Thankyou!
No really, Thankyou!
I've been thinking how I could start this post and saying Thankyou seemed the best way.
Five years ago I started blogging and over the years, as I've blogged about my transition I blogged not just for myself but for you. There were times when I thought it was a way of helping myself make sense of transition but in reality that was only a small reason. Ultimately there's no point in blogging if you don't have some form of readership. It doesn't matter how people come across a blog, whether it be stored in their favourites list or they just come across it while browsing, without that readership you may as well give up. So Thankyou for reading over the past five years or so, Thankyou for joining me along this journey!
When I had surgery I wasn't quite sure how I would feel afterwards. I had no idea how it would change things in my mind. It's had an enormous effect in so many different ways. For the first time in my life I'm 100% comfortable with my sexuality. I'm happier with my body than I've ever been. Sure I still have a couple of hangups but what woman doesn't? I think that the most major change psychologically is that I feel fixed. I feel cured. I no longer suffer from Gender Dysphoria because that would mean that I had confusions about my gender identity and I don't. I'm a woman through and through and no one can question that fact any more.
For the first time, perhaps in my life, I feel confident enough and ready enough to embark on romantic relationships. I have no issues to prevent me from getting close to someone, no hidden secrets either. My past is mine to dispense with when I feel ready to, not when I meet someone for the first time.
For the first time I feel confident enough to change my career. I feel it's possible to start from scratch and to make a new life for myself doing something I really want to do. I was stuck in catering because it was all I knew. I was good at it and I made Head Chef so I succeeded at it. In the end that wasn't enough. What's the point of being at the top of a career you really don't enjoy. I'm now looking at going into teaching. I've applied to redo my GCSE's. One of my greatest regrets is that I didn't come out of school with much. Now I've got a chance to change that, to be something and I'm going to throw my all into it. I will pass them and I will qualify as a teacher and I'm determined to be a bloody good one.
Throughout this process my family has been my rock. My parents have been the best parents anyone could have. It wasn't easy for them at first but they learned to accept me for who I was even if they didn't fully understand it. If it wasn't for them I'm not sure I'd be here now. My sisters have been great and I'm closer to my big sister than I've ever been. I look after her three children every week while she works nights and they really are great kids, as are all of my nieces (3) and nephews (4). Those who protest that children don't understand when an adult transitions or that it might make children want to transition themselves are proved wrong by the kids in my family. I'm Aunty Emma now and they don't question that. Nor have they showed any signs that they may copy me! Children are innocent of the prejudices of adults. It's just a pity that some adults choose to drill those prejudices into their children's minds. My brother still has a long way to go and I'm not sure he'll ever get there. My sister in law (his wife) is great. We work together most Wednesday's which I really enjoy. I'm disappointed by my brother but I'm past sad now. If he can't get over himself after four years of knowing then that's up to him. One thing I do know is that we'll both be deeply regretful one day, only one of us will deserve to.
All in all, I'm living life. I'm meeting new people as well as getting back in touch with old friends. The futures mine now and it's exciting. For the first time in my life I feel confident enough to look to the future with optimism. For the past four years transition has dominated my life, it's been an ever present. Now I feel free from it. It was a burden at times but going through it has been an experience that has made me stronger. It's something I should never have had to go through but I'm glad I did. I'm glad I had the strength of character to stick to my convictions, to transition no matter the cost.
So we come to the end, not just the end of the post, the end of the blog. I feel that nows the right time to sign off, now I'm fixed. I will leave this blog up as I think it's important to share our journeys even if we no longer write about them. It is time to end though I think. I may post again, you never do know what can happen in life. For the foreseeable future though I won't be posting o this blog. I will still keep blogging though, in some form. It just won't be trans related. If you want the new address, just message me and I'll give it to you once I start blogging again.
So, this is it. Goodbye, for now at least.
