41 Years Ago Today! My how time flies!

[Allison S]

Your hair is very beautiful and I always love hearing your story. It gives me hope even though I know our circumstances are different. I always wonder what the stories of some women are because it makes me feel a little less alone in my "I'm not a boy" thoughts. Thanks for sharing!!

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[Dena]

Rather interesting the timing of this thread. Thirty Six years ago today, they came into my room to wake me (not sure if I had much sleep that night or was awake when they came in), bathed me, shaved my bottom, doped me up and wheeled me off to surgery.

Around 8 years before that, I came out of the closet but at that time, Phoenix had no resources to draw upon. I couldn't find a psychiatrist who had any knowledge about treating GD and the few books I could find on the subject were at least 10 years old. My mother was of little help because she had the attitude that any problem could be fixed so instead of help presenting, it was hoped that shrinking my head a few sizes would solve the problem. There were no female friends so they weren't a resource and I had vey few male friends.

While I liked the doctor, it was clear to both of us that this wasn't going to go anywhere so in October 1976 I packed my car full of stuff and headed off to Anaheim California. The psychiatrist I saw there was a bit more knowledgeable however didn't provide any useful feedback. I just sat there talking for an hour about the only thing I gained was a letter for HRT. I didn't even realize until almost a year latter that all i needed to do in order to get it was ask for it. When my stupid attack ended, I asked and early in August 1978 I was referred to my Endo. Kind of nice because it was an early birthday present.

While I was in for an Endo appointment, I met a couple of transsexuals who suggested I look into a local psychologist that handled transitioners in a group format. I had my first visit with the psychologist April 16, 1979 (old medical records are great except there was a lot of misgendering in the letter to the Endo). Officially, that would be where my transition would start. I was able to learn about electrolysis, makeup, wigs, dress, surgery and most important, I learned I was normal and there were others like me.

Fall of 1979 I was to the point where I was ready to come out at work with so I approached my managers. It must have worked it's way to the top of the pecking order pretty fast because early in December they had a massive layoff and I was a part of it. As I was the only software support for one of the product lines, I suspect they made the decision to scrap the product line just to get me out the door. The product line wasn't popular with the management (not invented here syndrome) but it was a solid product and generated a good deal of income.

As I was out of work and had the time, I had my atoms apple reduce and nose cleaned up before I found my next job as Dena in June 1980. While I qualified for surgery earlier, it took the remainder of that time to rebuild my savings from the hit I took while out of work.

It is strange but even with all that history, it wasn't until I was waking up on the table that I was sure I had made the correct decision. Something I never questioned after that.

Life wasn't all roses as I returned to work two and a half weeks after surgery. I lived in constant exhaustion to the point where I lost my job in August. The exit interview was what really made me mad. I had been told by my boss that I didn't have much vacation time and that was the reason I returned to work almost as soon as I was out of the hospital (four days after release). In the exit interview they handed me a check way above what they owed me for the 3 or so weeks that I was due. They couldn't explain why the check was so large but they kept insisting that the amount was correct. Only after I was home, was I able to figure out there was about a months worth of vacation time in the check. The question remains. My boss was very religious and did he avoid going the extra mile in order to get me out the door. I will never know the answer to that but I still have my suspicions.

[EllenJ2003]

Rather interesting the timing of this thread. Thirty Six years ago today, they came into my room to wake me (not sure if I had much sleep that night or was awake when they came in), bathed me, shaved my bottom, doped me up and wheeled me off to surgery.

Around 8 years before that, I came out of the closet but at that time, Phoenix had no resources to draw upon. I couldn't find a psychiatrist who had any knowledge about treating GD and the few books I could find on the subject were at least 10 years old. My mother was of little help because she had the attitude that any problem could be fixed so instead of help presenting, it was hoped that shrinking my head a few sizes would solve the problem. There were no female friends so they weren't a resource and I had vey few male friends.

While I liked the doctor, it was clear to both of us that this wasn't going to go anywhere so in October 1976 I packed my car full of stuff and headed off to Anaheim California. The psychiatrist I saw there was a bit more knowledgeable however didn't provide any useful feedback. I just sat there talking for an hour about the only thing I gained was a letter for HRT. I didn't even realize until almost a year latter that all i needed to do in order to get it was ask for it. When my stupid attack ended, I asked and early in August 1978 I was referred to my Endo. Kind of nice because it was an early birthday present.

While I was in for an Endo appointment, I met a couple of transsexuals who suggested I look into a local psychologist that handled transitioners in a group format. I had my first visit with the psychologist April 16, 1979 (old medical records are great except there was a lot of misgendering in the letter to the Endo). Officially, that would be where my transition would start. I was able to learn about electrolysis, makeup, wigs, dress, surgery and most important, I learned I was normal and there were others like me.

