In an aside yesterday, I wrote:

Removing The Lobster

...

Contrary to what I expected that morning when blogging beforehand, there was no complex swirl of emotions. Just a sense of alignment, peace, and ...things being in focus for the first time.

I think this was my biggest surprise. Thanks in no small part due to the stories of other trans women who have had bottom surgery - stories I've been reading for more than 30 years - I expected some swirl of emitions once the bandages were removed.

Now, I understand that most of these stories range somewhere between the older traditional "bottom surgery is the story's end" and those where the protagonist's bottom dysphoria might not have been so strong but they proceded anyway, with some complicated feelings.

I don't fit into either of these narratives.

I've had some measure of bottom dysphoria for almost as long as I can remember. For at least as long as it stopped being a funny curiosity and started to take on a meaning and force me into an identity I knew wasn't mine. With puberty, it got much stronger and once I learned about bottom surgery, I knew I wanted it. At least when it was possible.

Like many trans people, I learned to cope through depersonalization and disassociation. In a family that valued education and learning, becoming a bit of a brain-in-a-jar was a natural way to see my way clear.

So when I peered into the little tilting mirror after the nurse removed my bandages, there was no swell of orchestral music, no angels singing, no tears, no surprises. Even though I won't settle into a final form for a year, I wasn't even shocked to see it in its unhealed state.

It almost reminds me of one of my Mom's favourite stories of my birth: once I was delivered, she saw my shock of red hair and a look on my face that was not one of upset, but rather upon entering the world, I asked "Is that all?"

In some way, to my mind, it had always been there.

...and in some way, that's true, but in a more real way, it's not even a little bit true. I spent four decades avoiding what was below. It was a source of discomfort. A reason for decades of uneasy roleplaying.

So for some, it's a rebirth. For me, well it is too, but my mind seems as calm as it was in July 1981. The big feelings then only came when the doctor flicked my feet to confirm that I had no obstruction. I didn't: I just didn't enter the world screaming. Fortunately for me looking at 45, my surgeon chose not to slap me.

I finally found peace, but it was ushered in as if it was fated.

July 5, 2026