Monday, 10 June 2013
Thursday, 6 June 2013
Stepping Back Out Of The Wardrobe
On Monday I had my follow up appointment at Charing Cross GIC. It meant a day trip to London which I do like. London has this majesty about it. I'm from a place where everyone knows you so I quite enjoy the anomy that London offers. Before yesterday I'd arranged to meet up with Debs (who was in the bed next to mine on FBay) and Sally (who had her op 2 days after me). We all had our follow up appointments within half an hour of each other so I was looking forward to seeing the both of them again.
I caught the 9:55am train down from Chesterfield and so arrived in London St Pancras for 1:05pm. My appointment was at 2:15pm so I made my way straight there. This meant a trip on the tube which I kinda enjoy. I like the experience of the underground but I don't like it when it gets too busy. Anyway, I caught the tube and after a short walk from Hammersmith Tube to the GIC I arrived at just before 2pm. Sally and Debs were already there and after a few hugs we sat down to catch up. It was great to be exchanging notes on our different experiences. Debs looked so well, a far cry from the frail thing who'd suffered so much after undergoing a colonvaginaplastys. Sally looked well too although, as I discovered a little later, she was extremely worried. She's been really struggling with depth and actually thought some packing had been left in her vagina!
Debs was seen first and so I took the time to catch up with Sally. This was when I found out about her problems. It made me feel a tad guilty because a few weeks ago I'd been worried about my depth but managed to, somehow, gain a little bit more recently. On the whole my recovery has been problem free.
After Debs came out it was my turn to be called in. Mr Bellringer (my surgeon) was sat down with Manjit and after a quick chat about how things were going, it was straight onto an examination. He spotted a bit of granulation near my clitoris which he sorted out with some silver nitrate. Now for those who don't know what granulation is I'll try my best to explain. Basically, as with many surgeries, there are parts which struggle to heal. With most surgeries though, drier surgeries, this parts do eventually heal. With Vaginoplasty the site is being constantly disturbed and is almost constantly wet. These parts (called granulation) don't heal and so need cauterising with silver nitrate to heal. After he'd sorted out that first bit if granulation I mentioned about some discharge I'm still getting so he had a further look inside my vagina. Apparently one side was perfectly healthy skin but the other side had granulation which he sorted out with some more silver nitrate.
After the examination I cleaned myself up and that was it, appointment over. Apparently everything's fine on the whole although if I do account any more discharge I'm to call Manjit immediately.
Next it was Sally's turn which gave me a chance to catch up with Debs. I like debs because she really makes me laugh with some of the things she says. She's got a really dry sense of humour and some of the things she's done with her life! Anyway, it was great to catch up with her and we've arranged for me to pop down to Brighton to see her at some point. A few minutes later Sally came out with instructions to pop to admissions at the hospital to arrange a date when Mr Bellringer could take a closer look at why she's struggling for depth.
After we'd all been seen we popped over to the hospital. Sally needed to pop to admissions to get a date to be seen again and I wanted to pop back to the Majorie Warren ward. I'd gotten a card and some chocolates as a thank you to the nurses who looked after me during my week after surgery. After Sally had gotten her date we all strolled down the familiar corridors to the ward. It seemed really strange, as though nothing had changed. It was like I'd stepped through the wardrobe to Narnia, been living my life, then stepped back through to find no time had passed. The ward looked exactly the same and I think it helped me going back. Certain situations can get romanticised in your mind and I think that that happened to me as regards to my week on Majorie Warren. I needed to be reminded how dreary and depressing a place it actually is. I can remember comparing it to the ward on One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest and now I remember why!
After the trip back to the ward we popped over the road for a coffee and a chat. It's amazing how we've all changed from the walking wounded we were at Easter. I guess I realised how much I've recovered myself in seeing Debs and Sally again. It's not been easy but I'm definitely ok. I still have the odd bad day and I still get really sore sometimes. My fitness isn't back to where it was yet, that's for sure. I'm getting there though and that's encouraging.
