“IT’S A FEEL GOOD SURGERY”

Anna and I sat silently in the brightly lit exam room. Neither of us knew what to talk about so I uncomfortably looked around the room. Where there were normally posters encouraging you to quit smoking or practice safer sex, instead were advertisements for Botox. Posters which exclaimed “I can look years younger” replaced those I normally saw declaring “Silence=Death.” Health and safety were replaced by opulent vanity. Pictures of Dr. Bev with her show dogs littered the counter by the stainless steel sink. These were not the surroundings I expected for such a life changing surgery to take place. I wanted to talk to Anna; tell her everything I was feeling but one of the office nurses was in the room with us. This woman’s life seemed so far from my own that I couldn‘t bring myself to open my mouth. Finally Anna broke the silence. “ Do you perform this surgery often?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” the nurse replied. “One week it was the only surgery we did, the whole week straight.”

“Wow,” Anna exclaimed, “That is a lot. Do people come from all over?”

“Sure. We get people from all over the country and Canada. Once we even had someone from England.”

“That’s quite a trip. He must have really wanted it done right away,” I chimed in.

“So the doctor is pretty good then?” Anna said, hoping for anything to calm her fear that the tomorrow I would die on the operating table.

“Oh she’s the best,” the nurse gushed. “It’s really a great surgery, you know. It’s a feel good surgery. You guys are just so appreciative and happy when it’s done, like a huge weight has been lifted off your chest.” Anna and I looked over at each other, struggling not to laugh. “We just love you guys.”

The surgical nurse entered just in time to save this particular guy from losing his composure. Betty was all business and not one for idle chit chat. My mom was brought into the room and immediately the explanation began. Nurse Betty pulled from her pocket a clear rubber grenade shaped object with a tube attached to it, saying these would be sucking fluid from my body following surgery. My mom and Anna simultaneously cringed at the thought of anything being sucked from my body. Betty showed them how to dump the fluid, clear any tissue and clots that might block the tubes, and replace the suction. For the first time during this experience, someone else would be taking care of me. Knowing that I didn’t have to listen as if my life depended on it freed me to watch everyone else’s reactions rather than controlling my own.

“Once you dump the fluid and tissue in the toilet, record the amount on this piece of paper. Once you’re down to 25cc on each side for a full 24 hours the tubes can be removed.” My girlfriend and mom maintained their disgusted look while she explained how either they or my doctor at home would pull the tubes from my body and clean up the holes left behind. Rather than begin to worry about who would do this procedure when I was home, I forced myself to completely stop listening.

At the conclusion of the demonstration we left the bright lights of the exam room and were ushered across the hall to look at some before and after pictures. Nurse Betty opened the door and escorted us into a dimly lit room that seemed more fitting of a brothel than a doctor’s office. There were waist high, faux granite pillars, and a painting of a nude female graced the wall above a red velvet Victorian love seat. We were left alone to page through a notebook of “feel good surgeries,” forcing me to face my expectations. I knew I would be left with scars, but I was more worried about the placement of my nipples. I had seen some of the doctor’s earlier work where they seemed to almost be in the armpit. Displayed in our laps were high nipples, low nipples, nipples that looked like pieces of chewed gum, and even some that were missing altogether. I noticed the results got progressively better with each surgery she performed. Aside from an occasional nipple complication the finished products looked pretty good. More importantly, however, this was a book full of men who had had gone before me. Anna could see that they had not died, my mom could see that they weren’t mutilated, and I could just look without having to face a million questions that I could not answer. What I saw was not perfection, but a natural variation. Mine would not be the chest of a “man” but that of a trans man. I stood up feeling a little more content about what tomorrow might bring.

Our minds racing with information, we left the room and asked the receptionist where we should visit on our first trip to Baltimore. On her recommendation, we climbed in the car and headed for the waterfront, a final outing for my female chest. At the aquarium we imagined postcards of my breasts posing with the dolphins. For the first time I was able to laugh about the presence of my chest, knowing that tomorrow it would be gone. We all returned to the hotel room that night sensing the gravity of the next day, but knowing there was nothing more to say. The appointment was set, the balance on the surgery paid, and tomorrow night I was going to fall asleep in a body forever changed.

As I laid down, an instinctual fear began welling up inside me. I wanted to be comforted, told everything was going to be all right, but I couldn’t admit that to anyone. They were just as scared as I was. I had made this decision. Admitting my fear would only make the situation worse.

We arrived back at the office bright and early the next morning. I was ushered into the exam room with Anna and told to take off all my clothes except my boxer shorts. Once I had stripped I sat in silence while Anna held my hand. Our palms were sweating and our fingers freezing cold. My nipples hardened, unaware they’d soon be sitting in a bowl of ice two feet from the rest of my body. Dr. Bev and Nurse Betty entered with a flurry of tape measure and purple marker. Their cold fingers moved rapidly to measure and mark my chest.

“This is really the worst part,” Dr. Bev assured me. I expected the upcoming pain of having a part of my body removed to surpass the pain of that particular moment, but I wasn‘t going to argue. I pulled a surgical gown over my chest and my mom was invited in. She and Anna were given a refresher coarse on my drains and bandages. Once they felt certain they could perform their nurse-like duties they both kissed me and wished me good luck. I slid off the exam table and shuffled down to the operating room in nothing but a loose fitting gown and my boxer shorts.
White Christmas crooned from the stereo as I entered the operating room and lay down on the table. Apparently the snowman underwear I had haphazardly chosen that morning inspired one more day of Holiday music. The anesthesiologist explained what was going to be happening while Nurse Betty hooked up blood pressure monitors to my legs and right arm. She mechanically rubbed my hand with the affection of someone who sees this everyday. The anesthesia gradually overtook me, and I fell asleep listening to hollow talk of her new Buick.

Four hours later I jolted awake in a small dark room, freezing cold and about to throw up. Instead I forced myself to speak. “Tell Anna I didn’t die.” A woman I couldn’t recognize smiled and said ok, while another nurse covered me with a blanket and turned on a vent that blew hot air up my shorts. As my body temperature slowly returned to normal I remembered to look down at my body and began to smile. Anna appeared at the door asking gently how I was while she rubbed my head and fed me ice chips. After no more than five minutes Nurse Betty entered with my clothes. She wrapped my shirt around me, leaving the buttons to Anna, while she held out my pants for me to climb into. I wanted to point out that I’d just woken up and perhaps should stay a while, but one look at her face told me to get dressed.

“You might want to think about flip flops next time,” scolded Nurse Betty. My shoes, which this morning had slipped on quite easily, were now impossible.

Knowing there’d never be a next time I stood and resolutely shoved my feet in. Proud of this small accomplishment, I began to shuffle towards the door.

“Stand up straight,” I heard behind me. “You can do that. You don’t have breasts anymore.” Although Nurse Betty had never witnessed me trying to hide a chest that didn‘t belong, her words echoed the fact that there was nothing left to hide. I grabbed Anna’s arm for support, cautiously put my shoulders back, and made my way to the waiting car.