I’ve been thinking a lot about the surgery which will ultimately define me as a woman in the physical realm. I spent a good part of the morning on the internet to find all that there is to know about the mental, physical, and emotional prerequisites to the surgery, the surgery itself and the possible expected outcomes. Of course, the cost and risks of the surgery are factored in but are less significant because it is still more that a year away because I haven’t started the hormone therapy, as yet
As I’m downloading and printing out the information, I am feeling very chilled and noticing also that my energy level is rapidly dropping and I’m wondering if I am going into shock. I decide to lie down in bed and throw a blanket over my skirted but otherwise bare legs. While I don’t sleep, I just feel the funk I’m experiencing about what seems to be a Herculean task in becoming in all respects the woman I’ve always longed to be, and then I just have to let it all go, knowing deep within my soul that I am already there and the rest of reality just has to catch up.
After several hours, I become energized once again. I spring out of bed and put on some loose but very bright cranberry sweats that amazingly still shows my girlish figure becoming. My middle really seems to be firming up with all the exercise and belly breathing I give myself to do and it sends a wave of joy through me. I put on headphones to listen to some tunes on my cell phone and head out for an hour walk to the Women’s club and back. From my perspective, I’m sometimes still trying to join that club, that is the club of womanhood, a club that even women sometime’s have trouble getting into and it connects me to the woman I have already become.
One of the greatest gifts I have received in this process so far, and that which I hope will sustain me through the year or so to come to that day when I wake up with a vagina, is that the whole process of getting there will help to define me as Deanna, the woman I’ve always wanted to be. Genetic women will never have to go through what I have audaciously chosen to do, yet at the same time, when all manner of outward appearances are placed aside, we have still shared a road of self-doubt in ourselves as women as we travel together, each of us on whatever journey we have chosen to embark upon.
Last week, a new sister of mine, listening to me jabber on about liposuction and hair removal and other such womanly concerns, replied jokingly about whether some of us sisters could see about a group rate. We both giggled and it put me once again at ease with myself.
Thank goodness for my sisters.