Friday, 24 May 2013
A Quick Rewind Into The Future
I've just read back a few posts and I realised I said something in my last post that I probably hadn't referred to before. I mentioned about the horrors of the first week so now I'm going to rewind a bit and fill in the blanks.
When I got home from hospital on the 1st April I was so drained. It was an exhausting journey and it took me a couple of weeks to really get over it. I'd just had major invasive surgery, a surgery with a lot of risks involved. Of course a six hour journey was going to be hard.
The next day I kind of mooched around. I had a mega lie in and just spent the rest of the day on my bed watching telly. It was that evening that I noticed a smell emanating from the surgical site. It was accompanied by a milky yellow discharge and an increase in pain. I knew then that I'd picked up an infection and the next day I had it confirmed by my GP who prescribed me a course of antibiotics. The infection wasn't actually the worst of my worries in that first week. I had a lot of trouble with dilation. Now, in those early days, dilation is hard and requires a certain amount of discipline. Dilating three times a day on top of recovering from major surgery really takes it out of you. I had a certain amount of difficulty getting the larger dilator in and for the first 5 days I cried my way through dilation. Throughout this whole process I've never had any regrets but during that first 5 days I came close.
Things got really bad when during dilation I got a bleed from some of my stitches. The blood ran down over my dilator so when I pulled it out the dilator was coated in a film of blood. At first I thought I'd caused a bleed inside my vagina which really scared the hell out of me.
I think that I'd become reliant on the nurses in hospital. I was only in for a week but it's surprising how used to the routine you get. Not having that routine effected me more than I dared to admit.
After that first week things began to settle down as I got used to my new routine. The tri-daily dilations were hard and it really does take it out of you. I managed to get down to twice a day at around week 6 without any real discomfort. I've even managed to gain a bit of depth which was pleasantly surprising and resulted in a very excited tweet. It has been a very hard experience though, the hardest of my life. I always believed that 'coming out' and the months that followed would be the hardest time of my life. I honestly never imagined that anything would come close. I was wrong and the experience of Gender Realignment Surgery has blown it out of the water. It's the discipline that's involved. Some days are fantastic but other days can be pretty dire and it takes a lot to get through these days, it really does. On the whole though I have absolutely no regrets. Before the surgery I did wonder if I'd miss having a penis. I think it's the knowledge that it's an irreversible operation that gets your mind weighing things up in strange ways. I don't miss it though and I'm so happy with what I've got now.
This experience has certainly made me think about things. While you are going through transition there's not much else that gets a look in. It really can dominate your every thought. Once you have the surgery though, once you get to a point whereas you feel you are 'cured', other thoughts come into play. One of these thoughts has been regarding my sexuality. Am I straight, bi or gay, it's something I've never been quite sure of. I think I tried to find reasoning with my gender issues and linked the two together when gender and sexuality are two very different things. Do I like men? I thought I did, hell I even had a boyfriend last year! That didn't turn out too well but maybe it was for the best. Maybe I was trying to fit into the complete female role like I'd tried to fit into the male one years ago. I'm not sure I like men and that's a new issue in my life. I'll be honest in that at the age of 31 I never thought I'd still be questioning my sexuality but in truth it's a question I never really answered. I've been with women and at the time it didn't feel right but that was a problem with myself and my gender not them. I still fancied them, still wanted to be with them, just not in the male role. I always considered myself bisexual. It was easy rather than admit to myself that my sexuality might have more question marks than my gender. The truth is that I'm not sure I'm even bisexual anymore. I certainly can't picture myself with another man again. Does that make me gay? Possibly, more than likely. It not something I'm ashamed of though and admitting it is kind of empowering.
In other news I've been giving pretty serious thought to ending this blog, especially in its current form. I'll still carry on blogging but it won't be a transition story anymore. I think that transition blogs do have a sell by date because there does come a point when transition is no longer this huge thing in someone's life. When that happens what do you blog about? When you get discharged from the GIC, when you get your GRC (Gender Recognition Certificate), what else can you write about regarding transition?
