14 years ago, nearly to the day I went to do a food hygiene course at a place my mum worked. I'd been out of work for a while following a six month stint at Painting and Decorating and I'd decided at a change in career. I was 17 so it wasn't that scary a thing back then, it was something I just needed to do. I never liked Painting and Decorating, it just wasn't me. Anyway, I went to do this food hygiene course because I'd decided what my new career would be, I'd decided to become a chef.
I'll never forget a moment while on this course. It was the dinner break and the man who was running the course sat down for a chat. He asked me what I did to which I replied that I was between jobs. He then said, and I can remember this like it was yesterday, 'I've got one piece of advice for you, don't become a chef, whatever you do, don't become a chef!'. A week later, that's precisely what I did.
Do I regret becoming a chef? Do I have any regrets over a 14 year career? Not really, no. If I had my time again I wouldn't go into catering but it's why I did in this life and my life wouldn't have been as rich had I not pursued it or stuck at it. I've met some amazing people, had some amazing experiences in some fascinating places. Being a chef has been rewarding in so many ways and I certainly don't look on it as a failure or a mistake. I can 'retire' knowing I've covered virtually every area of catering (banqueting, restaurant, bistro, pub and ala carte) apart from fast food (thank god!). I've worked in every area of the kitchen delivering some pretty amazing food. I've cooked for the stars (I cooked Dennis Taylor a cheese and ham omelette in '02) and I've made Head Chef. Overall I can look back on my time as a Chef as a success.
My first job was at a Hotel in my hometown of Chesterfield called the Ringwood Hall Hotel. I spent nearly 4 years there before (at my request) I got a transfer to the companys sister hotel in Widnes. Widnes is a strange town near Warrington and St Helen's and I made some great friends while working at the Everglades Park Hotel. I spent 14 months there before I got the chance to work abroad.
Working in Spain at the La Manga Club resort was amazing. I was 22 and I had the time of my life. I was out every night before working through some pretty monstrous hangovers the following days. I worked in a restaurant called La Finca which was English run under a head chef I still consider to be the best head chef I worked under. On my day off I'd go snorkelling before hitting the bars at night and in work I learned things I still use today. I managed 10 months though before I came home and headed to Bakewell to work at the Rutland Arms Hotel.
I had the most fun at the Rutland Arms, the kitchen team being quite a boisterous bunch. We used to wind each other up and play pranks but the work got done. It was a sad day when that team broke up but break up it did and 3 years later I headed back to Spain.
This second stint in Spain was different because I was older but it was still a good experience. It was great to be back working under the head chef and it felt like I'd never been away. I managed another 10 months before I decided (due to my gender issues) that I needed to be back in England. I flew back and went to work at a hotel in the hope valley in the heart of the Peak District called Losehill House Hotel.
Losehill was good experience in that the menu changed daily. The head chef was a really good desert chef so I learned a lot in that regard. It was a nice place to work and is possibly one of my favourite kitchens in the view we got. Most kitchens have a couple of small windows with views of back yards or brick walls. At Losehill we had a big window with a an amazing view of the valley. I left after 6 months to work back at Ringwood Hall Hotel.
Being back at Ringwood was strange because while it was 7 years on since I'd left, nothing had changed. It was within the first 6 months that I 'came out' to everyone about being trans and within the first year that I began my transition. Everyone was so good and so accepting about it that I'll always have a special place in my heart for Ringwood. The fact that everyone knew about my trans status though was actually one of my reasons for leaving because I needed to wok somewhere where I could be Emma the woman rather than Emma the transexual. Id spent 3 years at Ringwood before I went to work at a newly opened place in Tuxford called The Fountain.
My time at The Fountain was good in that I learned a lot and I made some great friends. It was bad in the way it ended. While here I became head chef after the owners left. The new owners then forced all of the staff out so I had to move on. The place I moved onto was a pub/bistro in Devon called The Cromwell Arms. I enjoyed my time there and it was a nice stop gap before I had my operation in March. Devon is a truly beautiful place full of some amazing characters.
And here we are now, at the end of a career, looking back. As I've said, I don't have any regrets. Why am I 'retiring' then? Why end a career when I have had such fond times? I just don't want to be a chef anymore. The thought of spending the next 30 years in a kitchen horrifies me pretty much. Now is the right time for a change it really is. I'm on sick until the end of June and then I get to start on a clean slate and its so exciting.
So what of my future? Well I'm planning on going into teaching. I'm going to go back to college to redo my GCSE's in English, Maths and Science (part time yearly courses at my local college) in September. Once I've passed them I'm going to do an Access to Higher Education course in teaching (another yearly course) before going to do my diploma and teacher training. In the mean time I'm going to get my CRB check done and then do some voluntary work in a local school. I'm also going to get a job to pay the bills and I'm going to help my parents out on their new pub. As long as I don't end up back in a kitchen again, I'll be happy.
Thursday, 18 April 2013
Sunday, 14 April 2013
My GRS Experience - Day 8
Day 8: Monday 1st April 2013
I wake up at the normal time of 5:00am despite the fact that I didn't get to sleep until gone 2:00am. I just lay in bed thinking, no energy to even put my IPad on. Today is a big day in that I'm going home. I'm looking forward to it, looking forward to a brand new future but the fear is still there. The outside scares me a bit despite the fact that I've only been in here a week. I've become institutionilised and it's a shock at how quickly that can happen.
Today I dilate early, before breakfast and I also have a shower. After breakfast I just rest up and relax. Iffy (the clinical nurse specialist) is popping in at just before noon to clear me for discharge so I have a few hours to kill. I'm reluctant to start packing just yet for fear of getting ahead of myself. I spend some time chatting to Deborah. The Russian lady in F-1 is also going home today so she seems in high spirits.
At just after 11:00am Iffy pops in and checks my surgical site. She seems happy that everything's as it should be so clears me for discharge. I'm happy but also quite sad to leave my little corner of F-Bay. I have dinner and my last painkillers before I dilate for the final time at Charing Cross.
I start to pack and it doesn't take me too long. It's just a matter of stuffing everything back in my case. I put my normal clothes back on and it feels oddly strange. For a week I've been living in pyjamas so to actually get dressed properly is an odd experience. I do my make-up and wait for my discharge papers. At 1:30pm a nurse brings me a bag with a box of paracetamol, a box of Ibuprofen, 3 tubes of aquagel lubricant (for dilation), my discharge papers and a 12 week sick note. I'm free although it doesn't really feel like it should. I say goodbye to the Russian lady who hugs me and wishes me luck and I hug Adele too. I then pop into E-Bay and say goodbye to Sally. We all swap Facebook details and email addresses I hope we can all stay in touch because we've gone through this unique experience together. My parents aren't coming until 3:30pm so Deborah comes with me to Costa for a coffee. She also gives me a hand with my luggage.
Walking down the ward toward the exit doors I feel sad. I can't believe that only a week ago I was sat in E-Bay waiting to have my surgery. It's a crazy experience to pack into one week and it's definitely been an overwhelming one. I've read many accounts yet none of them read like my own. Sure certain things are similar but this has been an experience, my experience.
We sit in Costa for an hour before Adele joins us with her visitors. It's nice to have one final coffee with my birth-twins and we take a couple of photos as mementos. At 3:30pm my parents arrive. They order a taxi and stand at the front entrance as I say one final goodbye to Adele and Deborah. I'm really going to miss them it has to be said despite the fact that I've only got to know them over the past few days.
The taxi arrives and I finally leave Charing Cross Hospital. As the taxi swings out into the afternoon traffic and drives past the hospital I begin to cry a little bit. I'm sorry to be leaving this place, this place that helped me to complete my transition. I've had a love/hate relationship with the place, it has to be said but overall I'm sad to be leaving it.
As we weave through the London traffic, past the tall glass fronted buildings, I feel like achild again with my whole future spread out in front of me. It's scary but also wondrous at the same time. It doesn't occur to me that a week ago I was in theater and Mr Bellringer was working his miracles.
We arrive at the station a couple of hours before our train and so head to the nearest coffee shop. As we walk I suddenly burst into tears. My mum asks me what's wrong to which I have no answer. I don't know why I'm crying. I think the emotion of the past week is partly to blame.
We board the train at 6:15pm and settle down into our pre-booked first class seats. As the train heads out of London I reflect on what has been an immense experience. It's been something which no one can take away from me and each part of it has improved me as a person. I hated it in the first few days after surgery. I can remember feeling so lonely and so out of place. The second half of the week was entirely different once I started to get to know the other girls on the ward. I also had purpose in that second week which proved to be a very valuable thing.
I get home at 9:30pm and I feel so tired. I have a snack and a coffee before heading to my room. I have to do my evening dilation and it feels more uncomfortable than it did in the hospital. I manage to get through it though and I settle down to sleep. I'm home.
At just after 11:00am Iffy pops in and checks my surgical site. She seems happy that everything's as it should be so clears me for discharge. I'm happy but also quite sad to leave my little corner of F-Bay. I have dinner and my last painkillers before I dilate for the final time at Charing Cross.
I start to pack and it doesn't take me too long. It's just a matter of stuffing everything back in my case. I put my normal clothes back on and it feels oddly strange. For a week I've been living in pyjamas so to actually get dressed properly is an odd experience. I do my make-up and wait for my discharge papers. At 1:30pm a nurse brings me a bag with a box of paracetamol, a box of Ibuprofen, 3 tubes of aquagel lubricant (for dilation), my discharge papers and a 12 week sick note. I'm free although it doesn't really feel like it should. I say goodbye to the Russian lady who hugs me and wishes me luck and I hug Adele too. I then pop into E-Bay and say goodbye to Sally. We all swap Facebook details and email addresses I hope we can all stay in touch because we've gone through this unique experience together. My parents aren't coming until 3:30pm so Deborah comes with me to Costa for a coffee. She also gives me a hand with my luggage.
Walking down the ward toward the exit doors I feel sad. I can't believe that only a week ago I was sat in E-Bay waiting to have my surgery. It's a crazy experience to pack into one week and it's definitely been an overwhelming one. I've read many accounts yet none of them read like my own. Sure certain things are similar but this has been an experience, my experience.
We sit in Costa for an hour before Adele joins us with her visitors. It's nice to have one final coffee with my birth-twins and we take a couple of photos as mementos. At 3:30pm my parents arrive. They order a taxi and stand at the front entrance as I say one final goodbye to Adele and Deborah. I'm really going to miss them it has to be said despite the fact that I've only got to know them over the past few days.
The taxi arrives and I finally leave Charing Cross Hospital. As the taxi swings out into the afternoon traffic and drives past the hospital I begin to cry a little bit. I'm sorry to be leaving this place, this place that helped me to complete my transition. I've had a love/hate relationship with the place, it has to be said but overall I'm sad to be leaving it.