Fall of 1979 I was to the point where I was ready to come out at work with so I approached my managers. It must have worked it's way to the top of the pecking order pretty fast because early in December they had a massive layoff and I was a part of it. As I was the only software support for one of the product lines, I suspect they made the decision to scrap the product line just to get me out the door. The product line wasn't popular with the management (not invented here syndrome) but it was a solid product and generated a good deal of income.

As I was out of work and had the time, I had my atoms apple reduce and nose cleaned up before I found my next job as Dena in June 1980. While I qualified for surgery earlier, it took the remainder of that time to rebuild my savings from the hit I took while out of work.

It is strange but even with all that history, it wasn't until I was waking up on the table that I was sure I had made the correct decision. Something I never questioned after that.

Life wasn't all roses as I returned to work two and a half weeks after surgery. I lived in constant exhaustion to the point where I lost my job in August. The exit interview was what really made me mad. I had been told by my boss that I didn't have much vacation time and that was the reason I returned to work almost as soon as I was out of the hospital (four days after release). In the exit interview they handed me a check way above what they owed me for the 3 or so weeks that I was due. They couldn't explain why the check was so large but they kept insisting that the amount was correct. Only after I was home, was I able to figure out there was about a months worth of vacation time in the check. The question remains. My boss was very religious and did he avoid going the extra mile in order to get me out the door. I will never know the answer to that but I still have my suspicions.

You must have been hurting bigtime when you went back to work after your SRS Dena.  I went back about 6 weeks after mine (I was granted a leave of absence, since I had nowhere near that much vacation time), and I was still uncomfortable at times (though luckily post-op, I didn't have much pain [other than the Cluster Headaches - but that's a different thing altogether]).

It's very possible that the boss that fired you let religious bigotry drive his actions towards you. I actually had to deal with that exact situation (along with the maintenance guy who outright told me "God meant for you to be a man").

When I came out to my boss in 1999, he was a lifesaver job-wise. He told me that he didn't understand why I was transitioning, but he said he would back me.  It's a good thing he did, because after we both met with the HR director at the time (the predecessor of the one, who caused me so much grief with bathroom issues), my boss had to stand up for me to prevent me from being fired for coming out as being a transsexual.  It turned out that one of the higher ups who wanted me fired, was the very same HR director who my boss and I had met with.  I found out that Mr. HR Guy said having me around wasn't good for the company's image.  Considering that when my boss and I met with the guy, he apologized for being late, due to having just come from a bible study session, I wouldn't be at all surprised if the real reason he wanted me fired, was because he was possibly a fundie, who felt that "I went against God's Will/what God really meant me to be", and needed to be punished for doing so.  Yeah, right.

[Dena]

You must have been hurting bigtime when you went back to work after your SRS Dena.  I went back about 6 weeks after mine (I was granted a leave of absence, since I had nowhere near that much vacation time), and I was still uncomfortable at times (though luckily post-op, I didn't have much pain [other than the Cluster Headaches - but that's a different thing altogether]).

I have a reasonably high tolerance to pain. The entire time after surgery I didn't use any pain medication though I was offered morphine. My biggest complaint is something they gave me in surgery clouded my head for two days afterward. I was glad when what ever that was left my system. I was able to sleep a lot the first two days after surgery and that limited the amount of time I was awake to feel any pain. From what I have seen in recent surgeries, the pain is diminishing by the end of the second day so maybe I slept through the worst of it.

After I was out of the hospital, my constant friend and companion was the inflatable donut they gave me to sit on. I would move it around and sit on it until there was no way to get comfortable on it and then I would sit in the chair without it until I became uncomfortable again. As I was at work, it was a pain not being able to lay down for a while giving me a third option to be comfortable but I survived. There were bathroom breaks that would get me off my rear but working at a terminal limited how long I could be away from my desk.

[Complete]

Shortly after my college graduation, l told my mom that having tried every other alternative open to me, l was going to have to have a sex change operation. She told me that she did not really understand,  but that she would support me any way she could. She was there for me that night after a long and difficult surgery and was there to save my life by calling a nurse to address my excessive bleeding which would have killed me had it not been stopped.
My father was a different story. It took him 20 years, after I was well into my 2nd marrimage that he finally came around and accepted the reality of what had come to pass.
So yes it has been a long time,  a lifetime really, since  those long forgotten day s of darkness.
Congratulations to all of us who have managed to get our lives in order and "be, all that we can be".

[Lisa_K]

Just a quick question...   Did any of you get the reaction I got from my dad (and sister for that matter), when he "rediscovered" in early 1999 that my transsexualism had "not gone away"?

