Thirty-eight days until surgery and counting.... Someone at work today
told me I had given him a nightmare. He said he dreamed that everyone around
him was changing their sex. It wasn't surgical, but some sort of bacteria
that worked by infecting the genitals until the phallus turned green and
fell off. Then the dream jumped location and he was in a hot tub with a
number of other people. He looked down and he saw this little torpedo
propelling itself across the sauna. He stared more closely. It was, indeed,
a phallus, dangling a bunch of meaty stuff behind it. Someone stood up and
it had fallen off of them. Left behind was a gooey mess of rotting flesh
where the infection had eaten the organ from its host. However, this person
was absolutely thrilled that they had accomplished this. At that point, a
mutual friend of our was also in the sauna. He stood up and said, "I've
changed my mind...." and walked out.
I simply told my friend that if I ever doubted his creativity before, I
never would again.
Also today, I made my train reservations for the trip to Colorado.
December 5, 1991
Thirty-five days (only five weeks!) and counting.... Today was my last
visit with my doctor before surgery. He drew the blood sample for the
dreaded HIV test. Only if it comes back negative will Dr. Biber (or any
other surgeon) perform the surgery. So, should I have picked up the virus
from any casual source (though I believe I have been completely safe) I will
never be able to have surgery. I'll just have to wait until next week to
find out.
As this is my last visit my doctor also gave me advice on a number of
topics.
1. I should eat a lot of fresh pineapple after surgery, as it has certain
enzymes that promote healing.
2. Some professional opinions about the relative values of different
kinds of douches.
3. To expect some tearing around the new vagina due to using the
"dilator" until I healed. When I returned to his office after
surgery, I would be "cauterized" where needed.
4. Not to worry if few stitches had popped when I checked things out with
a mirror.
5. Not to expect to look exactly like a genetic woman right after
surgery, as there is both a lot of swelling, and also Biber's technique does
all the internal surgery first, then puts additional cosmetic work into a
second procedure called a "labiaplasty".
6. I'm told I should have full sexual sensation perhaps around six weeks
after surgery. There should be some sexual sensation immediately after, but
that will increase as the swelling goes down. He says I may even feel that
sensation just by wearing clothes that touch that part of the body. (I
wonder what that's going to feel like?)
I really haven't thought much about the sexual experience of making love
as a woman. I've thought about penetration and being close to a man, but
only in terms of the logistics, not in terms of how it might feel. Arousal?
As a female? God, I mean it kinda makes me feel a little bit... embarrassed!
I can talk about the surgical procedure all day with no problem, but when
it comes down to the concept of ENJOYING sex as a female - THAT embarrasses
me!
I feel myself turning red! You know, I think I could get into the idea of
having a guy take control and bring me to fulfillment in spite of myself,
almost as a byproduct of his drive to reach fulfillment himself.. I think I
might like being on the receiving end of sexual pleasure. So, watch out!
Maybe you'll see me on the streets someday!
December 9, 1991
Thirty-one days and counting.... Exactly one month from surgery.
December 11, 1991
Twenty-nine days and counting.... This is my self-proclaimed day of
beginning to get ready. I'm making up lists, picking out my wardrobe for the
trip and working out personal plans with Mary, so if anything should happen
she'll know what to do with the finances and the business and so on.
My partner, Chris, has a "White Elephant Party" each year
instead of a Christmas party. Everyone is supposed to bring the tackiest
gift they can think of. This year I am making a gift: The David Memorial
Jock-Strap Award. It consists of a plaque from which hangs a varnished
jock-strap, suspended from the plaque by two chains. One side of the
jock-strap's band I have signed in indelible marker: "David". On
the other side, "Melanie". The cup is inscribed, "January
9th, 1992", the date of my surgery. Enclosed with the award is a signed
certificate of authenticity.
I'm still sixteen hundred dollars short of the money I need for surgery.
I'm having a garage sale this weekend, and I can always sell my mother's
wedding rings so I think I'll be able to make it one way or another.
December 12, 1991
Twenty-eight days and counting.... I got a call today from the Police
Protective League asking if my business would care to advertise in their
publication. I told the officer I had to decline as I needed every penny
toward some major surgery scheduled for next month. He inquired as to the
kind of surgery, so I told him. Surprisingly, he began asking a number of
truly insightful and sensitive questions. Near the end of the conversation
he mused that perhaps we might have occasion to meet in the future sometime.
I laughed and said that would be nice. He closed by saying, "Well,
enjoy your life as a vivacious, charming, intelligent female." I
thought that was really sweet.
December 19, 1991
Twenty-one days and counting.... Exactly three weeks until surgery.
December 20, 1991
I'm really going to do this....
Christmas Day, 1991
Fifteen days until surgery.... It's Wednesday and I leave for Colorado a
week from next Monday. I'm beginning to get nervous, not because I'm
questioning my decision, but because I'm about to have major surgery. I'll
be in a town I've never seen before being cut open by a doctor I've never
met before. The last time I had surgery was when I was eighteen and had my
wisdom teeth out. My only other surgery was having my tonsils out when I was
seven.
Its been a wonderful Christmas. Mary really took some care in picking out
presents for me, as did I for her. We didn't spend a lot of money (we don't
have a lot of money due to surgery) but everyone gave and received truly
thoughtful gifts.
December 28, 1991
Twelve days and counting.... Today my dad is coming to visit me for the
first time since he told me he didn't want to see me again. I was so
surprised to get his call a few weeks ago, asking what would be a good time
to get together. Every Christmas season we have always had a day together to
exchange presents. I had thought I would have to spend Christmas without my
father, but he is on his way from San Diego and will be here soon.
Evening....
