Nip, Tuck
Nip, Tuck
The Surgical Consultation
Last week I wrote a blog about being anxious about my upcoming surgical consultation. I really wasn't sure what to expect. I had a few ideas of how it might go, but nothing really concrete. This past Monday, I had my consult and I figured that I would share with you guys about how it went and what other transmen can/might expect when they make the decision to get top surgery. I can't speak to what transwomen would/might experience, but I'm happy to ask my surgeon if she'd be able to speak on that in generalised terms.
Let's get on with it.
Last week I wrote a blog about being anxious about my upcoming surgical consultation. I really wasn't sure what to expect. I had a few ideas of how it might go, but nothing really concrete. This past Monday, I had my consult and I figured that I would share with you guys about how it went and what other transmen can/might expect when they make the decision to get top surgery. I can't speak to what transwomen would/might experience, but I'm happy to ask my surgeon if she'd be able to speak on that in generalised terms.
Let's get on with it.
13:00
I'm anxious. I can feel my blood pressure rushing through my veins. They're going to tell me that it's slightly elevated. If I wasn't nervous about what was going to be said then there would be something wrong with me. Thankfully, my friend, Dawn agreed to come along with me and even bring me to the appointment. Usually, I go alone to all of my medical appointments, but for this one, I wanted someone there in the event things go bad and I crumble. I wasn't even having negative thoughts until my therapist brought up the possibility that she'd comment on weight, size and things of that nature and it might set me off seeing as I have issues with eating, restricting, binging and making myself sick after-but that's a different blog for a different time. Why would she even say that? I mean, I guess as a warning or something, but the anxiety that consumes me? She should have known better. My stomach feels as if it's digesting myself as I hand my ID to the woman at the desk. She's blonde with a brilliantly white smile. Are all women who work in plastic surgery pretty naturally or no? A question for the ages.
I want to chew on my hands, but I resist the urge. All of the women here are beautiful. I wonder if that's how they got hired, or if it was like a job requirement. Before I properly have time to ponder this, the door opens and a woman calls my name. She's got black leather heeled boots on, has a long black ponytail to match and is in her late 30's, early 40's. I can't tell if she's had work done or not. I know it would be rude to ask.
I want to chew on my hands, but I resist the urge. All of the women here are beautiful. I wonder if that's how they got hired, or if it was like a job requirement. Before I properly have time to ponder this, the door opens and a woman calls my name. She's got black leather heeled boots on, has a long black ponytail to match and is in her late 30's, early 40's. I can't tell if she's had work done or not. I know it would be rude to ask.
She gets my height and I don't want to see my weight, so I go backwards on the scale. Best not to set myself off any more than I already am. I tell her that I'm nervous as all hell that things might not turn out the way I want, so my BP should be a little elevated. True to form, it was a little elevated, but nothing dangerous. My stomach twits even tighter as she walks me to an exam room, hands me a gown and instructs me on what I need to do. She gives me a warm smile, tells me she likes my tattoos and disappears behind the door. My mind swims. What if the surgeon is mean? What if she doesn't like me? What if she says she doesn't think it would be good for me to do this, or I'd look strange if she completed the surgery. My blood pressure probably is even higher at this point. I'm so anxious I now have to pee. Nothing good ever comes from my anxiety. Winkles told me that I'm nervous for nothing but it's not her life that hangs in the balance.
It doesn't take long for her to return with a camera. Camera. Photos of me without my shirt, without me carefully examining them? I don't know if I can do this. This is the worst place to bring up my body issues. Or maybe it's the best place to bring them up? I don't know. She introduces herself as Diane* and lets me know we're going to go through some paperwork, go over the procedure and gather some information about me. I nod and tell her I'm an open book. I appear relaxed but inside I'm screaming.
She asks standard questions, how long have I been living as male, why do I think this surgery will help me, will I have a letter from my GP signing off on good health and what are my expectations. I answer all her questions clearly and inform her that I already have a letter from my GP. I came prepared and that I didn't want to take any risks with this, it's important to me. She asks me about my past surgical experiences, any complications and asks about the medications I take. Once again, with clear precision, I answer her questions while she scribbles furiously on her notepad. "Oh, I forgot to ask, do you go by Daniel or Dan?" I tell her that either one is fine, it doesn't matter, I go by both, Daniel is just my full name. It hardly feels real. Truthfully, I never use my dead name and no one I know does except my mum which annoys me no end. She finishes up her notes, tells me to put on the gown and that Dr Josephs* will be in within a few moments.
Damn, a few moments? That's unlike all the doctor's offices I've ever been to. Generally, you have to wait for ages for them to come in and see you. I pull off my t-shirt and slip the gown on like instructed. I sit on the little table, a little less anxious than before. It's going well, but ultimately the doctor has the final say. An attractive woman in her early to mid-'40s with chestnut brown hair walks into the room and introduces herself. We don't shake hands since it's cold season and that damn Coronavirus scare going around.