As we weave through the London traffic, past the tall glass fronted buildings, I feel like achild again with my whole future spread out in front of me. It's scary but also wondrous at the same time. It doesn't occur to me that a week ago I was in theater and Mr Bellringer was working his miracles.
We arrive at the station a couple of hours before our train and so head to the nearest coffee shop. As we walk I suddenly burst into tears. My mum asks me what's wrong to which I have no answer. I don't know why I'm crying. I think the emotion of the past week is partly to blame.
We board the train at 6:15pm and settle down into our pre-booked first class seats. As the train heads out of London I reflect on what has been an immense experience. It's been something which no one can take away from me and each part of it has improved me as a person. I hated it in the first few days after surgery. I can remember feeling so lonely and so out of place. The second half of the week was entirely different once I started to get to know the other girls on the ward. I also had purpose in that second week which proved to be a very valuable thing.
I get home at 9:30pm and I feel so tired. I have a snack and a coffee before heading to my room. I have to do my evening dilation and it feels more uncomfortable than it did in the hospital. I manage to get through it though and I settle down to sleep. I'm home.
to be continued.......
Saturday, 13 April 2013
My GRS Experience - Day 7
Day 7: Sunday 31st March 2013
I wake up after yet another poor nights sleep. My back is coated in the usual sweat and the soreness is as it's been on every morning I've spent here. I wait for breakfast and the drugs round before dilating. I'm still getting to grips with dilation in particularly the uncomfortable nature of it. The mess is an unpleasant thing too. As I push the dilator in any excess lubricant gets pushed off and drips down into the crease of my bum. I'm also experiencing a lot of discharge which isn't very pleasant at all.
After my morning dilation I wash up and douche. Douching involves cleaning out my vagina. I have a douche, which is a rubber balloon with a tube coming out of it. The tube has a number of small openings at the top and screws off the rubber balloon. Basically I fill the rubber balloon with warm water, screw the tube back on, before inserting it into my vagina. I then have to squeeze the balloon which pushes the water up into my vagina flushing it out. I have to do this after every dilation because my new vagina, aside from not being self lubricating, isn't self cleaning.
After my morning battle with the dilators I do my make-up before catching up with my notes for my GRS diary. The orderly brings us all a cup of coffee and some biscuits. The Russian lady in F-1 jokingly asks for some carrot cake which makes us all laugh. At 11:00am Deborah pops her head round the curtain and mentions that she's popping to the chapel to light a candle. With everything happening I'd almost forgotten that today is Easter Sunday. I'm not religious by any stretch of the imagination but it seems a nice thing to do so I go along with her. Adele comes too. As we walk past E-Bay we pop in to see Vera, the elderly lady who I briefly met on my first day here. She's sat out of bed and seems very frail. It's hard not to feel sorry for her, in here on her own.
The chapel is only a couple of minutes walk down the corridor. It's a nice building with lots of stained glass. As we stand there and light candles one of the volunteers comes over. He's a short, elderly man called Fred and he starts chatting to us. We mention that we've come from the Marjorie Warren ward and he instantly realises that we're transexual. We spend a couple of minutes talking to Fred who isn't fazed by our trans status. He assures us that God loves everyone and that elements of the catholic church are wrong if they believe trans people will go to hell. It's actually quite nice to spend time in the Chapel and I light three candles. The first one I light for my Grandad, the second one for my Aunty Janet and the third for my niece Ruby. I shed a couple of tears as I remember them.
After the Chapel we head to Costa for a drink. I get myself a Caramel Latte and I buy the Russian lady a piece of carrot cake. It's nice in Costa as its a piece of society. On the ward it's easy to become split off from the world. You see the same people, doing the same things and that becomes your world fairly quickly. Going to Costa, even just for half an hour, has become very important and I wish I'd come this way sooner in the week.
We head back to the ward, have dinner and painkillers, before I get a text from my mum telling me that they're in Costa. I head back there and spend a nice afternoon with my parents. Hopefully I'll be going home tomorrow and it's a thought which has started to scare me. I want to go home but here I'm safe. If I have any problems then a nurse is only a buzzer away. I'm also growing fond of my birth twins and Sally and I'm not looking forward to leaving them. It may be different if we were all leaving hospital on the same day but I'm leaving a day sooner than they are.
The evening is quiet as we all relax and do our own thing. I'm having my catheter out at midnight and I try and take my mind of it. I do a bit of reading then I do some puzzles then I close my eyes in an attempt at sleep. I can't sleep though because of the uncertainty of having this pipe pulled out of my urethra. It's got to hurt hasn't it?
The lights go out at 10:30pm and I do my final dilation of the day. I've left it later than last night because I figured it'd give me something to do as I waited for midnight. At 11:55pm Joanna pops her head around the curtain and says that it's time. She inserts a syringe into the side of the catheter which lets down a balloon. It's this balloon which keeps the catheter in I believe. She tugs, I get a strange feeling where I can feel myself wee then it's out. It didn't hurt at all which surprises me. It's a strange feeling to lose the catheter bag. All week it's been a constant companion strapped to my leg. Now its gone I feel a strange sense as though I'm missing something.
Now the catheters out I need to wee before they'll clear me for discharge. There's a chance that the urethra will close up so it can be a bit touch and go. My parents smuggled me in a small bottle of rosé a couple of days ago so I drink it now under the belief that it'll make me want to have a wee. I'm not wrong and at 00:55am I have my first girl wee. Because the urethra is still healing it sprays a bit and doesn't go straight. That doesn't matter though because it means that I can go home. I stride down to the nurses station and say proudly, 'I've just had a wee!'. The nurse smiles and reiterates that I should be discharged tomorrow.
I get back into bed and slowly drift off to sleep picturing home in my minds eye. I'm happy to be going home, despite the fears I have.
I wake up after yet another poor nights sleep. My back is coated in the usual sweat and the soreness is as it's been on every morning I've spent here. I wait for breakfast and the drugs round before dilating. I'm still getting to grips with dilation in particularly the uncomfortable nature of it. The mess is an unpleasant thing too. As I push the dilator in any excess lubricant gets pushed off and drips down into the crease of my bum. I'm also experiencing a lot of discharge which isn't very pleasant at all.
After my morning dilation I wash up and douche. Douching involves cleaning out my vagina. I have a douche, which is a rubber balloon with a tube coming out of it. The tube has a number of small openings at the top and screws off the rubber balloon. Basically I fill the rubber balloon with warm water, screw the tube back on, before inserting it into my vagina. I then have to squeeze the balloon which pushes the water up into my vagina flushing it out. I have to do this after every dilation because my new vagina, aside from not being self lubricating, isn't self cleaning.
After my morning battle with the dilators I do my make-up before catching up with my notes for my GRS diary. The orderly brings us all a cup of coffee and some biscuits. The Russian lady in F-1 jokingly asks for some carrot cake which makes us all laugh. At 11:00am Deborah pops her head round the curtain and mentions that she's popping to the chapel to light a candle. With everything happening I'd almost forgotten that today is Easter Sunday. I'm not religious by any stretch of the imagination but it seems a nice thing to do so I go along with her. Adele comes too. As we walk past E-Bay we pop in to see Vera, the elderly lady who I briefly met on my first day here. She's sat out of bed and seems very frail. It's hard not to feel sorry for her, in here on her own.
The chapel is only a couple of minutes walk down the corridor. It's a nice building with lots of stained glass. As we stand there and light candles one of the volunteers comes over. He's a short, elderly man called Fred and he starts chatting to us. We mention that we've come from the Marjorie Warren ward and he instantly realises that we're transexual. We spend a couple of minutes talking to Fred who isn't fazed by our trans status. He assures us that God loves everyone and that elements of the catholic church are wrong if they believe trans people will go to hell. It's actually quite nice to spend time in the Chapel and I light three candles. The first one I light for my Grandad, the second one for my Aunty Janet and the third for my niece Ruby. I shed a couple of tears as I remember them.
After the Chapel we head to Costa for a drink. I get myself a Caramel Latte and I buy the Russian lady a piece of carrot cake. It's nice in Costa as its a piece of society. On the ward it's easy to become split off from the world. You see the same people, doing the same things and that becomes your world fairly quickly. Going to Costa, even just for half an hour, has become very important and I wish I'd come this way sooner in the week.
We head back to the ward, have dinner and painkillers, before I get a text from my mum telling me that they're in Costa. I head back there and spend a nice afternoon with my parents. Hopefully I'll be going home tomorrow and it's a thought which has started to scare me. I want to go home but here I'm safe. If I have any problems then a nurse is only a buzzer away. I'm also growing fond of my birth twins and Sally and I'm not looking forward to leaving them. It may be different if we were all leaving hospital on the same day but I'm leaving a day sooner than they are.
The evening is quiet as we all relax and do our own thing. I'm having my catheter out at midnight and I try and take my mind of it. I do a bit of reading then I do some puzzles then I close my eyes in an attempt at sleep. I can't sleep though because of the uncertainty of having this pipe pulled out of my urethra. It's got to hurt hasn't it?
The lights go out at 10:30pm and I do my final dilation of the day. I've left it later than last night because I figured it'd give me something to do as I waited for midnight. At 11:55pm Joanna pops her head around the curtain and says that it's time. She inserts a syringe into the side of the catheter which lets down a balloon. It's this balloon which keeps the catheter in I believe. She tugs, I get a strange feeling where I can feel myself wee then it's out. It didn't hurt at all which surprises me. It's a strange feeling to lose the catheter bag. All week it's been a constant companion strapped to my leg. Now its gone I feel a strange sense as though I'm missing something.
Now the catheters out I need to wee before they'll clear me for discharge. There's a chance that the urethra will close up so it can be a bit touch and go. My parents smuggled me in a small bottle of rosé a couple of days ago so I drink it now under the belief that it'll make me want to have a wee. I'm not wrong and at 00:55am I have my first girl wee. Because the urethra is still healing it sprays a bit and doesn't go straight. That doesn't matter though because it means that I can go home. I stride down to the nurses station and say proudly, 'I've just had a wee!'. The nurse smiles and reiterates that I should be discharged tomorrow.
I get back into bed and slowly drift off to sleep picturing home in my minds eye. I'm happy to be going home, despite the fears I have.
My GRS Experience - Day 6
Day 6: Saturday 30th March 2013
I awaken with more optimism than I have done recently. Today is a big day because I'm having my packing out. It's been a strange sensation because the packing is in a place that didn't exist before so its quite hard to describe. It's a little like being heavily constipated. After the packing I'll begin dilating. I'm not entirely sure what that entails although I've heard mixed stories about it. Some really suffer with it while some find it a really nice experience. I hope I'm in the latter category.
Before breakfast arrives I have a moment where I cry openly on the ward. I feel worn out due to yesterday's excitement and I feel unbelievably emotional. The Russian lady in F1 shows concern and so does Deborah. I feel stupid for crying in front of people and the tears don't last long.
