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......