My memories of this time are weird. I vaguely remember the drive down, I don't remember checking in, but I do remember the pre-op medication. A syringe of thick white stuff was put in and somebody asked my to count backwards from 10. "10.."
The next thing I remember is waking up and then throwing up [apparently this is quite common with anaesthetics] then I was out of it again. For few days I wore what looked like a huge nappy and had my chest bandaged and I had to drink a lot of water to keep my urethra open. I was still really groggy from the anaesthetics and wasn't really aware of much.
I wasn't allowed to eat at all for a week as any movements in my bowel would be detrimental to my new vagina, which was heavily packed to keep it open. By the fourth day I had pains in my stomach with trapped wind. By the fifth I was screaming in my sleep with it; it was absolute agony. I didn't feel any pain from either of the surgical procedures, but that gas was the most pain I have ever been in - even migraines don't come close.
At the end of the week my wee voyage of discovery started. The bandages came off my chest to reveal that, at last, I had boobs big enough for my frame. I hadn't grown much more than an A cup since they first started growing at age 10 and this pair were gorgeous (even if I do say so myself). The bra had to stay on constantly for another fortnight and when the fortnight was over it went straight in the bin. It was a small price to pay for my lovely boobies.
Then came the removal of the packing in my vagina. I thought it was going to fill the room, there was so much of it - it just kept coming on and on and on. After what seemed like forever I could look down... and cried. The cursed organ was gone! It's henchmen were gone! I had a swollen mess between my legs and it was beautiful!
One of the nurses showed me how to go about dilation, but I can't remember the specifics now - it's almost 20 years ago. When that first dilator went in I almost came on the spot. The first time I did it myself I did come. This is how it should always have been and now, at 26 years of age, I was finally getting to insert something in my vagina and I loved it!
A very nice man, who I was living with at the time, loaned me the money for the operation and I promised that I would pay him back. However, during one of our frequent moves he left a van (which was full of my life's possessions) parked for weeks and it was stolen. So in my eyes we're even. I will always be grateful to him though - "Thank-you, P!"