After breakfast Joanna (the nurse who admitted me on my first day) pops in and asks me if I'm ready for my packing out or if I want to wait. I opt to have it out now, just to get it over and done with. A couple of minutes later and Joanna returns with a trolley. She draws the curtains and I get in position. She begins squirting water on the packing to soften it before she starts to tug at it gently. She needs to be careful so as not to pull the vagina in on itself causing prolapse. It hurts and it's a pretty traumatic experience. I can feel almost every tug as Joanne eases the packing out. The packing itself is a long yellow bandage that they stuff into the vagina after surgery. It's meant to keep the vagina open as it begins to heal. They really stuff it in there so there's a lot of it and it seems to take ages to remove. I tell Joanna about Deborah's description of it, how she described it as like giving birth to a rag doll. I hear Deborah laugh as she overhears from her bed.
It takes a long time for Joanna to completely remove the packing but once it's done I heave a big sigh of relief. I feel empty although it is a nice feeling. It wasn't the nicest experience of my life that's for sure. After the packing has been removed its straight onto dilation. I'm given two dilators. They are around seven to eight inches long and are clear Perspex tubes with tapered ends like a rocket. Ones wider than the other. Joanna coats the end of the smaller one with lubricant and inserts it into my vagina. It feels unspeakably strange to have something inserted in that region of my body. It's really uncomfortable but not as bad as I thought it would be. The packing has kept my vagina open so the first dilation is pretty easy. After five minutes Joanna removes the dilator and coats the end of the larger one with lubricant before handing it to me. I need the mirror but its easy to see where to insert it. It's harder than the smaller one and I struggle to reach the depth Joanna did with the smaller dilator. I have to keep this one in for twenty minutes so I put some music on my iPhone and imagine I'm anywhere but here with this Perspex thing in me.
After I've dilated I clean up and have a shower. Up until now I've not been able to shower because of the vaginal packing. Now it's out I can shower and it's the best shower I've had in a long while. I wash my hair for the first time since Sunday and I actually feel clean. I put clean pyjamas on and put some make-up on in readiness for my parents arrival this afternoon.
After dinner I dilate before my parents arrive. We head to the day room to chat. It's nice to hear their news from home because it feels like I've been here for lot longer the six days. After half an hour we decide to head to Costa for a coffee. It's amazing to get off the ward for a couple of hours and to have a proper coffee. I feel annoyed at myself for not venturing here before. My parents stay for a couple of hours before I head back to the ward. It was so good to see them and it made me feel closer to home. Hopefully I'll be going home on Monday so I've only got one full day left. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that.
I get back to the ward just in time for dinner and the drugs round. After dinner Adele does my nails for me and Deborah fetches a lady called Sally from next door. Sally took my bed in E-Bay and had her op on Wednesday. Shes really nice and seems very down to earth. We all chat for a while before settling down in our respective beds for the night. It's been another good day and I'm actually a bit frustrated that it's not been like this all week. I hated being here at the start of the week but now I'm really enjoying it. I'm enjoying the new camaraderie I've found with the other girls here and I feel like I'm amongst friends finally. I don't feel out of place anymore.
I awaken with more optimism than I have done recently. Today is a big day because I'm having my packing out. It's been a strange sensation because the packing is in a place that didn't exist before so its quite hard to describe. It's a little like being heavily constipated. After the packing I'll begin dilating. I'm not entirely sure what that entails although I've heard mixed stories about it. Some really suffer with it while some find it a really nice experience. I hope I'm in the latter category.
Before breakfast arrives I have a moment where I cry openly on the ward. I feel worn out due to yesterday's excitement and I feel unbelievably emotional. The Russian lady in F1 shows concern and so does Deborah. I feel stupid for crying in front of people and the tears don't last long.
After breakfast Joanna (the nurse who admitted me on my first day) pops in and asks me if I'm ready for my packing out or if I want to wait. I opt to have it out now, just to get it over and done with. A couple of minutes later and Joanna returns with a trolley. She draws the curtains and I get in position. She begins squirting water on the packing to soften it before she starts to tug at it gently. She needs to be careful so as not to pull the vagina in on itself causing prolapse. It hurts and it's a pretty traumatic experience. I can feel almost every tug as Joanne eases the packing out. The packing itself is a long yellow bandage that they stuff into the vagina after surgery. It's meant to keep the vagina open as it begins to heal. They really stuff it in there so there's a lot of it and it seems to take ages to remove. I tell Joanna about Deborah's description of it, how she described it as like giving birth to a rag doll. I hear Deborah laugh as she overhears from her bed.
It takes a long time for Joanna to completely remove the packing but once it's done I heave a big sigh of relief. I feel empty although it is a nice feeling. It wasn't the nicest experience of my life that's for sure. After the packing has been removed its straight onto dilation. I'm given two dilators. They are around seven to eight inches long and are clear Perspex tubes with tapered ends like a rocket. Ones wider than the other. Joanna coats the end of the smaller one with lubricant and inserts it into my vagina. It feels unspeakably strange to have something inserted in that region of my body. It's really uncomfortable but not as bad as I thought it would be. The packing has kept my vagina open so the first dilation is pretty easy. After five minutes Joanna removes the dilator and coats the end of the larger one with lubricant before handing it to me. I need the mirror but its easy to see where to insert it. It's harder than the smaller one and I struggle to reach the depth Joanna did with the smaller dilator. I have to keep this one in for twenty minutes so I put some music on my iPhone and imagine I'm anywhere but here with this Perspex thing in me.
After I've dilated I clean up and have a shower. Up until now I've not been able to shower because of the vaginal packing. Now it's out I can shower and it's the best shower I've had in a long while. I wash my hair for the first time since Sunday and I actually feel clean. I put clean pyjamas on and put some make-up on in readiness for my parents arrival this afternoon.
After dinner I dilate before my parents arrive. We head to the day room to chat. It's nice to hear their news from home because it feels like I've been here for lot longer the six days. After half an hour we decide to head to Costa for a coffee. It's amazing to get off the ward for a couple of hours and to have a proper coffee. I feel annoyed at myself for not venturing here before. My parents stay for a couple of hours before I head back to the ward. It was so good to see them and it made me feel closer to home. Hopefully I'll be going home on Monday so I've only got one full day left. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that.
I get back to the ward just in time for dinner and the drugs round. After dinner Adele does my nails for me and Deborah fetches a lady called Sally from next door. Sally took my bed in E-Bay and had her op on Wednesday. Shes really nice and seems very down to earth. We all chat for a while before settling down in our respective beds for the night. It's been another good day and I'm actually a bit frustrated that it's not been like this all week. I hated being here at the start of the week but now I'm really enjoying it. I'm enjoying the new camaraderie I've found with the other girls here and I feel like I'm amongst friends finally. I don't feel out of place anymore.
Thursday, 11 April 2013
My GRS Experience - Day 5
Day 5: Friday 29th March 2013
I wake up after yet another relatively sleepless night. I keep waking up with my bag soaked in sweat and with that throbbing soreness in my surgical site. The mornings are becoming the worst time for me. The nurses come round at 6:00am to do the blood pressures and temperatures and for the next couple of hours I'm lying in pain and discomfort.
Today I have a visitor coming in the form of Amy. I can't quite remember how we got in contact. I think it was possibly through one of the online support forums I'm a member of. Since then we've followed each other on Twitter and become Facebook friends. She had her surgery last year so I'm looking forward to being able to compare notes, see if what I'm experiencing is normal. The other two ladies on the ward, Adele and Deborah, are starting to look well and so I'm optimistic about my last couple of days here. Although I'm looking forward to going home I'm starting to settle into life here and I'm also becoming slightly institutionalised. I look forward to the drugs rounds and the blood pressure checks are becoming a vital part of my day.
Because I've got a visitor coming I actually put make-up on today. Doing my make-up is a vital part of my morning routine in the outside world but in hospital it's not something I've thought about. It's a normal thing to do and this experience has been anything but normal. Doing my make-up has a similar effect to when I put my own nightie on the other day. It makes me feel human, makes the world normal and that is such a powerful thing in here. Im actually quite annoyed that it's taken a visitor for me to do my make-up. GRS is such a crazy experience that it's important to be normal. I shouldn't need an excuse to reintroduce normality into my life.
I have my lunch at the normal time and take my meds. I've been prescribed ibuprofen on top of my paracetamol and laxative. It's to help with the swelling I believe. Amy arrives at around 2:00pm. She's brought me a magazine and an Easter egg. It's a simple gesture but it means a lot. We head to the day room to chat.
I enjoy talking to Amy. She says that I look well and compliments me on my walking. I'm still walking with a limp but that's down to the catheter more than anything else. We exchange experiences and compare notes. It's great and it gives me a new optimism for my Charing Cross stay. Im having my packing out tomorrow morning so that's been weighing on my mind a bit. Talking to Amy takes my mind off this big event which is only a good thing. During our chat I have a couple of false alarms. My bowels have begun moving and so I've been making a lot of trips to the toilet. Unfortunately they are still yet to open so I've taken to calling these events as false alarms. I'll feel a heavy movement as though I need to go urgently. I'll trot to the toilet, sit down, nothing. I've never prayed for a poo so much in my life!
We end up chatting for three hours and I have to stand up a couple of times. I'm still finding it hard to sit down in the same place for too long. At around 5:00pm Deborah comes into the day room with her visitor, a man called Ray. We all start chatting together which is great as I've not really talked to Deborah previously. As she walks in though she instantly cracks me up as she announces that her packing as fallen out. She describes it as 'like giving birth to a rag doll' which makes my surgical site hurt as I laugh. Apparently the nurses phoned Mr Bellringer at home who asked if they'd given it a Christian burial before saying that Deborah needs to start dilating straight away. Hearing Deborah describe how her packing fell out only adds to my anxiety over my own packing removal tomorrow.
Soon Adele joins the group. It's great to finally be getting to know my birth twins. Adele and Deborah both had their surgeries on the Monday morning with mine being the third operation of the day. After about ten minutes I start to feel really sore. I've been sat for too long and my body is starting to complain. I pop off to change my pad and just to get my legs moving again. I need to change the pad every four to six hours. The NHS pads are these big green things that sit in my nickers. I'm currently getting a lot of discharge from the surgical site so they do need changing that often.
On my return dinner has arrived and Amy decides to go. I see her off before settling down to my dinner. I feel like I've overdone things today so I don't really enjoy my dinner. It was great to chat to Amy and to finally start to get to know Adele and Deborah. I finally start to enjoy my Charing Cross experience. After dinner I head to my bed to put my feet up. I feel tired and sore but my relaxation is short lived as I feel the now familiar rumblings. I head to the toilet expecting another false alarm but to my relief my bowels finally open. I nearly cry with the emotion of it all as I'd become so concerned at my constipation.
