Dear Top Surgery

Image is from Pexels

Dear Top Surgery is a bit of a DIY post because Mr here is a few days post-op but still in the hospital since the bleeding has stopped yet, but I’m told that is normal. However, before I start ranting about the experience, I should tell you why this post is DIY because while I have my laptop in front of me, I’m lazy and typing on my phone. After all, it’s easier for my hand. I know I might be all over the place, which is very on-brand like my life right now.

Me wanting top surgery started around age 12. It might be earlier than that, yet I have a clear memory telling my mum that my chest bothered me, if not the real reason behind it. Six years ago, when I came out, it was clear that my chest caused the main issue for my dysphoria, and no matter how much I bonded it, it never looked flat or masculine enough to me. So, the first few sentences I said at my first gender clinic meeting was that I said that I wanted testosterone and top surgery. If you read any of my transition posts, you understand it wasn’t an easy journey, but in reality, nothing this life-changing is.

When I started hormones, I began to have fat dispersion, which is something that can happen when you are on testosterone. At the gender clinic, they thought therapy would help, so I tried for two years, and, of course, I’m speaking for myself here. Sadly, my dysphoria was strong-headed, like its owner, to the point that surgery felt the best route to take. Thirty minutes before surgery, the only image I had was five-year-old me struggling with how his body was changing and could do nothing about it.

(I will write about my recovery while I go through it, but I’m not sure that would be interesting to you)



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