Between stages blues
Tonight I want all the healing to be finished. I want to just live in my body like cisgender men do. I don’t even know what that would be like, not to work so hard for every step along the way.
My life feels on hold until stage three is finished. I feel like the open mouth about to speak, and the words are stumbling to come out, silent. I feel like the paused video of the parachuter after she jumps– but before she pulls her release.
I cannot say how profoundly I wish this did not take a year of my life. It really did take a year already, for how the fight for coverage consumed me. For how the pre-op anxiety and depression ate me alive. For how the necrosis and debriedments did as much; then the loss of my testicles a week after implantation to infection… The wound packing… The enormous fatigue that swallowed spring and summer. How I healed in spite of it all, and all is well.
Here I am in a mood’s blue mist, feeling the sun sometimes, but the low mood has not lifted. My therapist tells me to be patient with myself. That I have been through a lot.
I still do not regret it. There is no cost too great as long as I live.
How can I possibly have six months left to the final stage of bottom surgery? Oh, may it please be the last down there for a long, long time.
These are the lows. It will get better.
Six months post op