.
Unbeknownst to me, as a low-income resident, I was shifted to Medi-Cal. That meant I was at a new clinic with a new Primary doctor. My new Primary was much more knowledgeable and had been serving the Trans community for about 7 years. He told me that as a Medicare patient in our area, I was eligible to get my GRS and Vaginoplasty 100% covered! Wow! A silver lining! Although I was living in a room in a mobile home and getting food stamps, apparently there was an upside to being poor! The government would provide me with a Vagina! After securing some letters from my former Primary and Therapist as well as my new ones, I had my ducks in a row and was given another surgery date.
Then Covid hit. Once again, I was derailed. I just couldn’t win! I know people were dying and there was a global pandemic, but did it have to keep me from getting my vagina? It seemed so unfair! We went through the first lockdown, then another, and then just as I was giving up hope of ever getting my vagina my surgeon called and said they were scheduling “elective” surgeries again! “Elective?” I thought. “I didn’t feel like there was anything “elective” about it. “I need a vagina, Stat!” I got the first date possible which would be after the 2020 Presidential election, but before the new president took office. I knew if Trump won, my chances of getting another shot at a vagina if I missed this one would be slim to none. Especially if the Supreme court struck down the ACA. I felt an unbelievable urgency to get my vagina on this new date.
As the date approached I began taking tests and jumping through all the necessary medical hoops. Before each test, I stressed that something would go wrong and my surgery would once again be called off. The final test was the Covid test. As most people now know, you have to be tested within 48 hours of a surgery. The night before my surgery I was still waiting to hear my test results. I felt like I had been holding my breath for 3 years, and in many ways I had. I just had to have my vagina NOW. Finally, in the early evening, just as I had begun my pre-surgery bowel cleanse, my phone rang and the person on the other end said, “Your test results were negative.” “Woo-hoo!” I yelled. I was so relieved! I got up and did a happy vagina dance around the room. I was finally going to get one!
It felt like the actual surgery was the easy part. I didn’t have to do anything but go to sleep and wake up with everything done. I was in very competent and capable hands. 6 weeks later, there are times I don’t feel that recovery is the easy part at all, and dilating my new vagina is a painful nuisance, but I made it across the finish line! Now no one can take my beautiful new vagina away from me!
