Theresa Chapter 40

The Story So Far (TGF subscribers can read earlier installments): Terri has had her Sexual Reassignment Surgery.

We’ve followed Terri’s story through 99 chapters (Juliet 31, Barbara 29, Theresa 39) and approximately 187 thousand words since Chapter 1 of Juliet appeared in TG Forum on May 1, 2000.

“What’s past is prologue, ” Shakespeare’s Antonio said in The Tempest. I have no illusions that I’ve written anything close to Shakespearean – I simply want to note that there is quite a bit more to Terri’s story, but the remainder of her tale will be much, much shorter than its prologue!

Your questions and comments are, as always, very welcome.

I’ve read quite a few books by male-to-female transsexuals in the last few years – out of curiosity, I suppose, and an interest in comparing notes. Many of them write about awakening from SRS to a combination of excruciating pain and overwhelming joy. I won’t elaborate on the pain. It’s there. Someone described it in terms of a hot knife in the groin – in my experience, that’s pretty accurate. I won’t elaborate on the elation, either. I imagine – and this is something I can never know – that the mixture of pain and ecstasy must be something like giving birth. In a sense, it is giving birth.

My first thought on awakening was happiness to be alive. I opened my eyes to see a nurse hovering over me; I smiled at her and she smiled back. Then the pain kicked in, and I wasn’t too sure I was going to enjoy living. I gasped. The nurse turned her head and said something, and Dr. Sterling materialized. He smiled at me. “You’re going to be fine, Miss Sayers,” he said.

“Everything went very well.” I tried to say something, but all I could do was gasp in pain. Dr. Sterling nodded to the nurse. She injected something in my arm and I lost consciousness.

My next awakening, I’m told, was nearly forty-eight hours later. It didn’t last very long and I don’t have any clear memories of it. I slept for twenty-four more hours and then woke up again. I looked around. I was surrounded by so many flowers that I wondered if I were the guest of honor at my own funeral. No; there was an intravenous feeding line in the back of my left hand. Or was it embalming fluid? No again; I felt too much pain to be dead, although it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been.

A different nurse was looking at me. “Awake, are we? How are you feeling?”

“Better than before. Hungry.”

“Any pain?”

“Some.”

“Do you want me to give you a shot?”

“No – not now. I’d like to stay awake for a little while. What time is it?”

“Three-fifteen in the afternoon. If you can stay awake until four, Doctor Sterling should be making his rounds then.”

“Is it still Monday?”

She laughed. “No indeed; this is Thursday.”

Thursday! “That’s why I feel so hungry,” I said, “and thirsty.”

“We’ll have to see what the doctor says about food,” the nurse said. She poured some water into a paper cup and helped me get it to my lips. It tasted like nectar.

“Where did all these flowers come from?”

“Let’s see.” She went down the row of vases, inspecting the cards. “These are from Amy and Alice. These are from Jessie, Barbara, Doug, Susie, and Peter. This bouquet is from your mother. This one is from Josie.”

“Josie?”

“That’s what the card says. Dad and Ivy. Lisa and John. Sam something.”

“Sam Llewellyn?”

“I think so – the handwriting’s a little hard to read, but it could be Llewellyn.”

An agent sending flowers? Unheard of.

“This one says ‘Bob Squires’…” An agent and a lawyer? Incredible! “…and this one’s from Karen, and this is from Chris and Jim.”

Those were the flowers on my left. They were dwarfed by the six enormous bouquets on my right. “Who are these others from?”

“From your fiancé, of course.”

“My fiancé?”

“Mr. Roberts. He brings a new bouquet every time he comes to see you.”

“Eddie’s been here six times?”

“I think so. He’s come three times when I’ve been on duty.”

“He’s come to the hospital, but he hasn’t actually seen me – has he?”

“Of course he has. He was here about an hour ago, but you were still sleeping, so he stayed just a few minutes. We wouldn’t turn anyone’s fiancé away. ”

Of course not. “But I must look really awful,” I wailed.

“Oh, no; you look fine, dear – considering all you’ve been through.”

I must really look terrible, I thought. I asked for my handbag, and the nurse found it in the nightstand beside my bed. I rummaged around and dug out my mirror. I looked like a well-rested hag. My hair was a matted mess. I pulled out my brush and comb and set to work. It wasn’t easy to undertake major repairs with one hand attached to an intravenous feeding line, especially considering that both hands were a bit shaky, but with the nurse’s help, I managed to make myself borderline presentable. I had just finished putting on lipstick when Dr. Sterling walked in.

“Well, Miss Sayers,” he said, “it’s nice to see you looking yourself again. How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“Some, but on the whole, I feel much better.”

“Good. Surgery like you’ve had is something of an ordeal. You’re under a great deal of mental and emotional strain beforehand, and the operation itself is difficult and dangerous, and sometimes has very painful aftereffects. We’ve kept you pretty well sedated for three days, but we can ease up on that now.”

“That’s good,” I said. “I enjoy being conscious now and then.”

“You should try to tolerate as much pain as you can, but let us know whenever you feel you need medication. We will give you something to help you get a good night’s sleep, and you may want an occasional nap, but you should be able to be awake for twelve to fourteen hours a day.”

“Good.”

“Do you remember me telling you that the operation went very well?”

“Sort of.”

