Recently life threw me quite a curve ball. I was going about my business one run-of-the-mill weekend when I began to feel ill. Instead of getting better over the course of the weekend, I got much worse—resulting in being rushed to the hospital. DRAMA!

Turns out I was a lot sicker than anyone had anticipated and I had to have emergency surgery that day. I’ll spare the gory details and the subsequent stay in hospital. Suffice to say, I was given excellent care by the doctors, nurses and staff at the hospital and am home now and able to write about it.

I was completely vulnerable. I had to surrender.

Post-illness, what has struck me about the whole situation is that for the first time since I was a child, I found myself completely helpless and at the mercy of others. This is a very difficult concept for me to wrap my head around as I am a very “in control, independent” kinda guy and pride myself in being able to handle most situations on my own (or at least assist in a meaningful way). Not this time. I was completely vulnerable. I had to surrender.

We live in a culture that reinforces the idea of owning your life, reinventing yourself, being in control, and being strong in the face of adversity, all great messages and all great pillars from which to anchor one’s life. However, what happens when you find yourself completely out of control? Surrendering yourself and putting your life in the hands of others is incredibly daunting. Actually, it’s scary as hell. You have to accept the present situation. You have to hand over your body to the care of others and you have to acknowledge that there is measured risk and that you have no recourse. It can literally be a do or die situation.

It was an odd blend of frustration and relief.

I was always terrified of this situation, picturing myself kicking and screaming, horrified that I was going to be… I’m not even sure what. The reality was quite different. I didn’t kick. I didn’t scream. I spoke calmly to my doctors and listened quietly as my surgeon explained the operation, the procedure and the potential risks. I looked at her, smiled and surrendered, knowing I had no choice in the matter and that I had to put my life in her hands. After the surgery, I lay in a bed unable to do anything for myself for a couple of days. It was an odd blend of frustration and relief.

Now, on the other side of this experience, I have a different perspective about the concept of control. I was forced to face one of my dragons and instead of falling apart I accepted the situation and gave my power away to those better able to take on the battle. The result: I feel less fear about surrendering my power and control (all a perceived construct, it turns out) and that life is filled with random occurrences that can throw us into a tailspin at any moment.

I’ve also learned not to take even the most miniscule things for granted: like sitting in a chair, walking across a room, being able to bathe and even sleeping on my side. I’m learning to accept my humanness and mortality and embrace that life is filled with unforeseen events. Sometimes the unforeseen is wonderful, and sometimes it’s scary. I’ve learned I can face the unforeseen and whatever it brings without crippling fear. I’m learning to surrender…just a little.

I have been MIA from public life for a while. I went through every emotion under the sun in the lead up to surgery and I was ridiculously busy. The surgeries have begun and I have been in various states of drowsiness, pain and internal reflection since then. Although there are many more surgeries ahead than behind me, I feel I’ve already come a very long way. Most of the remaining one will be less invasive than the first.
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For those of you unfamiliar with XKCD comics, I strongly recommend checking them out here.

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My job slows down over the holidays. This is very nice and convenient given my family’s jam packed holiday traditions. I still get thrown off when there’s nothing pressing to do at work. How can the pay cheques remain the same when I’m not running at full steam? It feels like I’m getting away with something.

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The closer I get to surgery, the odder my relationship to the donor site-to-be.

Simultaneously, I feel like I already have a dick, the one that grew when I went on testosterone, and it feels like that flap of skin effectively is my dick as well, just not in the right place yet.

I’ve developed this minor worry about getting injured there (even though it’s a part of my body where I’ve had very few injuries so far in my life). I did almost reach for it once, cupping my hands as one does when an unexpected object is en route for the groin. I stopped myself short and redirected my hands to where they’d be of use before the incoming object. But my brain has obviously begun some sort of rewiring. Now hopefully that will follow the skin and not remain with that part of my body as things move around. Otherwise, it’ll be rather funny and inconvenient.

It was brought to my attention that one of my recent posts left some of you scratching your heads, for which I apologise. The Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) has a long and very thorny history with the trans community. That’s putting it mildly.

Between the oral history and what I’ve gathered from Viviane Namaste’s work, I’ll construct a portrait for you. I am sure that it is romanticized and sensationalized but the key points ring true to this day: the trans community had to be very resourceful, self-reliant against an apathetic on the best of days, typically demoralizing medical industry and displayed its incredible resilience through the ongoing adversity.

At the onset there were determined and clever trans people, most of them women. They approached what was then known as The Clark in hopes of getting medical assistance in Canada, rather than trekking across borders. Read the full story

I have been working towards bottom surgery for years. Having done much research and extensive soul searching, I have decided I want phalloplasty (phallo for short) with urethral extension (aka u hook-up) and scrottoplasty. In other words: I want the ability to pee my name in snow. It’s the little things in life, right?

My top priorities are size and ability to pee out of my dick. A close third is least visible scars as possible. Other priorities that can be more important for other guys include erotic sensation, number of procedures (their toll on body and mind), existing tattoos and scars placements (when deciding donor site, though this is not a concern to all) as well as cost. There are also with all donor sites potential complications (in terms of swelling, grafts not taking, and so on) and it is wise to factor in where one is more wiling or able to handle that. (e.g. I need maximum dexterity in my wrist but I’m not as concerned with my thigh given my lifestyle and hobbies) Also, each procedure (the forming of the phallus, glandplasty, u hook-up, testicular implants and stiffener) comes with potential complications, and not everyone has the same comfort level with those individual risks. In short, not everyone getting bottom surgery gets “the works” even if they can afford it and on some level want it.
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