I settle down for the night slightly happier than I have up to now. It's been a better day and tomorrow my parents are arriving to visit. Before that I have my packing out and I'll begin dilating. Tomorrow is going to be my biggest day since Monday.
Wednesday, 10 April 2013
My GRS Experience - Day 4
Day 4: Thursday 28th March 2013
I wake up at around 4:30 am and I struggle to get back to sleep. I feel sore and I'm coated in sweat. I really hate this bed for the way it cocoons me. I can't sleep on my side because the catheter pipe digs in so I'm stuck to sleeping on my back. I just lay there for the following hour. I could watch something on my iPad but I feel too sore to do anything other than lay there. At 5:30am I feel a spreading wet patch near my right leg and I discover that my catheter tube has disconnected from the night bag. I ring the bell but a nurse doesn't come for half an hour. When she does come she seems put out and says that she'll change the bed in a minute. In the mean time I reconnect the catheter tube to my leg bag. It takes forty five minutes before the nurse returns with clean sheets. In my time at Charing Cross this is the one low point I have with the staff. On the whole they are great and they do work long hours. No patient should be left in a puddle of urine though, especially one who had major reconstructive surgery three days ago! While the nurse changes the bed I go to wash.
This morning, having learnt my lesson, I wait until the drugs round at 9:00am before I have my painkillers. That makes the previous couple of hours tough. It's not a pain as such, just a constant throb and that's worse somehow. Once I've had the painkillers though I'm fine.
At 11:00am Manjit pops in and has a look at the surgical site. She seems satisfied that everything's as it should be. I'm yet to look at myself. I did bring a mirror in with me because I figure I'll need it when I start dilating but I've been kinda scared to look at it at. I know that it'll look a mess. From what I can see it looks swollen and bruised. Manjit seems happy enough though so I take the opportunity to have a first look myself. Two suture lines run down in a V shape with a smaller one running down the middle. Where the two lines join a mound of yellow cloth protrudes from my new vagina. Above this packing the catheter pipe comes out of my urethra. It's surrounded by more packing. It does look a mess although you can see the basic shape and imagine what it might look like in a couple of months time.
Once Manjits examined the surgical site she goes over things with me. When I had my Pre-admissions appointment with Iffy back in February she told me that I'd be discharged on the Monday. With it being a bank holiday though it turns out that my discharge dat would be Tuesday instead. Having already booked train tickets etc, I asked Manjit if I could still go home on Monday. It turns out I can and she explains what will happen over the weekend. On Friday I'll have the packing removed and I'll begin dilating. I'll be required to dilate three times daily for the foreseeable future. On Sunday at midnight I'll have the catheter removed then I'll need to have a wee before I can be discharged on Monday. It may seem a routine thing, having a wee, but there's a risk of retention. I'm not exactly sure what this is but I assume it's where the urethra closes up. If this happens then I'll need the catheter back in and I won't be able to go home. At the moment going home on Monday is keeping me going.
About ten minutes after Manjit has gone she pops back in with Mr Bellringer in tow. I hear them talking to Deborah in the next bed before they get to me. She's not been allowed to eat since Monday and so asks whether she can eat soon. Apparently she'll only be allowed food once she can open her bowels. After Deborah they pass by my bed. Everything's fine so they stop only briefly. Manjit mentions that I'm bored to which Mr Bellringer replies, with a smile, that it's good to be bored in here.
Once they're gone I get a text from my mum. It's a simple text message, 'Hope you slept ok last night, and are feeling a bit brighter this morning, sending love and hugs xxxxx', but it makes me cry. I realise how much I miss home and my family. I've spent a lot of my career working away from my family. I've spent months working abroad without seeing my family yet four days in hospital is harder than that. Obviously this is a situation charged with emotion, certain things will get to me more than they would on the outside. My parents are coming down on Saturday and I can't wait. It's keeping me going, it really is.
Today, due to my as yet unopened bowels, Manjit has prescribed me a laxative. It's a sweet syrup that's not unpleasant. It does make me screw my face up briefly though. My bowels are one of my main concerns now. They tell you not to push or strain but to just let nature take its course. When your sat there though it is so hard not to push. There is a danger of the packing coming out so you do have to be careful. I'm desperate to go whilst the packing is still in though because the risk of prolapse will only increase after the packing is out. Despite a lot of time pent on the toilet though, I can not go and it frustrates me so much.
A strange experience I've begun to notice is that I can feel myself wee. It's so strange and slightly unnerving especially when I'm in bed. I keep forgetting that I'm weeing into a bag and I expect to be covered in urine.
After lunch the ladies in F1 and F2 go home. They are the non trans patients. As they go we wish each other good luck. It seems like we've been together on this ward for an age yet it's only been a few days. That's the thing I've noticed since being here, time seems to react in different ways.
Soon after the beds are empty, F1 gets filled by a Russian lady. She seems scared and doesn't speak a lot of English. She's got something wrong with her blood and so needs an injection. There's a moment when a nurse starts arguing with her over this injection. The nurse eventually gives in and strides off down the corridor. Next thing I know Adele, from the bed to the left of me, is chasing her and shouting at her for 'bullying' the Russian woman. I can see her point although it's a bit of a shock to see Adele so lively after spending all week asleep. It turns out that she's opened her bowels and so is feeling a lot better.
I head to the day room with my IPad. I need to get off the bay for a while, see some different walls. The flowers my parents sent me are in here. You can't keep them next to your bed because of the risk of infection. Deborah's managed to get out of bed and she's in here reading a book. She's starting to look better although you can tell she's still pretty I'll. Adele walks in and the transformation is pretty amazing. She's managed to have a wash and she looks human. Both her and Deborah have spent the previous days in bed so it's great to see them both up and about. Finally I don't feel alone in F-Bay.
I spend the rest of the evening catching up on my notes for my GRS account before settling down for another night. Tomorrow I'm getting a visitor in the form of a Twitter/Facebook friend. I go to sleep slightly happier than I have done in previous nights.
I wake up at around 4:30 am and I struggle to get back to sleep. I feel sore and I'm coated in sweat. I really hate this bed for the way it cocoons me. I can't sleep on my side because the catheter pipe digs in so I'm stuck to sleeping on my back. I just lay there for the following hour. I could watch something on my iPad but I feel too sore to do anything other than lay there. At 5:30am I feel a spreading wet patch near my right leg and I discover that my catheter tube has disconnected from the night bag. I ring the bell but a nurse doesn't come for half an hour. When she does come she seems put out and says that she'll change the bed in a minute. In the mean time I reconnect the catheter tube to my leg bag. It takes forty five minutes before the nurse returns with clean sheets. In my time at Charing Cross this is the one low point I have with the staff. On the whole they are great and they do work long hours. No patient should be left in a puddle of urine though, especially one who had major reconstructive surgery three days ago! While the nurse changes the bed I go to wash.
This morning, having learnt my lesson, I wait until the drugs round at 9:00am before I have my painkillers. That makes the previous couple of hours tough. It's not a pain as such, just a constant throb and that's worse somehow. Once I've had the painkillers though I'm fine.
At 11:00am Manjit pops in and has a look at the surgical site. She seems satisfied that everything's as it should be. I'm yet to look at myself. I did bring a mirror in with me because I figure I'll need it when I start dilating but I've been kinda scared to look at it at. I know that it'll look a mess. From what I can see it looks swollen and bruised. Manjit seems happy enough though so I take the opportunity to have a first look myself. Two suture lines run down in a V shape with a smaller one running down the middle. Where the two lines join a mound of yellow cloth protrudes from my new vagina. Above this packing the catheter pipe comes out of my urethra. It's surrounded by more packing. It does look a mess although you can see the basic shape and imagine what it might look like in a couple of months time.
Once Manjits examined the surgical site she goes over things with me. When I had my Pre-admissions appointment with Iffy back in February she told me that I'd be discharged on the Monday. With it being a bank holiday though it turns out that my discharge dat would be Tuesday instead. Having already booked train tickets etc, I asked Manjit if I could still go home on Monday. It turns out I can and she explains what will happen over the weekend. On Friday I'll have the packing removed and I'll begin dilating. I'll be required to dilate three times daily for the foreseeable future. On Sunday at midnight I'll have the catheter removed then I'll need to have a wee before I can be discharged on Monday. It may seem a routine thing, having a wee, but there's a risk of retention. I'm not exactly sure what this is but I assume it's where the urethra closes up. If this happens then I'll need the catheter back in and I won't be able to go home. At the moment going home on Monday is keeping me going.
About ten minutes after Manjit has gone she pops back in with Mr Bellringer in tow. I hear them talking to Deborah in the next bed before they get to me. She's not been allowed to eat since Monday and so asks whether she can eat soon. Apparently she'll only be allowed food once she can open her bowels. After Deborah they pass by my bed. Everything's fine so they stop only briefly. Manjit mentions that I'm bored to which Mr Bellringer replies, with a smile, that it's good to be bored in here.
Once they're gone I get a text from my mum. It's a simple text message, 'Hope you slept ok last night, and are feeling a bit brighter this morning, sending love and hugs xxxxx', but it makes me cry. I realise how much I miss home and my family. I've spent a lot of my career working away from my family. I've spent months working abroad without seeing my family yet four days in hospital is harder than that. Obviously this is a situation charged with emotion, certain things will get to me more than they would on the outside. My parents are coming down on Saturday and I can't wait. It's keeping me going, it really is.
Today, due to my as yet unopened bowels, Manjit has prescribed me a laxative. It's a sweet syrup that's not unpleasant. It does make me screw my face up briefly though. My bowels are one of my main concerns now. They tell you not to push or strain but to just let nature take its course. When your sat there though it is so hard not to push. There is a danger of the packing coming out so you do have to be careful. I'm desperate to go whilst the packing is still in though because the risk of prolapse will only increase after the packing is out. Despite a lot of time pent on the toilet though, I can not go and it frustrates me so much.
A strange experience I've begun to notice is that I can feel myself wee. It's so strange and slightly unnerving especially when I'm in bed. I keep forgetting that I'm weeing into a bag and I expect to be covered in urine.
After lunch the ladies in F1 and F2 go home. They are the non trans patients. As they go we wish each other good luck. It seems like we've been together on this ward for an age yet it's only been a few days. That's the thing I've noticed since being here, time seems to react in different ways.
Soon after the beds are empty, F1 gets filled by a Russian lady. She seems scared and doesn't speak a lot of English. She's got something wrong with her blood and so needs an injection. There's a moment when a nurse starts arguing with her over this injection. The nurse eventually gives in and strides off down the corridor. Next thing I know Adele, from the bed to the left of me, is chasing her and shouting at her for 'bullying' the Russian woman. I can see her point although it's a bit of a shock to see Adele so lively after spending all week asleep. It turns out that she's opened her bowels and so is feeling a lot better.
