A perfect female body, bit by bit

 Every woman is looking for the perfect female body. So is every man. ...An old joke that. This is how mine's coming along, bit by bit.

 

Sports and diet 

It's never dull where I live and there are a lot of big events coming up, not least the Winter Olympics based in Milan, Cortina and other Alpine locations. I watched the Olympic torch being carried past last Saturday.

 

 

I went to a sport-mad school and did enough sports there to last me for pretty much the rest of my life so I have little interest in them now. As far as winter sports go, I did learn to ski 25 years ago and quite enjoyed it but my calculation of enjoyment vs. cold + discomfort + expense is too heavy on the bad stuff to convince me to pursue it. So, last Saturday, rather than getting into a sporty mood after the torch ceremony, I treated myself at my favourite restaurant. Lifting forks to my mouth is great forearm exercise and I have fabulous wrists as a result of daily practice. I chose the leanest things on the menu: an octopus starter, then fresh pasta with cuttlefish ink and sauce, both really good. I was a good girl and had no wine. I've lost over 3 kilos (half a stone) since New Year so I'm back on track for the body shape I want.

 

Surgery 

Talking of a perfect female body, my friend Roz, who had her gender recognition surgery, facial feminisation surgery and breast augmentation surgery all done last year (but thankfully not all at the same time), tells me she is more proportioned, more feminine and very, very happy indeed. I'm very, very happy for her, too. For once, it seems that someone got good surgery throughout, so a definite win for transition there.

 

Nails 

The one thing that I was looking forward to a couple of months ago was having fun with nail varnish. Unfortunately, shortly after that, I managed to break a nail on my right hand very badly. Half the entire nail was cracked, and the bleeding and bruising were severe. I had to bandage my finger for a couple of weeks, in fact. Strangely, I've no idea how it happened. Other nails are damaged too. It's been over six weeks since the accident and it'll take several more to get back to where I was. 

This week I have been sniffing around the January sales. Yes, there are various boring household appliances I need to get but I am looking for that killer dress, yet to be spotted. I'll buy some new nail varnish when my nails are ready for it. 

 

Legs 

As for legs, it's not the first time I've enthused about Marks & Spencer Body Sensor 40 denier tights but, as last winter, I have been wearing these most days and they are terrific. 

 

Durable, with a good quality/price ratio, they team equally well with smart or casual looks. Warm yet not too thick, I find they don't slip down even after many washes or as the day progresses, and pill only slowly. I've not laddered any and damage has been only toe holes after long use. Highly recommended, therefore. These are my current Top Tights and probably second best ever (first was John Lewis 15 denier run resistant sheer gloss tights, sadly discontinued). I note you can get them in 30, 60, 80, 100 and 120 D, too, and they're now £9 for 3 in UK stores. I have always opted for opaques in 70D but these do a warming job just as well. So well done, M&S. 

Wearing M&S 40D Body Sensor tights

 

Keep warm

Keep warm and stay pretty this winter. It's certainly warmed up here since last week, which was uniquely cold, and these past two days I've eaten lunch outside. So has this early bumblebee. I've never seen one so soon after new year.

 

Have a nice weekend. For good mental health, don't watch the news but get into your favourite outfit and feel happy. 

Sue x 

Enhancing femininity

 Wishing my lovely friend Roz a good outcome for her breast augmentation today. 

Roz has significantly more confidence in surgery than I have. I visited her after her gender confirmation surgery (or GRS) back in May. She then had facial feminisation surgery (FFS) in the summer. She is pleased with the outcomes of both so I'm hoping this final item will go perfectly, too. After all, if you've had your chassis rebuilt and your bonnet smartened up, it seems only right to treat yourself to some nice new bumpers as well! 

All this in one year, though, is quite heavy going but these days you have to accept your surgery when it's offered or go back to the end of the queue and likely wait years.

I mention this in case others are contemplating it. The breast surgery is, surprisingly, the most awkward to recover from: no driving for at least six weeks and no lifting or stretching above the head. So Roz tells me that she has been practising acting as though she was a tyrannosaurus rex, trying to do housework and other tasks with just little arms stuck out in front!

Anyway, I think I'll send her some cherry buns to celebrate! Appropriate?

 

Walk in heels

Thank you for all the positive feedback on my new footwear. I'm happy with the choices I made. 

Obviously, I have an unusually small foot for a TGirl and I know how hard it can be to get nice shoes in larger sizes. Market forces rather than biology dictate what we can wear these days; once upon a time everything was hand-made and so fitted each individual. And who's going to make their own clothes these days? It's actually tempting to contemplate getting a sewing machine, knitting needles and so on but, realistically, it's a lot of work, and I've only ever done a bit of cross-stitch before, which is not as easy as it looks at first, and some crochet work. Women I have known who have looms, spinning wheels, sewing machinery and so on love what they do as it's creative. It's true that there is nothing like working with your hands; industrialisation seems to have removed satisfaction from a lot of work like this. One of my grandmothers did beautiful needlework, notably embroidering sheets, covers and cushions, and any holes that were irreparable often had her adding patterns and images round them, giving them a new lease of life as decorations. I keep insisting that being a trans women is not just about the clothes but the interests we have and activities we do, too.