“I think you’ll be very happy with the results. It looks very good, the urethra is fully functional, and you should experience entirely normal sensation with the vagina, once the pain is gone and the healing process has been completed. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

With several dramatic flourishes, Dr. Sterling folded my bedcovers down and rolled my hospital gown up, like a sculptor unveiling his masterpiece.

There wasn’t much to see. There were bandages from which emerged a catheter; there was a little redness in the surrounding flesh. But that was the important thing: there wasn’t much to see. I smiled happily. “It looks wonderful,” I said. The doctor beamed.

I was allowed to have a semi-solid dinner with two aspirins for dessert and I was able to put on a pretty bed jacket and fix up my hair and makeup before evening visiting hours began. I even had time to call my ever more pregnant sister and talk to my Jessie, who wanted to know when she was going to come home and see me again. She was having a grand time, but she wanted to see her mommy and her indulgent grandparents. In just a few days, I told her.

Promptly at seven, Mother and Eddie peered warily into my room. “Hi!” I said, waving my free hand. “Come on in!”

“You’re awake!” Mother said. “It’s a miracle!” Eddie added. He was carrying another enormous bouquet.

“Please, Eddie,” I said. “Other patients like to get flowers, too, but they can’t if you keep buying all of them.”

“I don’t buy them,” Eddie said. “I steal them from an old lady in a room down the hall. She’s got more than she needs.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” I said.

Mother couldn’t stay more than five minutes – as usual, she had a performance that night, and she had to be at the theatre by 7:30. After she left, with a hug and a kiss for her “new daughter” – a hopeful sign, I thought – I turned to Eddie.

“So you’re my fiancé,” I said.

“I guess so,” he said cheerfully.

“I don’t recall being asked. Was I under sedation?”

“It’s an engagement of convenience. I called the hospital every half hour Monday to find out how you were doing. They were pretty cagey – you were in surgery, you were in the recovery room, you were in your room but you couldn’t have visitors yet. They finally said you were fine and you could have visitors at seven, but only immediate family, so I decided to promote myself. I didn’t look fatherly, I didn’t feel cousinly, I certainly didn’t feel brotherly, but I thought I could carry off being your fiancé. It worked out very nicely, I’m glad to say, and these bouquets are the proof of my ardor and devotion.”

“Eddie, Eddie – you’re a lunatic, but I love you.”

“You do? Does that mean you’ve made an honest man of me and we’re engaged?”

“Please, Eddie – my head is spinning. I can’t tell if you’re being serious or putting me on, and don’t tell me, because I don’t want to know right now.”

“I’m sorry – I’m so glad to see you looking alive again that I’m feeling a little silly. It was kind of scary to come in here every afternoon and evening and find you asleep. I was beginning to be afraid you’d never come out of it, though the nurses kept saying you were doing fine and all this sleeping was only to be expected and you were needing less sedation every day.”

I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said. He smiled. “Now, please tell me all about what’s going on in the rest of the world,” I said.

Not too much, as it happened; at least not to Eddie’s knowledge. He was still staying in Amy’s room and he still hadn’t told his parents he was in New York. It would be embarrassing now, he thought. He was planning to fly back to Los Angeles Sunday; he had to be back at work Monday morning. Mother had been keeping in touch with Dad and my sisters – she talked to Jessie every day and gave her my love, but Jessie was beginning to wonder why I never spoke to her myself.

I’d taken care of that, I said – I’d talked with her less than two hours ago.

The nurse came in then; she glanced at me and told Eddie that I needed to get some rest now. I squeezed Eddie’s hand again, and he bent over and kissed me lightly. Then he was gone and the pain was returning and the nurse was approaching me, needle in hand. “Good night,” she said with a smile, and I fell asleep.

I was released from the hospital five days later, having become much more skilled at staying awake. By then, Eddie was back in Los Angeles and my flower supply, which had threatened to take over all the space in my room, began to decrease as the older flowers died and no new ones came in. During those five days, I experienced several joys that I hadn’t really thought about before my surgery. The first of these, on day one, was the joy of being ambulatory, as Dr. Sterling encouraged me to shuffle up and down the hospital corridors. I had a constant companion on these little strolls – the intravenous feeding bag on a wheeled rack that I had to push along before me. The next day, I experienced the joy of bathing and shampooing after the intravenous arrangement was detached from my hand and rolled away to stand sentry duty in a corner of the room. The final joy came on the day before my release, when Dr. Sterling removed my vaginal packing, inspected his handiwork, and announced that healing had progressed to the point where repacking would not be required – I had graduated to industrial-strength tampons. I was to replace them frequently, and I was to get in touch with him at once if I experienced excessive bleeding. In a few more days, the healing would be so far along that I should have no further need for tampons – ever.

Unless problems unexpectedly arose overnight, he would discharge me the next day, he said. After I got home, I was to call his office and make an appointment to see him one week later. Finally – and this was very important – I was not to indulge in sexual intercourse until he gave me his approval.

As a matter of fact, I had no immediate plans – not even any long-range plans – but Dr. Sterling felt compelled to elaborate. “It would be too dangerous for you until you are completely healed and the vaginal walls are strong enough for… ah… vigorous use.”

I assured him of my continued chastity until – and probably long after – I was granted his permission to be otherwise.

To Be Continued

Category: Fiction