A couple of disclaimers:
1.) Whether because of the original size of my chest, being overweight or having nursed a child my reconstruction involved a significant amount of liposuction along my sternum. I assume that contributed to my pain level. I have heard guys say they had no pain with top surgery. That was not my experience.
2.) My insurance required this operation be conducted at a hospital rather than my doctor’s surgery center where she completes the vast majority of her operations. My surgeon’s staff were highly competent and very sensitive to the needs of trans/gender non-conforming patients. The hospital on the other hand…this was new territory for them.
The purpose of this post is to share my experience. Top surgery for me was not all sunshine and rainbows. And the point is, that is okay. It is valid. It was still worth every moment.
January 31, 2019 – My sternum feels so tight it requires concentration to take a full breath. The room is blindingly white. The analog clock is blurry but not so much that I cannot determine the time – 10:35 a.m. A nurse I’ve not met before is shuffling around my bed. “Are you in pain?” “So much.” I want to ask about my wife but fall asleep before the words touch my lips.
I open my eyes, it’s 11:02. There are nurses walking back and forth sorting supplies and logging information into a computer. The skin on my chest is so tight. It hurts to raise my chin. A new nurse sees me stir. She seems irritated, “Are you in pain?” I can only nod my head in the affirmative. My mind is swimming. I want to see my wife – I am asleep again.
Between half hearted attempts to open my eyes I see it is nearing 11:30. Pretty sure they told my wife we would be back together by now. I fall asleep.
The phone rings. “Yes, she is having a tough time waking up.” I wonder who they are talking about. “Tell her wife it will still be awhile.” Are you fucking kidding me? Are they talking about me? So rude. I just had top surgery and am barely conscious and you are referring to me as “she?” If I were awake I would address this. I would use humor and grace to remind you that I am not a “she.” Because transfolks are not entitled to simply be angry about being disrespected. We are expected to afford everyone else every comfort we can. But I can’t open my eyes let alone my mouth. All that comes out is a pretty pathetic sounding whimper. And I’m asleep.
I recognize my pre-op nurse. While it was weird that she chose to share so many personal details of her life with me I recognize that her motivation is to let me know that she is trying to be an ally. I hear her say, “She is waking up again.” This time I know it’s in reference to me – its really irritating. She sucks at being an ally apparently. But I am helpless in this moment. Being misgendered always sucks, but being so vulnerable while it is happening compounded the impact.
“We have got to get you out of here.” It’s almost 1 p.m. My bed is moving. It hurts. My surgeon’s analogy – that it would feel like a bad sun burn – was an understatement. My sternum is just soooo tight. When I muster up an inquiry as to whether this tightness is normal, the nurse makes a sound that clearly conveys this is the dumbest question she has ever heard, with a side of, “You get what you deserve.”
This room is yellow. I’m cold. I feel her hand slip into mine. I know it is my wife’s from the size, the texture, the temperature. She is here. “Dr. Megan said everything went really well.” I squeeze her hand and send her a kiss (wife, not Dr. Megan, to be clear).
We are home. I can’t stand up straight due to the tension on my chest. It takes a long time to make it upstairs.
We have a super comfortable chaise lounge/couch thing in our master bedroom. It worked great for my wife when she was recovering from shoulder surgery. It worked less well for me. My tip for anyone going in for top surgery? Spend a little extra time on your core strength – its really key to doing everything the first few days. Getting from a standing position to a sitting, reclining position without using your hands is tricky.
I understood my body would look different. I had seen other videos where guys were overcome with joy upon seeing their surgical results. I expected that feeling.
When we removed my post surgical binder for the first time to change the dressing… I look down to see blood and bruising and drains. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster. I have one continuous incision. It is 25″ long. The nipple graphs are weird. I can’t mentally process this – I ask my wife to bandage me back up. I need meds and sleep.
The next few days have some ups and downs depending on how well I was treating my pain. My four year old son checks in on me often – sitting on the edge of the couch and holding my foot. Or simply dropping off toys.
The eldest son is eager to be helpful and his check ins are intensely sincere. I try to find a balance between shielding my child and acknowledging that he is nearly grown.
My wife is incredibly attentive. I was desperate to have the drains removed as soon as possible. Luck would have it that the morning they were scheduled to be removed, a snow storm had made a mess of the roads. Being from the midwest, I am shocked at how little snow it takes to shut down Seattle and the surrounding areas.
Looking back it was reckless of us, and we were lucky to have made it safely. My wife agreed to drive me to the appointment.
“So…I had my nose packed when I was in college. And…having the packing removed involved a lot of swearing and I almost vomited. When you remove the drains, do you think it will be worse than that or…?”
Dr. Megan laughs, “That sounds disgusting and horrible. It will be nothing like that.” *snip* *snip* *removes the first drain* I barely feel anything, and certainly zero pain. *snip* *snip* *removes second drain* Viola! Instantly feeling more human.
When I was 12 I finally convinced my mother to let me cut my hair short. I didn’t know very many women with short hair. I was aiming for 1996 Martina McBride – that is not where I landed. It was the world’s worst haircut and only reinforced my mother’s opinion that I shouldn’t have short hair. Anyway, the point of this digression is that the first few times I caught a glimpse of my reflection – I didn’t recognize myself.
Seeing my chest the first few times was sort of reminiscent of that experience except that my chest is a work of art. Art I didn’t recognize but, art nonetheless.
It would take several days before that initial apprehension about my chest would shift. Wearing such an intense binder 24/7 made re-acclimating my brain to my new body impossible.
Once the drains and the gauze over the nipple graphs were removed, and i could spend time without the binder on slowly but surely my brain started to recognize my body as my own.
On day 5 I put a shirt on – it is the first time I can recall feeling genuine and complete gender euphoria. It feels like my identity is…real and attainable and that there will be a day when people will be able to see me as I really am.
I am pain free in the next couple of weeks.
That's Mr. Gender to You 