GRS: 6 Months on!!

The Marjorie Warren Ward
where I recuperated after the op!

     Six months ago, at just gone 11:00am I was admitted to the Majorie Warren Ward at Charing Cross hospital for GRS. Little did I know, as I settled into a bed on E-Bay, that I was at the beginning of a week that would prove to be the most amazing, most self defining week of my life! At just after 3:00pm I was wheeled up to theatre. I can still remember the sick feeling in my stomach, the nerves, the wonder of it all as I was wheeled into the knock out room. I can remember Mr Bellringers glare as they struggled to put me to sleep and I can still remember waking up after the op and my first words 'Is it done?!'. The op was just a small part of that week though, just a detail if you will. For the six months leading up to the op, that's the thing I'd focused on. I'd never imagined how the week in hospital after the op would effect me. It would leave something imprinted on me and in a small way it changed me. It changed my outlook on things and actually changed my fears and how I perceive everyday life.



     The first few days after the op were boring and actually quite lonely. I was on my own, or at least I felt like I was. The ward was full although the other two trans parents in my bay were really ill. I didn't feel like I could share my GRS experience with anyone, didn't feel like I could compare notes so to speak. It was only as I headed towards the weekend that I began to feel a part of things. The other two trans patients in my bay (Adele and Debs) got better and so I got to know them and we actually started doing things together like going to the coffee shop and doing each others nails. Then, around the same time, another trans patient (Sally) popped in. She was staying on another bay on the


The day after the op.
Thankfully it looks A LOT better
these days!

ward. By the weekend it was amazing. Debs, a tall lady with curly red hair and the driest sense of humour became one of my most favourite people in the world. Adele, a tattooed girl with jet black hair became a relatable ward mate while Sally, a middle aged lady with a great outlook on life was one of the nicest most unassuming people I had ever met. They all had stories and I loved hearing about their different experiences. Mine seemed pretty tame compared to theirs! Although I still keep in touch with them all via Facebook (in regards to Adele and Sally) and SMS (in regards to Debs) it's what they meant during that week that will always stay with me. Debs (in particular) made me laugh so much. One particular moment that will stay with me is horrific on it's own but Debs made it funny with the simplest of lines. Her vaginal packing came out early and she proceeded to tell me about it describing it as like 'giving birth to a rag doll!'


(left to right) Debs, Adele and myself
on my discharge.
 

     As the week drew to a close things began to take up my day. On the Saturday morning I had my packing out. That was, and still is, one of the most traumatic moments of my life. It was so uncomfortable and seemed to take forever. Once the packing came out I had to start dilating 3 times a day. In hospital I was happy for it because it gave me something to do. My parents came to visit me on the Saturday afternoon and on the Sunday myself, Sally and Debs had a walk to the chapel. It was Easter Sunday and provided a really touching moment. I'm not religious but I used it as an opportunity to give thanks as well as giving thought to the loved ones I've lost.
     I was discharged on the Monday and as I left Charing Cross I cried. I cried in the taxi, I cried at the station and I cried at home. I missed the place, missed the connections I'd made, missed the experience. It was a week of two halves and when I look back, 6 months on, it's not
necessarily the op I'm celebrating. It's the experience I'm looking back on, a truly unforgettable experience!