Back to shoes. One topic that arose from my post was heel height. I learnt to walk in 3¼-inch (8.25 cm) tapered heels because that was the preferred style and height of heel in the late 1990s. That was when I stopped purging, accepted I was trans and bought a whole new female wardrobe, including lots of shoes and boots which all had that heel style because it was 'in' at the time. So that's what I feel most comfortable in even now. Maybe if the heels had been 5 inches or 1½, that would have been my preferred height to this day, who can say? 

Obviously, walking in heels for years on a carpet at home was one thing but actually walking out in the street was quite another and it took a while to get used to hard pavements and puddles. But that's how it went for me. 

So when I saw these new shoes, and they had the same heels as thirty years ago, I knew they were right. It's a bit like riding a bike: you never really forget. As with all things, walking in heels involves practising until you're perfect.

 

Sophie Kinsella

I am a voracious reader and I usually have some chick lit in the pile of books I have on the go. A personal tribute, therefore, to Sophie Kinsella who has passed away just shy of her 56th birthday after a struggle against cancer. Her books - "romantic comedy" as she preferred to call her brand of chick lit - are always quirky, funny, even zany, and certainly enjoyable, and she was undoubtedly one of the better - and perhaps best known - writers in this genre. I always enjoyed her anyway. 

I've some of her Shopaholic books here and I'll have a reread in her memory. Many thanks for the entertainment, Sophie. Rest in peace and free from pain.

 

Coming up on Sue's News & Views

It's a busy time of year but I am drafting my second Makoevers and Photoshoots post, which will be up shortly, and another one about the rather beautiful winter illuminations here on the riviera. I went to the switching-on ceremony in Sanremo, which was impressive. I've also been to Nice with its pretty illuminated Christmas sculpture park, Christmas market and illuminated main street, and I'm planning to go to Monaco and Monte Carlo shortly as it seems to have some beautiful decorations. There are funfairs and ice rinks and a lot of events going on here so it's going to be a nice month. 

 

Sue x 

Surgery sucks

Today I decided to start a new career as a surgeon so I put on lots of makeup, selected a suitable wig - an untidy red one - got my loud pink polka dot dress with the wide collar on, my extra big, long shoes and, most importantly, I put my big red nose on. 

I turned up for work at the hospital and immediately they put me on the wards.

"Mr Stump needs his left leg amputating, Mr Aicheson-Paines has water on the brain that needs to be sorted, and Mrs Boggis needs a colonoscopy," the Head of Surgery told me.

So I got to work and at the end of the day I reported back to him.

"I took Mr Stump's arm off, Mr Aicheson-Paines got a direct hit from my squirty flower right on his head and Mrs Boggis got the custard pie you ordered. I also had time to pull an endless line of handkerchiefs out of Mr Sniffer's nose, tripped up several nurses and put Mrs Tumble in the collapsing bed."

"Ha ha ha, the collapsing bed is always a good one!" he chortled, big red lips agape and nose flashing. Well, done Dr Richmond, you've qualified. At this rate you'll be head of surgery when I retire at the end of the year. Put it there."

I shook his hand ... and watched him convulse. Ah, the good old palm buzzer! It gets them every time. 

"Aargh, my pacemaker," he gurgled as he expired from the literal shock. 

Hey, at this rate I'll be head of surgery by tomorrow. 

I write this because I have had a very stressful week dealing not so much with medical matters but with financial ones for a relative of mine who went to have supposedly straightforward hernia surgery in May ... and is still in hospital. I did his tax return with the help of a tax accountant but you can imagine that it's not easy compiling details from someone else's unfamiliar paperwork that I had to hunt for, using forms that I don't use myself and that I've never seen before because my tax affairs are very different, for a tax system that I have only be party to in very recent years. That and dealing with his bank have left me pretty strung out. I'll be glad to get home tomorrow ... after the rail strike is over. 

I'm pleased to say that he himself has made a lot of progress in the last couple of weeks and is now able to get out of bed and even walk a bit - he was told he might never walk again. In fact, we went together down the hospital corridor for tea from the hot drinks machine which, rather like the Nutrimatic Drinks Dispenser in the Hitch-Hikers Guide to the Galaxy, gave me a cup of liquid that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea. 

I will be up-front and straightforward with my own experience of other people's surgery (I've never stayed in a hospital in my life and I intend to keep things that way), but the large majority of people that I have known to go and have surgery have not come out that much better off for it. Your mileage will vary and you and yours may be delighted with your surgeons' efforts. As I say, though, just about everyone else I know has had botched jobs, from my father and the ten operations on one eye to repair a common problem, to my mother and sister whose surgery wounds opened, soaking their beds in blood and requiring transfusions, to this relative of mine whose botched hernia job has resulted in his living for four months with an open belly and several more interventions to go, and this from the same comedians whose routine endoscopy perforated the gullet of the patient in the bed next to him and who then spent 15 days in intensive care as a result. I knew only one person who had worthwhile cancer surgery; the others all died anyway. And in all cases we're talking about hospitals that are deemed high quality or specialist, not some medical tent in a refugee camp in a war zone. 