Besides my mom and the step-dad I had from age 10, my only other family at the time was a couple of aunts and half a dozen cousins or so. I did not "come out" to any of these people. The way I was and where I was headed had always been obvious and when I was ready to start being called by my girl name, my mom and my lesbian cousin just passed the word around, it was no big deal and everyone thought it was about darn time.

I didn't tell my real dad either and have no idea what his initial reaction was? As I said earlier, I was the main reason my birth parents got divorced when I was six and he did not care for my girl-like nature at all. I didn't see him often and we were really never that close. The last time I saw him, I was 13 and he was uncomfortable with me and rude about the way I looked and acted. I thought he was a total dick in fact and made no further efforts to stay in contact with him nor did he with me. Over time, I didn't even know where he lived.

Fast forward 11 years... My mom is dying, has about a year to live and knows it and felt some sort of obligation to not leave me alone without either of my real parents so she managed to track him down and phoned him. By this time, I was 24, had been on HRT for seven years, "full time" for six and it had been two years since my surgery. I have no idea how she told him about all this or what was said?

I learned of this conversation after the fact. I suppose if it had gone horribly, she probably wouldn't even have told me but it didn't go that badly and he was willing to meet me. My mom and I took a road trip to California and things were awkward but not unpleasant. He was in disbelief and beside himself. Probably expecting to meet a man in a dress, he was blown away at what an attractive young woman I had become and he couldn't believe how female my body was. He was actually pretty shaken up by it but he was nice enough and we agreed to keep in touch. I visited him another time or two and we wrote letters back and forth.

In the early 90's, he met my husband a couple of times and they really got along well. That was something my mom never got the chance to do. I last saw my real dad in 1993 and we heard from each other regularly but infrequently for several more years. When I got divorced in 1997, my dad was again disappointed with me and things were pretty crazy for me for a while and I dropped the ball on keeping in touch. So did he.

Maybe 14 or 15 years ago, my roommate/girlfriend at the time took a call from one of my cousins on his side of the family I probably hadn't seen since I was 8 years old and have no idea how she even found me. Through this relayed conversation, I learned my dad had passed away.

I was indifferent.

[EllenJ2003]

Maybe 14 or 15 years ago, my roommate/girlfriend at the time took a call from one of my cousins on his side of the family I probably hadn't seen since I was 8 years old and have no idea how she even found me. Through this relayed conversation, I learned my dad had passed away.

I was indifferent.

Yeah, I'm that way about my extended family (aunts, uncles and cousins - all of my grandparents were dead by 1988).  I know, that at least a few of them know about what I did - my uncle (my dad's youngest brother) for instance, probably through a friend of his who worked where I used to work, and might have told my uncle about me.  Like you I could care less about whether or not I have contact with my extended family, since I haven't seen most of them since the early 90s.  About the only one I would ever wish to talk to (and I wouldn't go out of my way to contact him, I'd have to run into him), would be another one of my uncles from my dad's side of the family, mainly to give him a piece of my mind for being an egotistical ass, and being mean to my dad.  My dad wanted to re-connect with that uncle (they were very close to each other when they were growing up), and he would have nothing to do with my dad (it really upset my dad).  My dad had cancer 3 times (the third time [in 2015] is what killed him), and that uncle told one of my dad's other brothers he could have cared less.  He didn't even show up for my dad's funeral (grrr!). Like I said, if I ran into the man, I'd give him a big dose of attitude, and a piece of my mind for acting the way he has acted.

[Lucy Ross]

Here's an article on Dr. Biber:  A Gender Variance Who's Who: Stanley H. Biber (1923 - 2006) surgeon, general practitioner, rancher, weight-lifter.  Look at that resume!  And let's not forget he was a Korean War M*A*S*H surgeon.

There was no time in my life where I was ever seen as or fit in as a normal boy so becoming outwardly even more not normal boy was no big thing for me or in other words, I was always seen as some kind of a freak or oddity so why did I care?

Some of your shrinks may have classified you as a "Primary Transsexual," the kind that never waver in their conviction about their gender, as opposed to the Secondary variety, who respond to the derision heaped on them by masking their identity, sometimes to very extreme degrees.  This sort of terminology fell out of favor as it implies a hierarchy, that some of us are more "authentic" etc., which is nonsense.  Here's an excellent article on this from Anne Vitale:  Primary and Secondary transsexualim--Myths and Facts  Here's an old susans.org thread on this subject:  Primary and secondary

Thanks for sharing your stories!  Hearing about what transitioning was like in days gone by is fascinating.  This is a fundamental aspect of what it is to be human and here's hoping that it will become universally recognized and accepted in the coming decades.