09 June 2009
I've been keeping busy in an attempt to think as little as possible about my upcoming surgery. Yet today it seemed that everything I did or encountered reminded me of it.
Then again, it seems that everyone who knows I'm scheduled for the surgery expects me to think about it all the time. What's really odd, though, is that in spite of my efforts not to think about it, I don't mind when one of my colleagues or friends asks, or simply wants to talk with me, about it. They've all been encouraging; some, like Celeste, have practically been cheerleading.
Could it be that my efforts not to think about the surgery actually have to do with the kind of encouragement I've been getting? Right now, I'm realizing this: Thinking about the surgery on my own, I could very easily turn obsessive, which would lead to all sorts of things. Would I become a Tranny-zilla? (It doesn't have quite the same ring as "Bridezilla," don't you think?) However, I don't see how one could become obsessive over or becuae of the support one receives from others.
Some might tell me that the fact not every one of my waking thoughts concerns the surgery is the very reason why I can be receptive to the advice, support or pure-and-simple kind words I've been receiving, even from people whom I don't know that well.
I still wish my mother were going with me. Originally, my father had planned to accompany us; now I wonder whether how long he will stay out of his chair and the hospital. He insists that his condition has nothing to do with my transition; my mother concurs. I offered not to do the operation if it would make him happy. He wouldn't hear of it: "You've come so far. You're happy. And none of it will change me." In fact, after he said that, I find myself wondering whether he would actually regress if I were to back away from the operation and revert to living as a man.
I plan to do the operation: I not only want it, I owe it to myself. Now I find myself thinking again of Nora in A Doll's House. In the play's final scene, she tells her husband Torvald that if she doesn't fulfill her "sacred" duties to herself, she cannot be of any use to anyone else. Perhaps Dad realizes that; I'm sure Mom does.
As for living as a man: I'm not sure I could do that now, even if I wanted to. And why would I want to? So I can pee while standing up? That stopped being fun when I couldn't hit targets anymore. And, if you're going to do anything against a wall, you can be so much more creative--and have more fun--with a spray can or a magic marker. Besides, urine has DNA in it, or so I would think. So if some law enforcement agents had nothing better to do, they could trace it and come after you.
All right. You didn't come to this blog to read about peeing. You came to read about Pi Ying, the famous Chinese mathematician. I know what you're thinking: If he was so famous, why didn't I hear about him until now? Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'll have you know that I didn't know anything about him, either, until I started writing about him.
On that note, I'm going to bed. Now I wonder whether I'll dream about the operation.