After my incredibly short talk with Dr Lam, I hung around a bit. I was supossed to check-in with the surgeon, but she was performing surgery. So I sat on a bench, accompanied by a timid rabbit (somehow living in the middle of the shrubs in the parking lot). About a ton of concrete slipped off my shoulders. The world seemed much friendlier.
I texted a bunch of people, among whom the friend who had accompanied me on my previous trips to the hospital, my therapist, and people who were just curious to see how this would turn out. After an hour or so the surgeon was done with whatever she was doing (I cannot imagine being a surgeon and doing that as a job…!)
She sent me into a changing room so she could take a look at my preposterous chest (my wording) and confirmed that I could have peri-aureolar surgery, which is a method for “medium-size-chest” where they basically take the nipples off the manboobs, scoop out the excess fat, and then sow it back togheter. Are you cringing yet?
She gave me some tape to replace the KT tape I had been wearing, and said “well, you´re free to go home!“. I had been placed on the waiting list and the next step would be to well… wait. How long the wait will be, depends on a couple of things and a letter, signed by about fifty transguys, that I still need to send to the board of the hospital.
The journey home was a mish-mash of different emotions. I was relieved, but also sad and angry. Angry that it had to take this much, angry that gender therapists had lied to me about needing their specific and express permission first, and angry that in the end, I did it all by myself. The gender therapists had not helped at all.
The problem with transition is that it´s yours, and yours only. When people start depicting it as a common process (i.e the decision of you and your therapist), it´s easy to get confused and start feeling dependent on other people. Don´t. You run the show, you decide, and you get it done. Yippee Ki Yay, Motherf*cker.