When I got home from hospital on the 1st April I was so drained. It was an exhausting journey and it took me a couple of weeks to really get over it. I'd just had major invasive surgery, a surgery with a lot of risks involved. Of course a six hour journey was going to be hard.
The next day I kind of mooched around. I had a mega lie in and just spent the rest of the day on my bed watching telly. It was that evening that I noticed a smell emanating from the surgical site. It was accompanied by a milky yellow discharge and an increase in pain. I knew then that I'd picked up an infection and the next day I had it confirmed by my GP who prescribed me a course of antibiotics. The infection wasn't actually the worst of my worries in that first week. I had a lot of trouble with dilation. Now, in those early days, dilation is hard and requires a certain amount of discipline. Dilating three times a day on top of recovering from major surgery really takes it out of you. I had a certain amount of difficulty getting the larger dilator in and for the first 5 days I cried my way through dilation. Throughout this whole process I've never had any regrets but during that first 5 days I came close.
Things got really bad when during dilation I got a bleed from some of my stitches. The blood ran down over my dilator so when I pulled it out the dilator was coated in a film of blood. At first I thought I'd caused a bleed inside my vagina which really scared the hell out of me.
I think that I'd become reliant on the nurses in hospital. I was only in for a week but it's surprising how used to the routine you get. Not having that routine effected me more than I dared to admit.
After that first week things began to settle down as I got used to my new routine. The tri-daily dilations were hard and it really does take it out of you. I managed to get down to twice a day at around week 6 without any real discomfort. I've even managed to gain a bit of depth which was pleasantly surprising and resulted in a very excited tweet. It has been a very hard experience though, the hardest of my life. I always believed that 'coming out' and the months that followed would be the hardest time of my life. I honestly never imagined that anything would come close. I was wrong and the experience of Gender Realignment Surgery has blown it out of the water. It's the discipline that's involved. Some days are fantastic but other days can be pretty dire and it takes a lot to get through these days, it really does. On the whole though I have absolutely no regrets. Before the surgery I did wonder if I'd miss having a penis. I think it's the knowledge that it's an irreversible operation that gets your mind weighing things up in strange ways. I don't miss it though and I'm so happy with what I've got now.
This experience has certainly made me think about things. While you are going through transition there's not much else that gets a look in. It really can dominate your every thought. Once you have the surgery though, once you get to a point whereas you feel you are 'cured', other thoughts come into play. One of these thoughts has been regarding my sexuality. Am I straight, bi or gay, it's something I've never been quite sure of. I think I tried to find reasoning with my gender issues and linked the two together when gender and sexuality are two very different things. Do I like men? I thought I did, hell I even had a boyfriend last year! That didn't turn out too well but maybe it was for the best. Maybe I was trying to fit into the complete female role like I'd tried to fit into the male one years ago. I'm not sure I like men and that's a new issue in my life. I'll be honest in that at the age of 31 I never thought I'd still be questioning my sexuality but in truth it's a question I never really answered. I've been with women and at the time it didn't feel right but that was a problem with myself and my gender not them. I still fancied them, still wanted to be with them, just not in the male role. I always considered myself bisexual. It was easy rather than admit to myself that my sexuality might have more question marks than my gender. The truth is that I'm not sure I'm even bisexual anymore. I certainly can't picture myself with another man again. Does that make me gay? Possibly, more than likely. It not something I'm ashamed of though and admitting it is kind of empowering.
In other news I've been giving pretty serious thought to ending this blog, especially in its current form. I'll still carry on blogging but it won't be a transition story anymore. I think that transition blogs do have a sell by date because there does come a point when transition is no longer this huge thing in someone's life. When that happens what do you blog about? When you get discharged from the GIC, when you get your GRC (Gender Recognition Certificate), what else can you write about regarding transition?
