Countdown to My Chest Masculinization Surgery

Today I called Northwest Hospital for an update on my place on their waiting list, and got my chest masculinization surgery (officially called transmasculine top surgery) scheduled for Thursday, April 2nd. WOO HOO!

 

So naturally, tonight I have Christmas Tree Brain. I can’t sleep, so I may as well share what’s going on inside  as I ponder What It All Means and Why It Matters so much to me.

 

I stood in front of the mirror tonight, nude, and lifted my large, pendulous breasts upward and away from my body so I could look down between them and see what will be left of me after April 2nd. And what I saw both cheered and dismayed me.

 

Because I lost almost 80 pounds forty years ago following intestinal bypass surgery, I have at least fourteen pounds of excess skin (I call it my Sharpei skin) hanging below my stomach and abdomen. But even so, seeing how much less of me there will be from the stomach up gives me immense joy.

 

At last, I will be free of the appendages that have tormented and mislabeled me ever since they erupted.  They have mocked and sabotaged my true essence and (what’s perhaps worse–at least, financially and relationally) consigned me to second class citizenship, lower wages, and unwanted advances from men. My breasts have done nothing but bring me grief, sadness and a sense of necessary isolation.

 

I suppose the additional weight gain (before low thyroid became a factor) wasn’t just genetic but at least partly a self-defense tactic to keep men the hell away from me (unless they wanted to be friends for less self-centered reasons). Now that I’m out as transgender, and loud and proud about it, that aspect has fallen away, so now I want to get rid of the excess hanging skin.

 

That surgery won’t be covered by Medicare and my supplemental insurance (I have gender dysphoria diagnoses from a counselor and a doctor for my breast removal, so insurance will cover that) because it will be considered “elective cosmetic surgery”, so I will have to set up a GoFundMe campaign to see if I can pull in some financial aid to have the tummy and abdomen tuck. I’m going to ask my surgeon what that will cost. When I find out, I’ll let you know. Any financial help you can offer toward that will be greatly appreciated. I  don’t have enough to cover the cost by a long shot.

 

But here’s the thing. I want to spent the rest of my life feeling great about my body. It is healthy, it has brought me through thick and thin, and I want to honor it and feel proud of it, not embarrassed by it.

 

I want to play pickle ball and wally ball four mornings a week without looking and feeling conspicuously less athletic and attractive (in the right way) than I can and should look.

 

I want to buy clothes in sizes that aren’t designed to hide hanging skin.

 

I want to feel normal for the first time since I started “blossoming” (developing breasts and eating my way to “safety”) into someone I didn’t even recognize as myself.

 

At age almost 69 (which I’ll be on March 5th and on April 2nd, the day of my chest masculinization surgery), I want to feel good about myself and my body for the  first time in SIXTY YEARS. That’s a helluva long time to wait to truly treasure my body as the wellspring of robust health it is.

 

Most people resign themselves to looking less good as they age. In my case, I want to look better next year than I do this year. I can accept wrinkles, grey hair and crow’s feet–the usual signs of aging–but I need not accept almost 14 pounds of excess hanging skin (by my doctor’s estimate), so I don’t want to. I want to change that about me, too, and then I’ll be good to go…

 

I’ll never look like the guy in the image above, as I don’t plan to take testosterone so I can grow a beard (and unhappily lose the hair on my head as a side effect, since that’s typical of men in my family), but I’ll get as close as I can and be happy with that!

 

I want to become as buff a geriatric old codger as I can!

 

 

UPDATE: April 2nd is just the initial consultation. The surgery won’t happen that day… Got my wires crossed…