O minus an hour and a half
OK. I'm at Parkside Hospital, a little bleary and thirsty after a superb anniversary party last night. I've been admitted and processed; now I'm waiting for Mr Bellringer to see me.
How do I feel, apart from very mildly hung over? Very calm (pulse 49). Light-bodied, as if I were a helium balloon about to be cut loose from its string. I feel fine, I feel right.
In fact, I'm not sure why I'm writing this entry, as my operation seems so anticipated, so timely that it has a commonplace quality. That didn't stop me from grinning stupidly while walking along the platform at Marylebone on my way into town today. It's about time.
I'm a bit nervous about the shaving and the post-op pain. But nothing more than I'd be before, say, a haircut with a new hairdresser. I think I'm more worried about next week's op, on my knee. I need to be back on my feet by the 16th, so that I can accompany my wife's class on their school trip. This will be my last chance to go on her school trip, as in future I will have my own to worry about. Yay.
They're found my admission form a bit difficult to deal with. I've been admitted under my legal, male name (easier, especially as my wife is picking me up) but I won't tick the "Male" or "Mr" boxes because they aren't true. So they just call me by my first name. And that's fine.
Last night, out as myself at my party, I was occasionally referred to as "he" by pissed friends - and the receptionist at my office used my male name in saying goodbye to me. What I noticed is how little this bothered me. I am ME, regardless of name, clothing or - in fact - gonads. But this evening's op may have contributed to this growing comfort in my identity.
Last night, as I was sitting with the few friends who stayed to eat, I felt so entirely myself. Not the centre of attention, but part of a network of like-minded, good people. I am happy with and in myself; even happier in good company.
I hope to update this later, when I come round; don't hold your breath...
How do I feel, apart from very mildly hung over? Very calm (pulse 49). Light-bodied, as if I were a helium balloon about to be cut loose from its string. I feel fine, I feel right.
In fact, I'm not sure why I'm writing this entry, as my operation seems so anticipated, so timely that it has a commonplace quality. That didn't stop me from grinning stupidly while walking along the platform at Marylebone on my way into town today. It's about time.
I'm a bit nervous about the shaving and the post-op pain. But nothing more than I'd be before, say, a haircut with a new hairdresser. I think I'm more worried about next week's op, on my knee. I need to be back on my feet by the 16th, so that I can accompany my wife's class on their school trip. This will be my last chance to go on her school trip, as in future I will have my own to worry about. Yay.
They're found my admission form a bit difficult to deal with. I've been admitted under my legal, male name (easier, especially as my wife is picking me up) but I won't tick the "Male" or "Mr" boxes because they aren't true. So they just call me by my first name. And that's fine.
Last night, out as myself at my party, I was occasionally referred to as "he" by pissed friends - and the receptionist at my office used my male name in saying goodbye to me. What I noticed is how little this bothered me. I am ME, regardless of name, clothing or - in fact - gonads. But this evening's op may have contributed to this growing comfort in my identity.
Last night, as I was sitting with the few friends who stayed to eat, I felt so entirely myself. Not the centre of attention, but part of a network of like-minded, good people. I am happy with and in myself; even happier in good company.
I hope to update this later, when I come round; don't hold your breath...