My dad just left and we spent five wonderful hours together. He had
presents for Mary, me and the kids, and we gave presents to him. I showed
him an old photo album I had found with pictures of him holding me as a
baby. Toward the end of his visit, he and I chatted privately for almost
twenty minutes. Until this point, he did not know that I had actually
scheduled surgery. I explained all the reasons why I was doing this, hoping
to convince him to support me. His reaction was unexpected. When I had
finished making my case, he told me that although he did not agree with any
of the arguments I had made, since he could see how happy and at peace I
was, he was sure that surgery was the right thing for me. Since my mother is
no longer here to give me that approval, this moment with my father was very
special.
December 29, 1991
Eleven days and counting.... Why don't restrooms say
"Masculine" and "Feminine" instead?
December 30, 1991
Ten days and counting.... This is the week I'm going through something
called "leap of faith". Leap of Faith is when you decide to give
up one thing for another and hope you made the right choice. Therefore, I am
making an effort to abdicate the role of first class citizen and spent today
disowning my male rights. Essentially, I must renounce my place among the
society of men, and embrace a place in the society of women. It is quite an
experience effectively telling people I have known for fifteen years,
"We are no longer peers. Yes, we are still friends, but now on
different sides of the wall."
This "giving up" is what I have been working up to for the last
three years. I renounce my manhood. I give up my place and accept a new
role. I give up my birthright and accept myself as a member of the female
race.
Now, having given up my claim to the benefits of manhood, I will turn
around as a woman and demand equality with my last breath and my last ounce
of strength.
January 3, 1992
This is my last day at work before I leave for surgery.
Yesterday I called Dr. Biber's office to make sure that they had received
the final evaluation they were waiting for, but it still had not arrived. I
told his nurse I knew that my therapist had sent it. The nurse said she
would check my file. She came back and said, "There's only this one
here from Dr. Jayne." I said, "That's the one!" She said,
"No, you also need your psychiatric evaluation." "WHAT
psychiatric evaluation?!!" "Didn't you know?" "Know
what?!" "You need one evaluation from a psychologist and ANOTHER
one from a psychiatrist."
I was devastated. Somehow I missed that requirement. Nobody how was
providing my care thought to mention this. So, here it was four days before
I'm supposed to leave and I don't have a psychiatric evaluation?
I just burst into tears on the phone. I was sobbing, I was lost. I felt
as if the world had ended. Dr. Biber's nurse was so empathetic, yet rules
were rules. She did suggest I could call my psychologist. So, I called Dr.
Jayne and through the tears told her what had happened.
She heard my tale of woe and then told me that there was one other person
who had found themselves in a similar situation. She had sent them to a
psychiatrist she knows who had helped them out by doing a "cram"
psychiatric session. Not phony, just fast. Rather than spreading it out over
a couple of weeks, this doctor did it all in a few intense sessions.
However, she did not know if he would be on vacation or on holiday or even
if he was still doing that kind of work. She offered to call him and find
out.
Grasping at the glimmer of hope, I called Dr. Biber's office and told
them that maybe it would be okay. I explained the situation and made sure
they did not bump me from the surgery schedule.
Next on my schedule, I went down to my doctors office to pick up my HIV
results (negative). By the time I got into work, Dr. Jayne had left a
message with the psychiatrist's phone number and that I should call him. So,
I spoke with the man, made an appointment, and yesterday afternoon I met
with him.
He worked me in between other scheduled cases. I had an initial session
with him at 2:00, at his office in Santa Monica, then hung around while he
saw another patient, meeting with him for a second session at 4:00. He also
wants me to come in today at 10:30 and back again at 4:00.
$500 for the sessions and for him to write a full report. I'll have my
session at 4:00 today, he'll write it over the weekend, I'll pick it up on
Monday, I leave Monday night. Now, I don't know if you can cut it much
closer than that, but I sure don't want to try!
January 5th, 1992
Four days and counting.... I leave tomorrow on the train to Trinidad,
Colorado.
Last night, I held a "Coming Off Party" for my friends, and it
came off beautifully. I had about ten people, some from the office, some old
USC friends. The party was designed as a send up of sexual roles. As per my
invitation, many of them of both sexes came in drag. I, myself, wore a
costume I has sewn together that was male on one side and female on the
other. I wore half a mustache with my hair slicked back and on the other
side lipstick and eyeshadow with my hair full. One pants leg, half a skirt
and two kinds of shoes.
My old friend Mark kept asking me to stand so he could look at my profile
from one side and then the other. He told me he could see me both as Melanie
and as Dave, depending upon which side he was looking at. When he looked
from the front, he could see both Dave and Melanie juxtaposed. This was the
only time anyone (including myself) has ever seen both of my personas
simultaneously, and also the last time anyone will. Both of these images are
part of me: my past and my future. But for this brief moment, I stand
between the two, neither one nor the other.
This was the only X-rated party I've ever attended, much less thrown. All
the party favors and prizes came from an adult book-store called "The
Pleasure Chest". We took turns reading aloud from a "dirty"
book, holding a dildo as a microphone. We had games like "Pin the
Phallus on the Jackass".
Chris provided the entree: a bubbling pot of wieners and meatballs. My
hostess gift, from the company president, was "The Emperor": the
largest dildo I have ever seen. All in all, it was a strange and wonderful
evening. And I know I will never throw a party like that again!
Evening...
I guess I'm about as ready for this as anyone can be. So what do you do
when the dream that has been the center of your entire life is finally
fulfilled? Well, I guess you get more dreams. I look at the clock on the
wall. Its 10:30. In twenty-two hours the train will be pulling out of Union
Station in Los Angeles, and I'll be on it.