She draws on me with a green marker pen wanting to give herself a good idea of how she wants to reconstruct my chest, how much breast tissue we're removing and gives me a rough idea of what she expects it to be. I'm asked if I've ever had any surgical complications before and I inform her that I never have and that I recovered rather quickly from my gallbladder surgery. She's impressed. She tells me that if I did that, then this should be easier for me. <We don't go over how she wants to fully do the procedure, if she wants to do a double incision or not. I'm sure that we'll go over that before surgery, have another full consultation.> I'm asked if I bind my chest. I tell her no that I don't because my job is very physical and binding my chest for any period of time would impact my health in a negative way. I don't need to pass out when I'm lifting and pulling heavy shit off a truck. She notes the significant weight loss that I've had. I explain to her that the lithium I was on made me gain a disgusting amount of weight, that I still have issues around food and I want to lose a little more weight between here and the surgery. She tells me to stay at a healthy weight but a little more weight loss doesn't sound like it would be an issue. We'll take new measurements before surgery anyway.
I feel a sense of pride when she tells me that she notices the weight loss. Just proves I've been working hard at it. I only have a little bit more to go and then it's perfect. I'm actually thinking of joining a gym since my physical job isn't giving me all the results that I need and thankfully there is a gym in my plaza. I think maybe this week I'll go in and do it. Probably build up some extra muscle while I can since I won't be able to do much with that following surgery.
I know that's going to be difficult for me. Not the scars and swelling that I'll have right after the surgery. Not the bruising that I'll have following it either. But the use of my arms. It sounds worse than it is. I can't live them above my head, I have to stay bound for 23 hours out of 24 and will have some other things to get used to while I adjust to my new life. I'm ready for this. I took the time to research and prepare myself mentally for what I'm about to do. There's only one giant obstacle. My mother. I'm not telling her when I'm having the surgery. I'll tell her once it's done. She's going to be angrier than she was when I came out. Angrier than when I changed my name. Her head might even explode. And I know if I say anything about work she'll tell me it's my own fault for "doing this to myself." I'm going to have to ask one of my mates to bring me home from the hospital. Peaches is going to be my emergency contact. We're going to go through everything together so she'll know what's up. She wants to be a surgical nurse so this is the perfect opportunity for her to get some real hands-on experience in helping patients.
I bounce out of the surgeon's office feeling good about myself and about life. It went better than I could have ever expected. It felt amazing to be taken seriously.
A Few Days Later
The surgeon's office calls and lets me know they are putting things through my insurance and they would let me know as soon as everything clears, and once that's done, we will book the surgery out. I can't wait. I'm nervous about being out of work for the two weeks, then going back on light duty, I wonder if they'll honour that; they didn't when I came back from gallbladder surgery. If they don't with this, then fuck them. I'm not going to have my body damaged for a company that doesn't value me as a human being. I'm curious to see how all of this will play out. I know two managers will be on board with this, he and I have talked about it and my other manager, one of her friends had the surgery and has transitioned. The only obstacle is making my new store head understand what it all means. This will be the third store head in less than a year I've had to explain all this to; what being trans is, that I'm transitioning and what it means in general terms in regards to work. My surgeon is ready and willing to write a note regarding the duties that I can and cannot perform following my top surgery.
*Name Change
WHAT IS TOP SURGERY?
There are two categories/types of top surgery. One is for gender reassignment meaning they either remove breast tissue and sculpting of the muscles. to give a female transitioning to male the appearance of a male chest. (Otherwise known as a bilateral mastectomy) Or if you are a male transitioning to female, a breast augmentation which means implants, or enlargement of breast tissue. For more information on top surgery reach out to a local plastic surgeon who can speak to you based on your bust size about what procedure is best for you, how he/she expects your surgery to go and much more. Don't be afraid to ask questions. And top surgery isn't just for transmen and transwomen. Some non-binary people also get the surgery for whatever their reasons are. Plenty of ciswomen get to enlarge their breasts through augmentation or have them removed and reconstructed due to cancer, injuries and other factors. I think top surgery of all sorts, not just boob jobs should become a norm, that way those transitioning or those who just aim to feel more confident in their body shouldn't be ostracised.
It doesn't take long for her to return with a camera. Camera. Photos of me without my shirt, without me carefully examining them? I don't know if I can do this. This is the worst place to bring up my body issues. Or maybe it's the best place to bring them up? I don't know. She introduces herself as Diane* and lets me know we're going to go through some paperwork, go over the procedure and gather some information about me. I nod and tell her I'm an open book. I appear relaxed but inside I'm screaming.
She asks standard questions, how long have I been living as male, why do I think this surgery will help me, will I have a letter from my GP signing off on good health and what are my expectations. I answer all her questions clearly and inform her that I already have a letter from my GP. I came prepared and that I didn't want to take any risks with this, it's important to me. She asks me about my past surgical experiences, any complications and asks about the medications I take. Once again, with clear precision, I answer her questions while she scribbles furiously on her notepad. "Oh, I forgot to ask, do you go by Daniel or Dan?" I tell her that either one is fine, it doesn't matter, I go by both, Daniel is just my full name. It hardly feels real. Truthfully, I never use my dead name and no one I know does except my mum which annoys me no end. She finishes up her notes, tells me to put on the gown and that Dr Josephs* will be in within a few moments.
