Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Three days that have at once felt like 3 minutes and like three weeks...
Tuesday, June 16
The cab pulled up to the clinic near the city jail on the island of Montréal's north side at 9:45 that morning. After unloading my suitcase and purse from the back, he asked if we'd like him to wait (presumably to bring Kathleen back to the hotel). We answered no, that I'd be here for a week, and he wished me a good vacation, which was funny!
Once I signed into the clinic, we were allotted a room (104A, facing west) and Kathleen was given a sticker to wear that indicated which person she was supporting. I changed into the hospital gown (vith a very cute snowflake print), a robe, and disposable hospital socks. After completing the admission procedure where they took my vitals, confirmed my surgery and shave quality, and weighed me for establishing my BMI (18.5 - on the line), I was sent back to my bed to wait.
...and wait.
Until the very nice surgeon who would be doing my procedure came to my bed to meet me, ask if I had any questions (not really), confirm my shave, on inspection, assure me he could deliver on the surgery I requested, and let me know that he'd see me again in "2, 3, or 4 hours"
...and wait.
...and wait.
Until 1:45, when, without warning, I was brought up to the second floor for a final opportunity to pee (I needed it) and to meet with the anesthesiologist, who asked me more quesions about my health and let me know how he planned to proceed. While I know that some trans people wish to be aware during their procedures, I wanted assurance that I would not be. Knowing myself, I know my mind would fill in the blanks, causing a whole lot of upset. Fortunately, like the pre-op nurse did, he reassured me that I'd be in twilight and that I'd have nothing to worry about. He then left to prepare.
About one minute later, a nurse came by to bring me into the operating theatre, where the show began quickly. It was a hive of activity, with perhaps a half-dozen professionals preparing things. I was asked to lie down on the table where the anesthesiologist set to work on my left arm (and spine), while another was taking my vitals on my right.
And then the next thing I know is that I was being wheeled back into my room. Since I had yet to thaw (I couldn't move my hips, knees, feet, toes), I was transferred by the nurses back to my bed. Once I was back, Kathleen was allowed back by my side.
My post-anesthetic babbling wasn't especially amusing: I mostly just thanked Kathleen for being there and for sticking with me. While she appreciated the sentiment, I think she was hoping for something a little more funny!
Afterward, it was just time to rest and to eat. The meals were generous in portion and I was glad that my request for vegan meals was respected. I have also been taking it as a permission structure to break the recent challenges with restriction.
One of my first challenges was to stand up. It's key in preventing blood clots and I found it a sort of emotionally-useful "proof of life" follwoing the day's events. Or in how trans people on the internet often put it: "I lived, bitches!"
Wednesday, June 17
Wednesday was spent in the hospital unit too, where it was about rest, meds, and meals. Nurses checked in regularly, changing my ice, checking my dressings, and all manner of other supports.
Kathleen arrived in the morning with six donuts from La Beignerie, a vegan donut and ice cream place on St-Denis They have a cute little logo with a donut and ice cream cone in a bathtub that serves as a visual pun, which is all the more delightful. As a snack, Kathleen and I shared two donuts, which gave us an opportunity to sample.
The day's challenge was to go for three walks. They weren't far: just around the nursing station: once after breakfast (check), twice after lunch (check plus one), and three after dinner (check). Again: it's good to move about, but good for the prevention of blood clots.
Later in the evening, one of the hospital staff came by to tell me that, as planned, I would be transferred to L'Asclépiade (their convalescent wing), room 401, at 9am the following day.
Thursday, June 18
...and sure enough, at around 8:00, one of the nurses came into the room to let both my roomate and myself know that we would be moving over at 8:30 and 9:00, respectively, and that things would be managed a little differently, with a greater focus on independence and taking on more responsibility for our own postoperative care.
This meant changing our own bandages (except for the sewn-on "lobster", which will be removed Sunday), icing the site as needed, and being able to articulate our own pain management, asking the nurses when we needed something beyond.
Still, the nurses changed my dressings twice: once in the morning and once in the afternoon, mostly with an eye toward teaching me to do my own. In between those, my drain was removed, a new bandage put on the hole, and I am responsible for changing it when I can see blood on more than 50% of it.
My room is quite lovely with a large window facing the park across the street. When I was welcomed to the room, the staff made me promise to call if I saw anything interesting! Of course, since the weather has not been all that great, outside of the joggers and dog walkers, few have been out and about, so the calm pastoral experience promised of L'Asclépiade has been what I've received.
Otherwise, the meals are three-times daily and communal. It is also when we receive our daily medications. Since I was cleared early on to remain on HRT by the surgeon, my estradiol and progesterone were returned to me.
For the most part, notwithstanding the communal meals, the patients appear to mostly keep to themselves or, if they're in a shared room (I have a single room), stick with their roommate. It makes sense, we're all strangers and we've all been through major surgery. It's also not exactly uncommon for trans people to be a little on the shy side in many situations. Moreover, with a few exceptions, I have at least 10 (and in some cases, 20+) years on them. I'm definitely the oldest patient.
Although I feel somewhat guilty about it, Kathleen and I have been hanging out in my room mostly, and she has usually been here for the entire visiting hours of 9am to 8pm. We are watching bad cable and I am at risk of falling asleep at various intervals.
Of course, I'm recovering from major surgery!
Friday, June 19
Outside of an hour or so awake between 3:30 and 4:30 in the morning, I slept fairly well and was not in any real pain. The stiffness and irritation has more to do with the the "lobster" than it has to do with the pain of healing for me. At least this seems to be he case so far.
I was definitely reminded that rest is very important when it comes to having major surgery and, well, when Kathleen arrived this morning, it was not 15 minutes between my getting into bed to do my icing that I fell asleep hard for about 90 minutes!
June 19, 2026