I head to the day room with my IPad. I need to get off the bay for a while, see some different walls. The flowers my parents sent me are in here. You can't keep them next to your bed because of the risk of infection. Deborah's managed to get out of bed and she's in here reading a book. She's starting to look better although you can tell she's still pretty I'll. Adele walks in and the transformation is pretty amazing. She's managed to have a wash and she looks human. Both her and Deborah have spent the previous days in bed so it's great to see them both up and about. Finally I don't feel alone in F-Bay.
I spend the rest of the evening catching up on my notes for my GRS account before settling down for another night. Tomorrow I'm getting a visitor in the form of a Twitter/Facebook friend. I go to sleep slightly happier than I have done in previous nights.
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
My GRS Experience - Day 3
Day 3: Wednesday 27th March 2013
I have a restless night. The alarms from either side, coupled with the soreness I feel, make it an uncomfortable night. The hospital beds are designed so you don't fall out so the thick leather mattresses hold you in place. I sweat a lot as a consequence of my body remaining trapped in one place. By the time daylight spreads across the ward I'm in pain and extremely tired. They check my blood pressure every four hours with the first check being at 6:00am. At 8:00am the night staff finish so the senior nurses check on each patient passing on relevant info to the day staff. I'm in pain so I ask for pain killers and I get two paracetamol. The pain starts to go about thirty minutes later.
After breakfast the drugs trolley comes round. Because I had some pain killers earlier I'm not allowed them this time and so I have to wait until 1:00pm before I get them! The following four hours are not pleasant. The pain killers start to wear off and I begin to experience soreness. I attempt to put it to the back of my mind but that seems to make the pain worse. I start to feel emotional and lonely. The other trans patients are very ill and so are spending a lot of time asleep. I don't have anyone to talk to, especially about the surgery. I thought things would be different and so I start to feel depressed. Im in pain and I'm so lonely. I start to think of home and I can not wait to leave this place.
The painkillers come at 1:00pm on the dot and I instantly start to feel better. I think it's just a placebo effect at first. I head to the washroom and wash. I spray some dry shampoo in my hair and I it makes a big difference to my mood. I can't shower until my packing comes out on Saturday so the dry shampoo proves to be an important addition to my toiletry bag. I've decided to wear my own clothes in hospital so I do away with the NHS nickers and gown and wear my own underwear and nightie. It makes me feel at least part human again.
I spend the afternoon watching Homeland on my IPad before moving onto Miranda. The transformation to how I felt first thing this morning is dramatic and it's a theme which stays throughout my stay at Charing Cross.
Towards the end of the evening the lady in the bed opposite right to mine, the one who had the stroke, gets moved up to a non surgical ward. This leaves a bed empty in F-Bay. I wish her luck as she gets wheeled past me. Although we only exchanged pleasantries she seemed a really nice lady. I'm not sure she realised which ward she was on though.
As the evening draws to a close and the lights go out I reflect on what has been a boring day on F-Bay. I want to go home, want to leave this place. It's not how I thought it would be. I guess I had visions of a ward of post-op girls comparing suture lines and pain thresholds. I thought I'd have people to talk to, people who were going through the same as me. I thought we'd all be comparing notes, going to costa together, experiencing this unique situation together. As it is I'm on my own and as I struggle to sleep, alarms going either side of me, I begin to sob quietly.
I have a restless night. The alarms from either side, coupled with the soreness I feel, make it an uncomfortable night. The hospital beds are designed so you don't fall out so the thick leather mattresses hold you in place. I sweat a lot as a consequence of my body remaining trapped in one place. By the time daylight spreads across the ward I'm in pain and extremely tired. They check my blood pressure every four hours with the first check being at 6:00am. At 8:00am the night staff finish so the senior nurses check on each patient passing on relevant info to the day staff. I'm in pain so I ask for pain killers and I get two paracetamol. The pain starts to go about thirty minutes later.
After breakfast the drugs trolley comes round. Because I had some pain killers earlier I'm not allowed them this time and so I have to wait until 1:00pm before I get them! The following four hours are not pleasant. The pain killers start to wear off and I begin to experience soreness. I attempt to put it to the back of my mind but that seems to make the pain worse. I start to feel emotional and lonely. The other trans patients are very ill and so are spending a lot of time asleep. I don't have anyone to talk to, especially about the surgery. I thought things would be different and so I start to feel depressed. Im in pain and I'm so lonely. I start to think of home and I can not wait to leave this place.
The painkillers come at 1:00pm on the dot and I instantly start to feel better. I think it's just a placebo effect at first. I head to the washroom and wash. I spray some dry shampoo in my hair and I it makes a big difference to my mood. I can't shower until my packing comes out on Saturday so the dry shampoo proves to be an important addition to my toiletry bag. I've decided to wear my own clothes in hospital so I do away with the NHS nickers and gown and wear my own underwear and nightie. It makes me feel at least part human again.
I spend the afternoon watching Homeland on my IPad before moving onto Miranda. The transformation to how I felt first thing this morning is dramatic and it's a theme which stays throughout my stay at Charing Cross.
Towards the end of the evening the lady in the bed opposite right to mine, the one who had the stroke, gets moved up to a non surgical ward. This leaves a bed empty in F-Bay. I wish her luck as she gets wheeled past me. Although we only exchanged pleasantries she seemed a really nice lady. I'm not sure she realised which ward she was on though.
As the evening draws to a close and the lights go out I reflect on what has been a boring day on F-Bay. I want to go home, want to leave this place. It's not how I thought it would be. I guess I had visions of a ward of post-op girls comparing suture lines and pain thresholds. I thought I'd have people to talk to, people who were going through the same as me. I thought we'd all be comparing notes, going to costa together, experiencing this unique situation together. As it is I'm on my own and as I struggle to sleep, alarms going either side of me, I begin to sob quietly.
Monday, 8 April 2013
My GRS Experience - Day 2
Day 2: Tuesday 26th March 2013
Breakfast arrives at around 8:30am. The orderly asks me what I'd like and I ask for toast and jam with juice and a white coffee. I'm still experiencing pretty bad effects from the anaesthetic and morphine so I struggle to eat the toast. I feel sick and sore. I've literally not moved all night so my entire lower body aches and it's also soaked in sweat. Just after breakfast a doctor shows up. I recognise him from the knockout room and I assume he assisted Mr Bellringer in the operation. He checks my legs and asks me how I'm feeling. He gets me to wiggle my toes and bend my knees. Apparently I went really pale in recovery and they were quite concerned, hence the questions. He hurries off and Manjit pops in.
Manjit starts to remove the dressing around my groin. I've heard of the dressing described as a sumo wrestlers nappy and I can see what they mean. She starts to unwrap it carefully. It's not uncomfortable, not like I thought it would be. Manjit smiles as she looks at the surgical site. Apparently there's been no bleeding in the night which I can only presume to be a good thing. She tells me that the surgery went well and that there were no real concerns. As she goes I hear her ask a nurse to remove the dressing completely and to take me off the morphine. I give the morphine button a couple of presses before the nurse arrives.
The nurse is quick as she removes the dressing and the morphine drip. I thought it would hurt more as she pulls the needle out of my arm but I hardly feel anything. She also removes the drain and that does hurt. It's a burning sensation and it feels like a very long tube. She tapes the catheter tube up to the top of my groin, just below my naval, before attaching it to a leg bag. The leg bag straps to the top of my thigh by two Velcro straps. It holds around a litre and has a tap at the bottom of it. This is so you can empty it down the toilet. After the surgery they like you to be mobile pretty quickly and the hourly trips to empty the catheter bag help to achieve this. Once my leg bag is attached she gives me a thick pad (to soak up any discharge) and a pair of NHS nickers. I've heard all about these so I've packed some of my own. The NHS nickers are these ugly net ones. I put them on, along with the pad, and get up out of bed.
Walking feels strange. I almost waddle across the hall to the toilet/washroom. Once I'm in I instantly feel sick and I feel like I'm going to pass out. I'm still suffering the effects of the general anaesthetic, not to mention a night with my own supply of morphine! I grab the sink and look in the mirror. I've started to get a bit of shadow and my hair hangs limp around my shoulders. The bags under my eyes tell a tale of a constantly disrupted night. I look a mess in my NHS hospital gown. I shave and wash despite the nausea threatening to send me crashing to the floor. I spray some dry shampoo in my hair and it does make me feel better. I still look a mess, just a nicer mess.
I waddle back to my bed and clamber back in it. While I've been washing the nurses have changed it although it's soon back to a mess after I've been in it for five minutes. I start jotting down notes on my notepad before Mr Bellringer, closely followed by Manjit, pops in. He stands at the foot of my bed in his trademark cycling gear as he repeats Manjits comments about the surgery going well. He also remarks that he got concerned when he phoned down to recovery after my surgery and it looked like I was losing blood. He smiles though, before he leaves, when he says that despite that small problem, everything else went to plan.
I get a nice surprise just before lunch when I get a bunch of flowers delivered. They're from my mum and dad and as I look at them I cry. I'm not sure why I cry. The emotion of it all might be getting to me or it might be the fact that at this moment I feel so far away from home. Getting the flowers does bring certain things home to me. I realise how much certain people care for me and how much I miss them. They're coming to visit me on Saturday and it's that that keeps me going through the next few days.
Lunch arrives and I manage to eat more than I did at breakfast. I feel so hungry which is no wonder considering I spent most of yesterday nil by mouth. After lunch the drugs trolley comes round and I'm given two paracetamol tablets. It makes me giggle for a moment. Normally I'll take paracetamol for a hangover yet here I am taking it for a sex change operation! Around half an hour later I'm moved. They wheel me into F-Bay so I'm with Mr Bellringers other patients. F-Bay is bigger than E-Bay with its own shower room next to the entrance. There are six beds, three along each wall, with a big window at the end wall. The scenery isn't much to look at, just a brick wall, but it's daylight at least. I'm wheeled into F-5, in between two other Bellringer patients. They are both very I'll having undergone colonvaginaplastys. This is where they take a piece of your colon to use as part of your vaginal wall. It's a last resort operation as it is quite painful and risky.
On the right side of me is a lady called Deborah. She's older with curly hair and I later learn that she underwent her original GRS thirty years ago! She's experienced complications most of her life and it's only now that she's managed to, hopefully, get it sorted. On the left side of me is Adele. She was born intersex and I later learn that she was on embarrassing bodies a year ago. She was due to have an operation under Mr Thomas as Brighton in a bid to give her more depth. She had to pull out of it and now she's managed to get it done under Mr Bellringer. The other three beds, on the opposite wall, are taken by non-trans patients. To the opposite left is an African lady in her late fifties who's had an operation on her throat. She's friendly and always waves at me as I waddle past her bed. To the direct opposite of me is an eastern European lady in her thirties. I'm never quite sure what surgery she's had although she walks worse than me. To the opposite right of me, next to the window, is an elderly lady in her late sixties/early seventies. She's had a stroke and seems really friendly. It's a ward of variety although I kinda feel out of place somehow.
