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

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