It was a confused feeling. Was I lost? Where was I?
I began to wipe the urine out of my legs and reached for something to lift me up. However, I didn’t know where I was. To make myself stable, I lean forward on the counter and look into the mirror. I was astonished to see this man of middle age staring at me. Kellie, where are you? What was I doing? Who was I? Kellie was something I could feel inside. But, in a few months I became who I This was It was over.
It all came back after I shook my head in an effort to relieve the disorientation and pain. I went to the bathroom. It was me there. The pain from six inches worth of bacteria-infected hair inside my urethra had made me fall out once more. To administer IV antibiotics, I was forced to use a silicon tube in my arm. The pain was unbearable every morning. To get ready for work and to walk to the hospital to receive IV antibiotics, it took me everything. The struggle for survival was hard.
A phalloplasty was a male-to-female procedure that involves removing skin from the legs and arms to create a phallo. It took me 15 months before I underwent it. This marked the sixth surgery I’d undergone within two years. It was the most traumatic of them all, and I’d begun to endure the crippling pain associated with the side effects of a surgery I was told would be routine.
Transgender surgeons do not require any specialized training, even though they face serious risks. A sign can be placed at the officemax for doctors who want to broaden their knowledge. “Transgender Surgeon,” hang it on the door, and – poof! – the transgender craze will supply them with a line of patients begging for surgery. Instantly, they have insurance companies approving $50,000 procedures with profit margins mirroring brain surgery – no questions asked. They have the LGBTQ Force Shield, which protects them against any criticism and an army of activists who rationalize negative publicity. “transphobia.”They hide behind LGBTQ ideology in order to avoid malpractice lawsuits. Because transgender surgery can be considered experimental, and there is no baseline against which to compare the results of other procedures, legal action becomes almost impossible.
Not because of prejudice, many top-ranked surgeons refuse to operate on transgender bottom surgery. Complication ratesBut surgeons used to making $300,000.00 a year for simple procedures like appendectomy, have the temptation of increasing their income by performing more. ‘gender affirmation’Surgery can be difficult to resist. As I witnessed, most doctors who participate in such surgeries will not consider the potential complications.
I have had to rewrite the date of my burial because of complications that came with my surgery. This decision has shortened my life and made me think every day about my grandchildren, even though I might never see them. I ache for them, and in my head I’m constantly saying, “I’m sorry my babies and future grandbabies. I’m so, so sorry.”
It was the indoctrination that I felt, along with the feeling of unease, as I started the roller coasters. I am embarrassed to say the least. What could have possibly made me so dumb at the age of 42? I vividly remember how it started as I struggle to deal with PTSD and attempt to get better.
I felt tired, my eyes were heavy and the clinic’s bright white walls kept me awake as IV drugs began to ease the pain.
“You’ll be fine,”Lynette was my fiancee, but I knew something different. As the nurse opened my hospital bed, I heard something inside screaming for me to jump off. She was going to move me into the operating area. Lynette was able to see my anxiety and squeezed me harder. Although the gesture was comforting, deep inside I was troubled by her eagerness to have me wheeled into surgery. It was a blurry, and I wish I could have spoken to her more often. Instead of telling her about my worries, I just smiled at her hoping she’d say something. “Baby, I know you are doing this for me, and you don’t have to, because I will love you anyway, just the way you are.”
As the terror inside of me grew, it seemed that I was living for minutes. I felt it all in one moment. “Stop, this is wrong!”However, it was too late. Lynette and I did not say anything. The drugs took over by the time that I was able to come to my senses.
Last thing that I felt was the cold metal of the operating table, as my anesthesiologist stated. “Count down from 100, sir.”I tried to find enough courage to speak. “Wait, I’m not a sir. This is wrong.”All I heard was the flickering sound of my eyes trying to remain awake as my thoughts raced. It was my wish that they would stop. Then it faded into black.
Although it was only two and a half months had passed since my first testosterone shot, a significant transformation had begun. Almost instantly, my usual self-assurance — one of the critical components that made me an ultra-successful business sales executive — was slipping from me. It was hard to believe. When I presented at sales presentations, my confident and bubbly demeanour made everyone look up. My sincerity was what made me unique.
After my first testosterone injection, I noticed a decline in my confidence. It took me several months before I realized that it was time to regress in conversation. When I was in sales meetings I stopped asking questions, raising my hands, or fighting for accounts. I just wanted to be able to move in and out quickly. This was not me, it was confusing.
A reality turned out that I wasn’t a man, even though my dreams of being a boy made me think of the ease of living. Although I tried to find a love for myself all my life, it was difficult to get there. The dream I had in my heart was to become the. “ultra”Boy my father desired, “King”Who in our family would have the most? My pedestal would be decorated with money, dirt and footballs.
Instead of being accepted and celebrated for who I truly was, I became painfully conscious of this. While I had worked very hard throughout the years to finally embrace my uniqueness and accept it, I couldn’t resist the dream of what medical transition would accomplish. My acceptance of my self was never enough to stop the fantasy I was imagining as a child. The obstacles and complications were largely over. The idea of fitting into a puzzle that I felt was always denied to me was something I couldn’t shake.
The medical industry convinced me at 42 that I would be born again as a man.
Two-and-a half months after testosterone treatment, my pronouns changed, colleagues started to look at me, and it was very painfully obvious. I felt uncomfortable and began to doubt my abilities. Lynette wanted me to contact her, but she was too wrapped up in the details of my transition for Lynette and I as a couple. It supposedly fixed all our problems on paper. There was also nothing available to help me – on the internet, in books, or in Youtube videos – that detailed the emotional side of transitioning. Only joyful transgender people who’d been magically transformed could be found.
I was amazed at the speed with which I managed to move the transition, considering that I only had testosterone for a brief time. It didn’t seem to matter to the medical professionals; they were all too eager to continue with the procedures and swipe the credit card.
It is a happy, easy-going salesmanship “medical transition” and its blunt reality don’t match up. Doctors and medical transition proponents don’t prepare you for transition-related post-traumatic stress disorders; they don’t mention post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or any of the multiple hardships because it is considered transphobic.
So that other people can listen to what I have to say, the medical profession is afraid to speak out: Gender transition surgery isn’t the magic solution doctors and media portray.
From this experience, I have learned that people can convince themselves of almost anything provided it is done in the right manner and the right timing. To protect other people from falling for the same lies, I now want to. It’s worth the effort.
Scott Newgent, an activist, author and founder of TReVoices which promotes ending childhood gender transitioning, is also an advocate.
The full article is available here here