I spend the rest of the afternoon watching episodes of Homeland on my IPad before tea arrives. I'm thankful for the leg bag as the process of emptying it takes up time. By the end of the day I find that the waddle has become a bit of a limp. I struggle to sleep that night. The girls on either side of me are hooked up to drips that trigger an alarm when they are empty and this happens every three or four hours. It seems to take the nurses forever to refill them so I don't sleep a lot that night.
Breakfast arrives at around 8:30am. The orderly asks me what I'd like and I ask for toast and jam with juice and a white coffee. I'm still experiencing pretty bad effects from the anaesthetic and morphine so I struggle to eat the toast. I feel sick and sore. I've literally not moved all night so my entire lower body aches and it's also soaked in sweat. Just after breakfast a doctor shows up. I recognise him from the knockout room and I assume he assisted Mr Bellringer in the operation. He checks my legs and asks me how I'm feeling. He gets me to wiggle my toes and bend my knees. Apparently I went really pale in recovery and they were quite concerned, hence the questions. He hurries off and Manjit pops in.
Manjit starts to remove the dressing around my groin. I've heard of the dressing described as a sumo wrestlers nappy and I can see what they mean. She starts to unwrap it carefully. It's not uncomfortable, not like I thought it would be. Manjit smiles as she looks at the surgical site. Apparently there's been no bleeding in the night which I can only presume to be a good thing. She tells me that the surgery went well and that there were no real concerns. As she goes I hear her ask a nurse to remove the dressing completely and to take me off the morphine. I give the morphine button a couple of presses before the nurse arrives.
The nurse is quick as she removes the dressing and the morphine drip. I thought it would hurt more as she pulls the needle out of my arm but I hardly feel anything. She also removes the drain and that does hurt. It's a burning sensation and it feels like a very long tube. She tapes the catheter tube up to the top of my groin, just below my naval, before attaching it to a leg bag. The leg bag straps to the top of my thigh by two Velcro straps. It holds around a litre and has a tap at the bottom of it. This is so you can empty it down the toilet. After the surgery they like you to be mobile pretty quickly and the hourly trips to empty the catheter bag help to achieve this. Once my leg bag is attached she gives me a thick pad (to soak up any discharge) and a pair of NHS nickers. I've heard all about these so I've packed some of my own. The NHS nickers are these ugly net ones. I put them on, along with the pad, and get up out of bed.
Walking feels strange. I almost waddle across the hall to the toilet/washroom. Once I'm in I instantly feel sick and I feel like I'm going to pass out. I'm still suffering the effects of the general anaesthetic, not to mention a night with my own supply of morphine! I grab the sink and look in the mirror. I've started to get a bit of shadow and my hair hangs limp around my shoulders. The bags under my eyes tell a tale of a constantly disrupted night. I look a mess in my NHS hospital gown. I shave and wash despite the nausea threatening to send me crashing to the floor. I spray some dry shampoo in my hair and it does make me feel better. I still look a mess, just a nicer mess.
I waddle back to my bed and clamber back in it. While I've been washing the nurses have changed it although it's soon back to a mess after I've been in it for five minutes. I start jotting down notes on my notepad before Mr Bellringer, closely followed by Manjit, pops in. He stands at the foot of my bed in his trademark cycling gear as he repeats Manjits comments about the surgery going well. He also remarks that he got concerned when he phoned down to recovery after my surgery and it looked like I was losing blood. He smiles though, before he leaves, when he says that despite that small problem, everything else went to plan.
I get a nice surprise just before lunch when I get a bunch of flowers delivered. They're from my mum and dad and as I look at them I cry. I'm not sure why I cry. The emotion of it all might be getting to me or it might be the fact that at this moment I feel so far away from home. Getting the flowers does bring certain things home to me. I realise how much certain people care for me and how much I miss them. They're coming to visit me on Saturday and it's that that keeps me going through the next few days.
Lunch arrives and I manage to eat more than I did at breakfast. I feel so hungry which is no wonder considering I spent most of yesterday nil by mouth. After lunch the drugs trolley comes round and I'm given two paracetamol tablets. It makes me giggle for a moment. Normally I'll take paracetamol for a hangover yet here I am taking it for a sex change operation! Around half an hour later I'm moved. They wheel me into F-Bay so I'm with Mr Bellringers other patients. F-Bay is bigger than E-Bay with its own shower room next to the entrance. There are six beds, three along each wall, with a big window at the end wall. The scenery isn't much to look at, just a brick wall, but it's daylight at least. I'm wheeled into F-5, in between two other Bellringer patients. They are both very I'll having undergone colonvaginaplastys. This is where they take a piece of your colon to use as part of your vaginal wall. It's a last resort operation as it is quite painful and risky.
On the right side of me is a lady called Deborah. She's older with curly hair and I later learn that she underwent her original GRS thirty years ago! She's experienced complications most of her life and it's only now that she's managed to, hopefully, get it sorted. On the left side of me is Adele. She was born intersex and I later learn that she was on embarrassing bodies a year ago. She was due to have an operation under Mr Thomas as Brighton in a bid to give her more depth. She had to pull out of it and now she's managed to get it done under Mr Bellringer. The other three beds, on the opposite wall, are taken by non-trans patients. To the opposite left is an African lady in her late fifties who's had an operation on her throat. She's friendly and always waves at me as I waddle past her bed. To the direct opposite of me is an eastern European lady in her thirties. I'm never quite sure what surgery she's had although she walks worse than me. To the opposite right of me, next to the window, is an elderly lady in her late sixties/early seventies. She's had a stroke and seems really friendly. It's a ward of variety although I kinda feel out of place somehow.
I spend the rest of the afternoon watching episodes of Homeland on my IPad before tea arrives. I'm thankful for the leg bag as the process of emptying it takes up time. By the end of the day I find that the waddle has become a bit of a limp. I struggle to sleep that night. The girls on either side of me are hooked up to drips that trigger an alarm when they are empty and this happens every three or four hours. It seems to take the nurses forever to refill them so I don't sleep a lot that night.
Sunday, 7 April 2013
My GRS Experience - Day 1
When I went into hospital one of the first things I packed was a notebook and pen. I wanted to record my account of my stay at Charing Cross. Before I went in I read various different accounts and they really helped me with what to expect. The thing I found though was that your CHX experience is unique dispite the similarity of certain events. Here is the start of my account........
Day 1: Monday 25th March 2013
I jump off the train and set off on a gallop down Platform 4 of Londons St Pancras International. I weave past people, my suitcase rolling behind me as I glance at the clock again. It's 10:34am and I'm due at Charing Cross hospital at 11:00am, will the underground make it? I immediately decide that it won't. It's not just a matter of jumping on a sub way train. I'll need to get my ticket, get down into the actual underground station, hope that a 30 minute journey magically takes 10 minutes then turn into Usain Bolt for the final leg between Hammersmith tube station and the hospital! I look up at the signs for directions to the taxi rank making a quick toilet stop on the way.
I manage to get a taxi straight away and soon we're weaving through the London traffic. I look at the buildings as we pass, tall glass fronted structures with mirrored windows. There's something about the capital city, something I can't quite put my finger on. Ive been to London a few times, more recently in relation to today's visit. I'm due to have Gender Reassignment Surgery at 5:00pm today at Charing Cross Hospital in Hammersmith, West London. I'll be staying a week, hence the suitcase, before heading back home to recuperate. I've been planning this for months, ever since I got my surgery date back on the 24th September. The fact that it was a day over six months ago doesn't escape me. Four days before then, on a warm September Thursday, I'd been in London to visit the Gender Identity Clinic there. The Charing Cross GIC is located just across the road from the main hospital, above the Sainsburys on Fulham Palace Road. It has the feel of a doctors waiting room. On my visit there, I spent around twenty minutes waiting before being called into Mr Bellringers office. I'd gone in and he'd been sat at his desk next to one of his specialist nurses, a lady called Manjit. He'd gone through the whole operation in around three minutes, speaking as though he'd said it a hundred times. The truth was that he probably had. After running through the procedure he'd done a five second examination of my genitals before clearing me for surgery. I'd been so happy despite the fact that it was probably a forgone conclusion anyway. As we speed through London, the minutes ticking there way to eleven o'clock, I think back to that day, back to the day I knew this day was definitely coming.
We pull up just outside the main entrance to the hospital at five to eleven and after paying the cabbie (twenty three pounds!) I race towards the revolving doors. As I go I fumble around in my bag, grabbing the letter I'd been sent confirming my appointment. I'm to report to the Majorie Warren ward at eleven sharp. I trot past the Starbucks, a place I've heard so much about via other GRS accounts, towards the lifts. Turning right at the lifts I head into the South Wing of the hospital. The Majorie Warren ward is located down a number of corridors, almost tucked away, out of sight, out of mind. When I arrive in the ward it's quiet, strangely quiet. I've heard that Monday is one of the turn around days so I was expecting a bit more of a hustle and bustle. I wait at the desk as a nurse answers the phone, my suitcase in one hand, my doughnut cushion in the other. I've brought the cushion with the return journey in mind. I observe my surroundings. The ward is around the length of a football field. A day room, complete with armchairs and tv set, lies adjacent to the nurses station. Five bays, lettered A to E line the left wall with the famed trans bay (F Bay) being situated at the far end of the corridor. The nurse puts down the phone and I'm told to wait in the day room until I'm allocated a bed. I sit down uncomfortably. I'm suddenly concerned about things even though I've read so many different accounts. I should know what to expect shouldn't I? This is happening to me though and a small part of me isn't sure any of it's real. The appearance of a nurse at the door alerts me and I look up. The nurse introduces herself as Joanna. She's in her mid twenties i presume and I'll later find out she's Portuguese although for some reason she sounds Russian. She takes me up the corridor to E Bay and shows me to the bed on the right as you enter the Bay. It's only a four bed Bay with the two beds opposite mine being occupied. Joanna brings me in a registration form to fill in, a hospital gown and a pair of navy blue stockings. The stockings are to prevent DVT which is a risk if you spend a lot of time immobile. I fill out the registration form and put on the gown and stockings. The stockings come up to just below my knees and I instantly hate them. Joanna pops back in asking my height and weight. I guess my height at being around 5'10" although I'm not sure about my weight. When I got the date I made a conscious effort to lose weight and I did really well. I went on weight-watchers and I lost a stone in the four weeks leading up to Christmas. Since Christmas though the diet went out of the window. Various work related stresses made it almost impossible to stick to any sensible eating plan so I know I put that weight back on. Once Joanna's weighed me it turns out I'm thirteen stone! She tells me that Mr Bellringer will pop in to see me soon but before he does she needs to give me an enema. I've heard about this so I kind of know what to expect. I'm told to get on the bed and lay on my side. She then sticks a syringe up my anus before squirting some liquid up there. It's a strange sensation but not wholly uncomfortable. Once Joanna goes I begin to read a book on my IPad. I've put the complete set of Discworld Novels onto it and reading about the exploits of Rincewind and Two Flower makes this pretty ludicrous situation go to the back of my mind.
