| The saintly looking Kate departed the room with our hopes that she would be able to survive the rest of her stay with Eva. Later we learned the two of them almost came to blows that night. Eva had to be moved out of the room. Hooray for Kate! The rest of the night would be a sweet struggle. My sister was kind enough to go out for some bottled water for Janet and myself. Janet just thought the world of my sisters for trying to assist her. I felt for her being there by herself. The whole process of transition and SRS is difficult enough, let alone if you have to do it with little or no support from family and friends. Janet took to my sisters and they enjoyed helping her. That night was pretty much a blur for me. I do remember my sister saying goodnight whilst I struggled to breathe and deal with the pain. The cold from the ice packs was extremely uncomfortable and only added to the pain of having my penis turned into a cherished vagina/vulva. Despite all of the distress a content feeling had descended upon me. I was delighted the surgery had finally taken place. It was a good hurt if there is such a thing. I had not yet pondered the success of the surgery and I certainly wasn't in any hurry to see the results. Amazingly, I felt satisfied amidst all the trauma my body was enduring. Moans, Groans, And Buddies Something very sweet unfolded between Janet and myself as we struggled to sleep that night. I had a very hard time breathing through my mouth. I groped for the water bottle every chance I could in order to relieve my parched throat. Everytime Janet would hear me moaning and groaning throughout the night she would call my name, and ask me if I was okay. It became a ritual for me as well whenever I would hear her fussing. It was so cute how we were so concerned with each others condition. I'm not sure what we could have done if either one of us had stated a specific need in response to our queries. We did afford each other a large measure of comfort that night, which helped us make it to the next morning. I'm not big on war analogies due to the fact that I've never been in one. But it so felt like we had been in the trenches together that night. Between the moaning and groaning the nurses would come in to give us a steady supply of morphine shots. My right shoulder was getting very tender. At one point I begged her to give it a rest and shoot-up my left side instead. Most of the nurses spoke broken English and I knew nothing more than a few words in French. Thus communication was at a premium for most of my stay there, though she did oblige me and started punishing my left arm. Between the sleeping pills and the morphine I sporadically dozed until morning came. I woke up scratching my chest and belly. It took me a few moments to figure out what the probable cause of the itch might be. I remembered what Randy told me about his stay in the hospital. He had the same symptoms and they attributed the itching to the morphine. The itching wasn't overwhelming, albeit I knew it would probably get worse. I asked the first nurse I saw that morning to have Dr. M�nard prescribe me a different pain killer if he could. If Randy had not told me about his experience with the morphine I probably would have ignored the itching until things got worse. It was so easy to see why they had me come up early to mingle with the other patients, pre and post-op. They have a wonderful system in Montr�al which allows you to ascertain plenty of information concerning your upcoming surgery. The next shot the nurse gave me was Demerol. The effects of the Demerol were extreme for me. I felt like I had taken a trip without leaving the farm. Back Next |