One Week Left

• Posted by Ann Teve January 4, 2012 #  1,914 views
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  I have an exam on Friday. It's Philosophy, "Questions of the Day". I'm hopeful that I will do well. I should have written the exam before Christmas but I came down with the flu, hence I'm writing on Friday. I think I'll do well but i am a bit distracted. it's hard to concentrate on the words of Thomas Acquinas when I'm only seven days from SRS. 

   

  I'm not aware of many people writing about their 'last days' before SRS. I suspect that those who do express only the certain and positive feelings they have. I've a friend just like that. No doubts in her mind, that was for sure. It is beyond a year since her SRS. (Oh, it just occurred that some might need to know what SRS stands for. That would be Sex Reassignment Surgery.)

   

  When I was in my mid-twenties and deep-denial, I entertained an erotic fantasy that I inadvertently underwent SRS, having fallen asleep while visiting a friend in hospital who was the intended patient. Until very recently,the medical profession -- particularly in Canada -- would interpret such fantasies as proof that one was autogynephilic and not a 'true' transsexual. Happily, that kind of thinking (and the people responsible) are gone or very close to. As an aside, I'd like to think that I played a part in seeing those medical peoplle off -- but that's an aside.

   

  Imminent surgery, particularly SRS, has a way of focussing one's thoughts on the future and on the past. If there's any uncertainty -- and i can't imagine how there could not be, but that's only me -- then those uncertainties loom large in one's thoughts -- particularly in the middle of the night.

   

  I clearly recall the moment of accepting that I was transsexual. In that same moment of incredible liberation -- it took me 50 years to come to terms with this -- there was abject despair at the thought that I would be unable to function as a woman and worse, that I'd be... how can I put this... a fright to all who saw me, a mocking charicature of a woman, no more than a man in drag.

   

  Like so many steps before this, I was helped through it by a then stranger and now dear friend. In a late -night internet chat, I came to talk with a woman, who happened to live within driving distance and who insisted that we meet that night. After much persuasion, I did agree to meet. In her I saw a confident, happy person making her way successfully in life. In that moment over coffee in a chilly, hollow, echoing corner of an all-night grocery, we talked and I was saved. She wasn't the first, though.

   

  There was a point where I had resigned my self to being a transvestite. I used that word to describe myself in the chat rooms as there was a self-inflicted sting to it. Cross-dresser seemed benign by comparison -- almost acceptable and I certainly didn't feel acceptable even to myself. I had by that time finally overcome the purchase/purge impulses that had previously haunted me and drained my pocketbook. I had acquired quite a wardrobe; it was becoming a challenge to hide... and to resist.

   

  On the chat, in response to the inquiry as to 'what are you', I replied that I was a transvestite. To my surprise, the words, "no, you're not..." appeared from someone else. "I'm not?" I was totally stunned. There followed a kindly but nshattering conversation about what I really was. 

  "Do you have fetish clothes?"

  "No."

  "Do you dress to get off?"

  "No."

  "Do you want to BE a woman?"

  "Yes… Yes, I do." I cannot capture the kindness, the substance nor the emotions which flowed through our conversation, but this unseen friend guided me to an acceptance of myself. 

   

  Up to that conversation, my life was falling into complete ruin and was very near an emotional precipice. I was not longer able to face myself or to meet the effort emotionally and physically required to hide myself or to sustain the facade that was required to be seen as 'normal'. Shortly thereafter, I sought professional help, came out to myself and family and chose to embrace a new and truer future. I started  therapy and then hormones. In the following years, I found the courage to leave my old life, my marriage, my company, the city I lived in and most of my siblings.

   

  There came a time to transition fully into Ann. It would come at the same time that my mother reached the last years of her life. I withdrew from work to dedicate my time to her. Mother accepted me as Ann. Together, we revisited the past as two adults -- two friends -- and talked about all of the family experiences of my childhood. How different it all looked through the eyes of an adult when recounted by mother. I could see my true self at each stage of life. I understood my relationship with my father and with my mother. Although I had not thought it so, it was apparent to most -- certainly mother -- that the girl in me lay just below the surface.

   

  So I looked for the moment to reveal my true self. Again over coffee, this time in a toney coffee shop on the edge of town, I opined to a new transgendered friend that I so wanted to have my ears pierced.

  "Well then, let's do it. Right now." I was agast, but she towed me out of the coffee shop -- they call it a coffee pub, but really… Barely half an hour later, my ears were pierced and so was the fear I was trapped in.

   

  So it was that I came to live fulltime as Ann. How strange it seems in retrospect. I was 'living' as Ann during that period. It's quite remarkable how quickly the novelty wears off and one becomes entirely pragmatic. That's not to say there aren't challenges, like finding the step up into the bus too high when in a tight skirt. Aside from some strange looks at my struggles, it was just funny.

   

  I did live with the looks for a while but you have to be looking for looks to see them. Once I became comfortable with myself, what looks there might have been happened unnoticed by me. And it was then that I found acceptance. Confidence carries the day. Well that, and proper documentation. I had the foresight to change over all my identification, credit cards, government issued identification and even my university degrees to reflect my new identity. When the need did arise, offering appropriate identification seemed to remove any questions.

   

  I'm lucky, though. Moving in with mother to look after her, brought me into a good neighbourhood with good neighbours. Because questions might arise about an unknown woman coming and going from mother's house, I visited my neighbour (this just before I starting living fulltime) to explain myself.

   

  Sitting in the summer sun under an awning with a cool beer that he'd offered, I broached the subject.

  "Concerning the woman you may have seen coming and going from mother's occasionally, it's actually me. I'm transsexual." Those weren't quite the words but close enough.

  "My son is gay." he replied matter of factly. Funny, that; I'd wondered as there had been many things over time to suggest that, but it had remained unspoken and unacknowledged. And remarkably, he was -- for the first time to his neighbours, me being the first -- acknowledging his son. My 'coming out' was his as well. We had both been liberated. We hugged.

   

  Sadly, he passed away less than a year after mother, but in that time, his son and partner started to visit regularly. We shared many dinners.

   

  And, now, with a great jump in time and topic, I'm left talking to you about the last days of… what? I have moments when I wonder if I'll really be that different. I think I might. I've often said that I will be complete after surgery. I think I still feel that way. 

   

  I still have an exam to study for. In the time it's taken to write to you, the sun has gone done and the winter darkness has taken over. The sunlit room has darkened and the study light provides only a small pool of light. Some of you have followed me through this whole journey. Some of you may not know me at all. Still, we're here as friends, sharing our journies. The last stage of my journey begins on Monday when I board the train for Montreal. It is an 8-hour trip. I'll have Tuesday to prepare. Wednesday, I'll have a new birthday to celebrate. Wish me luck as I wish you luck in your journey.