A movement in my bowels brings me back to reality and I have to jog cross the corridor to the toilet. The enema gives me pretty urgent diarrhoea and I go a couple of times over the next couple of hours. I settle back down to my book before Mr Bellringer walks in, complete with the famous cycling gear. He's closely followed by Manjit, one of his Clinical Nurse Specialists. He sits on the bed and asks if I've read and signed a consent form. At my Pre-Admission appointment in February, Iffy, his other Clinical Nurse Specialist, had gone through the consent form. She'd told me about all of the risks and some of them had terrified me. One of the main risks is prolapse. This is where the vagina collapses in on itself and can be caused by straining and not resting enough. Another risk which scared the hell out of me was Necrosis. This is where the vagina loses its blood supply which then causes the skin and tissue to die. Apparently if you get this there is nothing that can be done. Other risks include lack of sensation, lack of depth, problems with the Urethra, all pretty awful. Despite the risks, I've never thought twice about the surgery and so I've already signed the consent form. Mr Bellringer smiles and turning to Manjit says, 'someone's eager'.
Around fifteen minutes after Mr Bellringers visit the anaesthetist arrives. He's an Asian man in his early thirties and comes across as very pleasant. He explains the risks associated with general anaesthetic and I'm asked the normal questions regarding allergies etc. Before he goes he mentions that I'll be going up at around 3:30pm, an hour and a half earlier than I'd thought! I don't mind because I kinda need to get this done now, I'm tired of waiting. I have a couple of hours so I start writing notes. I've decided to write an account of my time at Charing Cross. The girl in the bed opposite to mine reveals herself and pops over to chat. She's an Indian girl, in her late twenties, called Sabrina. She's been in hospital since January and has had a few operations due to kidney stones. She asks me what I'm in for so I reply that it's for something downstairs, not wanting to give myself away. After five minutes she trots back to her bed. In the bed opposite right to mine is an elderly lady called Vera. She's in for a growth in her armpit. I instantly feel sorry for her because she seems so frail. Her son pops in to visit and I get the impression he doesn't visit very often. It must be awful to be stuck in hospital at that age and I pray that she gets out soon. No one would want to die in this corner of Charing Cross Hospital.
At 2:45pm an orderly strides in and announces that I'm going up now. It's a shock because I wasn't expecting it yet. I get on the bed and the orderly begins to wheel my bed out of the ward. Joanna suddenly appears and tells the orderly that I can't go up until a nurse returns from her break. A nurse has to accompany me up to theatre and at the moment there's no one to cover the ward. The orderly disappears and I'm left for another thirty minutes before a different orderly appears, and a nurse.
They wheel me down the ward and towards the lifts in the main entrance. I feel nervous and a part of me expects to wake up at any moment. Is this really happening to me? We go up a few floors and once we enter the theatre wing the nurse heads back to the ward. As we pass the desk, a man at a computer shouts over that we're going to theatre 9. I'm wheeled down a corridor with flashing lights and discarded wheel chairs before we enter the knockout room. I'm laid flat before the anaesthetist tries to find a vein on the back of my left hand. I'm told to clench my hand into a fist as he slaps it. He sticks a needle into it but still he can't get a vein. I'm told my veins are thin and I'm not sure if that's a good thing. He tries my right hand and I'm told to clench my hand into a fist again. Another man puts heart and lung pads on my chest and I look up as Mr Bellringer comes in from the operating theatre. He washes his hands and stands next to my bed glaring at me. I get the impression he's annoyed at the time it's taken to knock me out! Suddenly the anaesthetist shouts with glee,'I've got one!' and a needle is being taped to my hand and being connected up to a strange device. A mask is put over my mouth and nose and the anaesthetist says,'you'll start to feel light headed, as though you've been out and had too much to drink.'. I can see Mr Bellringer watching me as I go under.
I regain consciousness and I struggle to focus. I'm in a different room with people attending to me. At first I think I've woken up during surgery before I realise I'm in the recovery room. My body feels heavy and I feel groggy. I struggle to get words out but I manage to say,'is it done?. I hear someone say that it is done. For the next hour I slowly regain consciousness. I have snatches of sleep between feelings on nausea and dehydration. I feel so thirsty but I'm not allowed fluids until I'm back on the ward.
I don't remember getting back to the ward but soon I find myself back in E Bay. Its 7:30pm which (after my hour spent in recovery) puts my surgery time at around two and a half hours. I phone my mum and take my first look at the area. My entire groin is bandaged up and there's two tubes coming out of it. Ones a drain and the other ones for my catheter. I also have a tube attached to my right arm which delivers the morphine. I have a button which, if I press it, gives me a shot of morphine with a beep. That first night is long. That first night after surgery they need to check my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature every hour so it's a night of disruptions. The general anaesthetic, coupled with the morphine, has made me nauseous and so I feel sick most of the night. Im also really dehydrated so the water next to my bed proves to be a godsend. In that first night I drink in excess of three litres! At one point I drop my morphine button so Sabrina ties it to my bed for me. I don't move during that first night, partly because my legs feel heavy, partly because I'm terrified of pulling one of my 'tubes' out. Come the sunrise I'm extremely uncomfortable and ready for breakfast.
To be continued......
Day 1: Monday 25th March 2013
I jump off the train and set off on a gallop down Platform 4 of Londons St Pancras International. I weave past people, my suitcase rolling behind me as I glance at the clock again. It's 10:34am and I'm due at Charing Cross hospital at 11:00am, will the underground make it? I immediately decide that it won't. It's not just a matter of jumping on a sub way train. I'll need to get my ticket, get down into the actual underground station, hope that a 30 minute journey magically takes 10 minutes then turn into Usain Bolt for the final leg between Hammersmith tube station and the hospital! I look up at the signs for directions to the taxi rank making a quick toilet stop on the way.
I manage to get a taxi straight away and soon we're weaving through the London traffic. I look at the buildings as we pass, tall glass fronted structures with mirrored windows. There's something about the capital city, something I can't quite put my finger on. Ive been to London a few times, more recently in relation to today's visit. I'm due to have Gender Reassignment Surgery at 5:00pm today at Charing Cross Hospital in Hammersmith, West London. I'll be staying a week, hence the suitcase, before heading back home to recuperate. I've been planning this for months, ever since I got my surgery date back on the 24th September. The fact that it was a day over six months ago doesn't escape me. Four days before then, on a warm September Thursday, I'd been in London to visit the Gender Identity Clinic there. The Charing Cross GIC is located just across the road from the main hospital, above the Sainsburys on Fulham Palace Road. It has the feel of a doctors waiting room. On my visit there, I spent around twenty minutes waiting before being called into Mr Bellringers office. I'd gone in and he'd been sat at his desk next to one of his specialist nurses, a lady called Manjit. He'd gone through the whole operation in around three minutes, speaking as though he'd said it a hundred times. The truth was that he probably had. After running through the procedure he'd done a five second examination of my genitals before clearing me for surgery. I'd been so happy despite the fact that it was probably a forgone conclusion anyway. As we speed through London, the minutes ticking there way to eleven o'clock, I think back to that day, back to the day I knew this day was definitely coming.
We pull up just outside the main entrance to the hospital at five to eleven and after paying the cabbie (twenty three pounds!) I race towards the revolving doors. As I go I fumble around in my bag, grabbing the letter I'd been sent confirming my appointment. I'm to report to the Majorie Warren ward at eleven sharp. I trot past the Starbucks, a place I've heard so much about via other GRS accounts, towards the lifts. Turning right at the lifts I head into the South Wing of the hospital. The Majorie Warren ward is located down a number of corridors, almost tucked away, out of sight, out of mind. When I arrive in the ward it's quiet, strangely quiet. I've heard that Monday is one of the turn around days so I was expecting a bit more of a hustle and bustle. I wait at the desk as a nurse answers the phone, my suitcase in one hand, my doughnut cushion in the other. I've brought the cushion with the return journey in mind. I observe my surroundings. The ward is around the length of a football field. A day room, complete with armchairs and tv set, lies adjacent to the nurses station. Five bays, lettered A to E line the left wall with the famed trans bay (F Bay) being situated at the far end of the corridor. The nurse puts down the phone and I'm told to wait in the day room until I'm allocated a bed. I sit down uncomfortably. I'm suddenly concerned about things even though I've read so many different accounts. I should know what to expect shouldn't I? This is happening to me though and a small part of me isn't sure any of it's real. The appearance of a nurse at the door alerts me and I look up. The nurse introduces herself as Joanna. She's in her mid twenties i presume and I'll later find out she's Portuguese although for some reason she sounds Russian. She takes me up the corridor to E Bay and shows me to the bed on the right as you enter the Bay. It's only a four bed Bay with the two beds opposite mine being occupied. Joanna brings me in a registration form to fill in, a hospital gown and a pair of navy blue stockings. The stockings are to prevent DVT which is a risk if you spend a lot of time immobile. I fill out the registration form and put on the gown and stockings. The stockings come up to just below my knees and I instantly hate them. Joanna pops back in asking my height and weight. I guess my height at being around 5'10" although I'm not sure about my weight. When I got the date I made a conscious effort to lose weight and I did really well. I went on weight-watchers and I lost a stone in the four weeks leading up to Christmas. Since Christmas though the diet went out of the window. Various work related stresses made it almost impossible to stick to any sensible eating plan so I know I put that weight back on. Once Joanna's weighed me it turns out I'm thirteen stone! She tells me that Mr Bellringer will pop in to see me soon but before he does she needs to give me an enema. I've heard about this so I kind of know what to expect. I'm told to get on the bed and lay on my side. She then sticks a syringe up my anus before squirting some liquid up there. It's a strange sensation but not wholly uncomfortable. Once Joanna goes I begin to read a book on my IPad. I've put the complete set of Discworld Novels onto it and reading about the exploits of Rincewind and Two Flower makes this pretty ludicrous situation go to the back of my mind.