Thursday, 16 May 2013
The Easy Annoyance
It's been nearly a month since my last post although that has been down to a couple of reasons. The first reason is that I've had limited access to WiFi since I moved a few weeks ago. The other reason is that there hasn't really been that much to post about. Life's getting normal I guess which has surely been my target for the past five years.
Despite not having much to post about things have happened. I've moved back to Chesterfield and now live above a pub. My parents took the pub on nearly three weeks ago and I moved with them. It's helped them as I've been able to help them in the pub and it's helped me because it's rent free. I'm enjoying being back in Chesterfield although I never actually left the place really. I moved away when I was 21 and I went to work up North. Since then I did some work abroad and in that time my parents moved so I never returned to Chesterfield to live. I did still visit the place though, still headed to Chesterfield to shop rather than Mansfield. I even worked in Chesterfield for three years! It's not quite the same as living there though and now after ten years I can say I'm a Chesterfield citizen again.
Regarding my transition , things are going ok. I'm used to my new anatomy now and I honestly can't imagine ever having anything else. To me it looks beautiful and I'm so happy with it. I'm getting around 5.5 inches of depth which I'm reasonably happy with. Another inch would be great but I'm not sure I'd want to go through the surgery to get it. Dilations easier now and the horrors of the first week are just a distant memory. I've managed to cut down to two dilations a day now without any discomfort or tightness. Although dilation doesn't hurt it is annoying. The worst one is the night one. Sometimes I just want to get into bed and sleep without the routine of dilating. I really can't wait until I can get down to one dilation a day although I understand that that could be another four months down the line!
In terms of my recovery I feel like I'm over the worst. My energy levels aren't what they were yet but I'm getting there. I still get sore but not as bad as I did. I have good days and bad days I guess. The bad days are down to tiredness I'm sure. I am starting to think about going back to work sooner rather than later. I need to be earning a wage, need the self worth that that brings. I'm sticking to my guns as regards to the chef thing. Im not sure what I want to do in the short term. In the long term I'm definitely going into teaching. I just need a part time job to get me by for the time being.
Despite not having much to post about things have happened. I've moved back to Chesterfield and now live above a pub. My parents took the pub on nearly three weeks ago and I moved with them. It's helped them as I've been able to help them in the pub and it's helped me because it's rent free. I'm enjoying being back in Chesterfield although I never actually left the place really. I moved away when I was 21 and I went to work up North. Since then I did some work abroad and in that time my parents moved so I never returned to Chesterfield to live. I did still visit the place though, still headed to Chesterfield to shop rather than Mansfield. I even worked in Chesterfield for three years! It's not quite the same as living there though and now after ten years I can say I'm a Chesterfield citizen again.
Regarding my transition , things are going ok. I'm used to my new anatomy now and I honestly can't imagine ever having anything else. To me it looks beautiful and I'm so happy with it. I'm getting around 5.5 inches of depth which I'm reasonably happy with. Another inch would be great but I'm not sure I'd want to go through the surgery to get it. Dilations easier now and the horrors of the first week are just a distant memory. I've managed to cut down to two dilations a day now without any discomfort or tightness. Although dilation doesn't hurt it is annoying. The worst one is the night one. Sometimes I just want to get into bed and sleep without the routine of dilating. I really can't wait until I can get down to one dilation a day although I understand that that could be another four months down the line!
In terms of my recovery I feel like I'm over the worst. My energy levels aren't what they were yet but I'm getting there. I still get sore but not as bad as I did. I have good days and bad days I guess. The bad days are down to tiredness I'm sure. I am starting to think about going back to work sooner rather than later. I need to be earning a wage, need the self worth that that brings. I'm sticking to my guns as regards to the chef thing. Im not sure what I want to do in the short term. In the long term I'm definitely going into teaching. I just need a part time job to get me by for the time being.
Thursday, 18 April 2013
A Good Career, A Past Career
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.
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.
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.
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