Damn, a few moments? That's unlike all the doctor's offices I've ever been to. Generally, you have to wait for ages for them to come in and see you. I pull off my t-shirt and slip the gown on like instructed. I sit on the little table, a little less anxious than before. It's going well, but ultimately the doctor has the final say. An attractive woman in her early to mid-'40s with chestnut brown hair walks into the room and introduces herself. We don't shake hands since it's cold season and that damn Coronavirus scare going around.
She draws on me with a green marker pen wanting to give herself a good idea of how she wants to reconstruct my chest, how much breast tissue we're removing and gives me a rough idea of what she expects it to be. I'm asked if I've ever had any surgical complications before and I inform her that I never have and that I recovered rather quickly from my gallbladder surgery. She's impressed. She tells me that if I did that, then this should be easier for me. <We don't go over how she wants to fully do the procedure, if she wants to do a double incision or not. I'm sure that we'll go over that before surgery, have another full consultation.> I'm asked if I bind my chest. I tell her no that I don't because my job is very physical and binding my chest for any period of time would impact my health in a negative way. I don't need to pass out when I'm lifting and pulling heavy shit off a truck. She notes the significant weight loss that I've had. I explain to her that the lithium I was on made me gain a disgusting amount of weight, that I still have issues around food and I want to lose a little more weight between here and the surgery. She tells me to stay at a healthy weight but a little more weight loss doesn't sound like it would be an issue. We'll take new measurements before surgery anyway.
I feel a sense of pride when she tells me that she notices the weight loss. Just proves I've been working hard at it. I only have a little bit more to go and then it's perfect. I'm actually thinking of joining a gym since my physical job isn't giving me all the results that I need and thankfully there is a gym in my plaza. I think maybe this week I'll go in and do it. Probably build up some extra muscle while I can since I won't be able to do much with that following surgery.
I know that's going to be difficult for me. Not the scars and swelling that I'll have right after the surgery. Not the bruising that I'll have following it either. But the use of my arms. It sounds worse than it is. I can't live them above my head, I have to stay bound for 23 hours out of 24 and will have some other things to get used to while I adjust to my new life. I'm ready for this. I took the time to research and prepare myself mentally for what I'm about to do. There's only one giant obstacle. My mother. I'm not telling her when I'm having the surgery. I'll tell her once it's done. She's going to be angrier than she was when I came out. Angrier than when I changed my name. Her head might even explode. And I know if I say anything about work she'll tell me it's my own fault for "doing this to myself." I'm going to have to ask one of my mates to bring me home from the hospital. Peaches is going to be my emergency contact. We're going to go through everything together so she'll know what's up. She wants to be a surgical nurse so this is the perfect opportunity for her to get some real hands-on experience in helping patients.
I bounce out of the surgeon's office feeling good about myself and about life. It went better than I could have ever expected. It felt amazing to be taken seriously.
A Few Days Later
The surgeon's office calls and lets me know they are putting things through my insurance and they would let me know as soon as everything clears, and once that's done, we will book the surgery out. I can't wait. I'm nervous about being out of work for the two weeks, then going back on light duty, I wonder if they'll honour that; they didn't when I came back from gallbladder surgery. If they don't with this, then fuck them. I'm not going to have my body damaged for a company that doesn't value me as a human being. I'm curious to see how all of this will play out. I know two managers will be on board with this, he and I have talked about it and my other manager, one of her friends had the surgery and has transitioned. The only obstacle is making my new store head understand what it all means. This will be the third store head in less than a year I've had to explain all this to; what being trans is, that I'm transitioning and what it means in general terms in regards to work. My surgeon is ready and willing to write a note regarding the duties that I can and cannot perform following my top surgery.
*Name Change
WHAT IS TOP SURGERY?
There are two categories/types of top surgery. One is for gender reassignment meaning they either remove breast tissue and sculpting of the muscles. to give a female transitioning to male the appearance of a male chest. (Otherwise known as a bilateral mastectomy) Or if you are a male transitioning to female, a breast augmentation which means implants, or enlargement of breast tissue. For more information on top surgery reach out to a local plastic surgeon who can speak to you based on your bust size about what procedure is best for you, how he/she expects your surgery to go and much more. Don't be afraid to ask questions. And top surgery isn't just for transmen and transwomen. Some non-binary people also get the surgery for whatever their reasons are. Plenty of ciswomen get to enlarge their breasts through augmentation or have them removed and reconstructed due to cancer, injuries and other factors. I think top surgery of all sorts, not just boob jobs should become a norm, that way those transitioning or those who just aim to feel more confident in their body shouldn't be ostracised.
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