A movement in my bowels brings me back to reality and I have to jog cross the corridor to the toilet. The enema gives me pretty urgent diarrhoea and I go a couple of times over the next couple of hours. I settle back down to my book before Mr Bellringer walks in, complete with the famous cycling gear. He's closely followed by Manjit, one of his Clinical Nurse Specialists. He sits on the bed and asks if I've read and signed a consent form. At my Pre-Admission appointment in February, Iffy, his other Clinical Nurse Specialist, had gone through the consent form. She'd told me about all of the risks and some of them had terrified me. One of the main risks is prolapse. This is where the vagina collapses in on itself and can be caused by straining and not resting enough. Another risk which scared the hell out of me was Necrosis. This is where the vagina loses its blood supply which then causes the skin and tissue to die. Apparently if you get this there is nothing that can be done. Other risks include lack of sensation, lack of depth, problems with the Urethra, all pretty awful. Despite the risks, I've never thought twice about the surgery and so I've already signed the consent form. Mr Bellringer smiles and turning to Manjit says, 'someone's eager'.
Around fifteen minutes after Mr Bellringers visit the anaesthetist arrives. He's an Asian man in his early thirties and comes across as very pleasant. He explains the risks associated with general anaesthetic and I'm asked the normal questions regarding allergies etc. Before he goes he mentions that I'll be going up at around 3:30pm, an hour and a half earlier than I'd thought! I don't mind because I kinda need to get this done now, I'm tired of waiting. I have a couple of hours so I start writing notes. I've decided to write an account of my time at Charing Cross. The girl in the bed opposite to mine reveals herself and pops over to chat. She's an Indian girl, in her late twenties, called Sabrina. She's been in hospital since January and has had a few operations due to kidney stones. She asks me what I'm in for so I reply that it's for something downstairs, not wanting to give myself away. After five minutes she trots back to her bed. In the bed opposite right to mine is an elderly lady called Vera. She's in for a growth in her armpit. I instantly feel sorry for her because she seems so frail. Her son pops in to visit and I get the impression he doesn't visit very often. It must be awful to be stuck in hospital at that age and I pray that she gets out soon. No one would want to die in this corner of Charing Cross Hospital.
At 2:45pm an orderly strides in and announces that I'm going up now. It's a shock because I wasn't expecting it yet. I get on the bed and the orderly begins to wheel my bed out of the ward. Joanna suddenly appears and tells the orderly that I can't go up until a nurse returns from her break. A nurse has to accompany me up to theatre and at the moment there's no one to cover the ward. The orderly disappears and I'm left for another thirty minutes before a different orderly appears, and a nurse.
They wheel me down the ward and towards the lifts in the main entrance. I feel nervous and a part of me expects to wake up at any moment. Is this really happening to me? We go up a few floors and once we enter the theatre wing the nurse heads back to the ward. As we pass the desk, a man at a computer shouts over that we're going to theatre 9. I'm wheeled down a corridor with flashing lights and discarded wheel chairs before we enter the knockout room. I'm laid flat before the anaesthetist tries to find a vein on the back of my left hand. I'm told to clench my hand into a fist as he slaps it. He sticks a needle into it but still he can't get a vein. I'm told my veins are thin and I'm not sure if that's a good thing. He tries my right hand and I'm told to clench my hand into a fist again. Another man puts heart and lung pads on my chest and I look up as Mr Bellringer comes in from the operating theatre. He washes his hands and stands next to my bed glaring at me. I get the impression he's annoyed at the time it's taken to knock me out! Suddenly the anaesthetist shouts with glee,'I've got one!' and a needle is being taped to my hand and being connected up to a strange device. A mask is put over my mouth and nose and the anaesthetist says,'you'll start to feel light headed, as though you've been out and had too much to drink.'. I can see Mr Bellringer watching me as I go under.
I regain consciousness and I struggle to focus. I'm in a different room with people attending to me. At first I think I've woken up during surgery before I realise I'm in the recovery room. My body feels heavy and I feel groggy. I struggle to get words out but I manage to say,'is it done?. I hear someone say that it is done. For the next hour I slowly regain consciousness. I have snatches of sleep between feelings on nausea and dehydration. I feel so thirsty but I'm not allowed fluids until I'm back on the ward.
I don't remember getting back to the ward but soon I find myself back in E Bay. Its 7:30pm which (after my hour spent in recovery) puts my surgery time at around two and a half hours. I phone my mum and take my first look at the area. My entire groin is bandaged up and there's two tubes coming out of it. Ones a drain and the other ones for my catheter. I also have a tube attached to my right arm which delivers the morphine. I have a button which, if I press it, gives me a shot of morphine with a beep. That first night is long. That first night after surgery they need to check my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature every hour so it's a night of disruptions. The general anaesthetic, coupled with the morphine, has made me nauseous and so I feel sick most of the night. Im also really dehydrated so the water next to my bed proves to be a godsend. In that first night I drink in excess of three litres! At one point I drop my morphine button so Sabrina ties it to my bed for me. I don't move during that first night, partly because my legs feel heavy, partly because I'm terrified of pulling one of my 'tubes' out. Come the sunrise I'm extremely uncomfortable and ready for breakfast.
To be continued......
Friday, 5 April 2013
Charing Cross And Home
So, I'm home. I was discharged on Monday at around 1:30pm. I had a couple of hot chocolates in Starbucks with the other girls in the ward before my parents arrived to take me home at around 3:30ish. Then we took a taxi to St Pancras before catching the 6:25pm train. We eventually got home at around 9:30pm. I actually cried a few times during the journey home. In the end I was sorry to be leaving Charing Cross, being released into society again. The other girls on the ward, my birth twins, started feeling a lot better on the Friday and so we had a really nice weekend. The fact that I also had visitors on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday made things that bit nicer.
On the Friday, a friend I'd made on Twitter called Amy popped in to visit. She had her op in July last year and so it was great to be finally talking to someone who'd been through the experience herself. Up until Friday the other girls had struggled and so conversation between us was limited. After Amy had gone though we all started talking and that's when things got better.
On the Saturday I had my packing removed. It was a strange and quite traumatic experience. The packing was yellow and very long and it was packed in quite tightly so it took the nurse a while to remove it. Deborah, the lady in the bed next to mine described it as being like giving birth to a rag doll and I can't think of a better description. Once it was out I felt strangely unblocked.
Once the packing was out it was straight onto dilation. The dilatory are hard, clear Perspex. You get two, one smaller in width than the other. First you have to lubricate the smaller one then insert it as far as it will go before holding it in for 5 minutes. Once thats done it's onto the larger one. This is to get the width and you have to hold this one in for 20 minutes and it hurts. As of writing I'm getting around 6 inches with the smaller one and around 5-6 inches with the larger one. I have to dilate like this 3 times a day.
My parents visited me on the Saturday and Sunday afternoons. It was a dash of normality while we sat sipping caramel lattes in Costa Coffee. The Sunday marked Easter Sunday so myself and the other 2 girls, Deborah and Adele, popped to the chapel to light a candle. It was kind of apt that Easter fell at the same time as my op, what with it bing the festival of new life. Afterwards we popped to Costa for a coffee and spoke about our previous lives.
On the Sunday night, at midnight, I had my catheter removed. It hurt far less than I thought it would. My first girl wee occurred just under an hour later and I had mixed emotions. On one hand I knew I'd be going home on the Monday, on the other hand I'd grown attached to my new friends and I'd actually become institutionalised to a certain degree. It's kinda scary how quick that happens.
So, what's life been like away from hospital? It's been hard, that's for sure. Dilation has been hard and has brought me to floods of tears. On my 2nd day home I noticed I'd picked up an infection. A bad smell, pussy discharge and increased pain were signs I'd been told to look out for. I'm currently on antibiotics for it and they seem to be working. I'm finding the simplest tasks absolutely exhausting. I put some washing in today and I had to have a nap! It's so scary how much this has taken out of me. It's not all doom and gloom though. The last of the packing has fallen off and so I can now see the whole shape without any odd bundles in the way. The shape is there and you can get a picture of what it'll look like one the swellings gone down, the bruisings disappeared and the suture lines have healed. I'm making my peace with the tri-daily dilations although I'm praying for the day I can cut it down to twice daily.
I've learnt many things over the past 11 days but the most important thing has been that I'm learning that the op wasn't the end. It's a realisation that I always guessed at but never really believed. This is just the beginning, the beginning of a long road. It's not going to be easy, that I know now. I'm going to have good days and I'm going to have bad. This is just the beginning though, the beginning of my new life.
On the Friday, a friend I'd made on Twitter called Amy popped in to visit. She had her op in July last year and so it was great to be finally talking to someone who'd been through the experience herself. Up until Friday the other girls had struggled and so conversation between us was limited. After Amy had gone though we all started talking and that's when things got better.
On the Saturday I had my packing removed. It was a strange and quite traumatic experience. The packing was yellow and very long and it was packed in quite tightly so it took the nurse a while to remove it. Deborah, the lady in the bed next to mine described it as being like giving birth to a rag doll and I can't think of a better description. Once it was out I felt strangely unblocked.
Once the packing was out it was straight onto dilation. The dilatory are hard, clear Perspex. You get two, one smaller in width than the other. First you have to lubricate the smaller one then insert it as far as it will go before holding it in for 5 minutes. Once thats done it's onto the larger one. This is to get the width and you have to hold this one in for 20 minutes and it hurts. As of writing I'm getting around 6 inches with the smaller one and around 5-6 inches with the larger one. I have to dilate like this 3 times a day.
My parents visited me on the Saturday and Sunday afternoons. It was a dash of normality while we sat sipping caramel lattes in Costa Coffee. The Sunday marked Easter Sunday so myself and the other 2 girls, Deborah and Adele, popped to the chapel to light a candle. It was kind of apt that Easter fell at the same time as my op, what with it bing the festival of new life. Afterwards we popped to Costa for a coffee and spoke about our previous lives.
On the Sunday night, at midnight, I had my catheter removed. It hurt far less than I thought it would. My first girl wee occurred just under an hour later and I had mixed emotions. On one hand I knew I'd be going home on the Monday, on the other hand I'd grown attached to my new friends and I'd actually become institutionalised to a certain degree. It's kinda scary how quick that happens.
So, what's life been like away from hospital? It's been hard, that's for sure. Dilation has been hard and has brought me to floods of tears. On my 2nd day home I noticed I'd picked up an infection. A bad smell, pussy discharge and increased pain were signs I'd been told to look out for. I'm currently on antibiotics for it and they seem to be working. I'm finding the simplest tasks absolutely exhausting. I put some washing in today and I had to have a nap! It's so scary how much this has taken out of me. It's not all doom and gloom though. The last of the packing has fallen off and so I can now see the whole shape without any odd bundles in the way. The shape is there and you can get a picture of what it'll look like one the swellings gone down, the bruisings disappeared and the suture lines have healed. I'm making my peace with the tri-daily dilations although I'm praying for the day I can cut it down to twice daily.
I've learnt many things over the past 11 days but the most important thing has been that I'm learning that the op wasn't the end. It's a realisation that I always guessed at but never really believed. This is just the beginning, the beginning of a long road. It's not going to be easy, that I know now. I'm going to have good days and I'm going to have bad. This is just the beginning though, the beginning of my new life.
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