I have professional indemnity insurance in my line of work in case I mess up. But I would lose my professional status altogether if I messed up this often. Why do surgeons get away with it? It's complicated work, sure, but then so's my work and that can have serious consequences for people, too.

For the girls who have vaginoplasties, I have always been sceptical. In my experience, about three quarters of the ops do not go properly to plan. Someone who has had GRS, and who had complications herself, says she thinks 95% of GRS is imperfect. That is a horrifying figure. 

I have written on GRS before: So you still want that surgery? and witnessed yet another disaster first hand in 2013. These are two of the most read posts on my blog.

You do what is right for you. This is just my view and my choice. I have no spouse or family, no-one I feel I should be around for and therefore I am not prepared to go through the aggravation of serious surgery. I joined the Dignitas organisation some years ago, have a 'living will' (as well as a legal one) and relevant documentation for doctors and lawyers so that if or when they diagnose me with cancer or tell me I have a life-threatening problem or I get squashed by a tram, I am very unlikely to go through with surgery as it's not worth it. Your situation is different and you make the choices that are right for you in your circumstances. If being undead is important to you and your only way out of the alternative is surgery, then go for surgery; but you may have to live with a greatly reduced quality of life. Similarly, I'll not go in for gender surgery as I don't trust it to work. If your dysphoria is so severe that GRS is the option you feel you need most to help you, then I will fully support you in that choice. You choose for you, and I will choose for me. I'm not trying to sway you, just telling you why I won't do it for my part. Virtually all the trans people who have GRS say they are glad to have had the surgery, and that's the important bit; it's a pity, though, that few of them get the promised part in full. Of course I'd love to be fully female in every possible way, but life is so often about weighing the odds, about pain management, about avoiding trouble and my scales therefore tip differently from others.

Thanks for reading. Stay well and look after yourself. 

 

Sue x

 

Successful surgery, and Cleopatra's beauty regime

 Just checking in to my blog briefly to say that I flew into London on Monday and saw a friend of mine after her gender surgery. It was a total but wonderful coincidence that the trip I planned months ago was at the same time that Roz got called in for her operation.

After landing at London City Airport (and there are some spectacular photos below of Nice's Bay of Angels and London's Tower Bridge as we pivoted round the Shard skyscraper) I checked in at my hotel which happened to be just a few miles from where Roz was recovering. I arranged to see her early evening with Grace who lives in the area. 

I'm pleased to say that Roz looked well, said the op had gone to plan, her daughter Ele was with her and we had a nice catch-up as I hadn't seen her since last year in Scotland. 

Her gender clinic is on the edge of Wimbledon Common and as we are of a certain age there was a lot of reminiscing about the Wombles, too, who were a cultural phenomenon of 1970s Britain and the "Keep Britain Tidy" campaign. Small furry creatures who did meet, though, were Roz's ubiquitous Beaver and Ele's Topsy the Triceratops whom I introduced to my Lugubrious Crab from Monaco who is accompanying me on this trip. It might cheer him up! I won't post a photo of Roz in bed in her hospital gown but she looked well. Instead here she is at my home with Beaver in 2022.

 

Hospital visitors 2025

 

I brought Roz some presents from the Riviera, including characteristic soap from Nice that's made of asses' milk, just like Cleopatra used for her beauty regime! 

 

Well done, Roz, and wishing you a full, successful recovery at home.

Grace and I went on to Putney for an evening meal. At the Prince of Wales pub - and I have thought carefully before making this bold statement - I had the best plate of fish and chips I have ever had in my life. It was perfect - and proof that British food if done well can be really good. 

So that was a wonderful start to my trip to the UK.

Here is the Bay of Angels in the sunshine as we climbed out of Nice airport ...

 

... and here we pivot round the Shard in Central London towering over London Bridge Station, with museum warship HMS Belfast in the River Thames, Tower Bridge centre left, the Docklands skyscrapers and Isle of Dogs in the background, and the Thames estuary in the distance. An amazing view.

 

I'm in South West England now for the next couple of weeks. More on that next time. Skirts have been packed ...

Sue x

Midwinter cheer

 Today is winter solstice, midwinter, yule, the shortest day... 

So here's a short post! 

I don't cope well with the cold and the dark, as witness my recent bout of seasonal affective disorder (SAD). I previously described the summer solstice as my favourite day. So that this can't be called the lousiest day by contrast, I had a bit of a celebration with a Yule Lunch with all my favourite things on my plate. Because of how Christmas falls this year, the whole coming week is not conducive to anything but holiday stuff anyway, so I'm happy from now until New Year. And obviously, my slimming drive is suspended until 2025!

 

Christmas shopping ...continued

I had planned to treat myself to some fancy holiday tights but I confess I was a bit disappointed by the selection on offer in Calzedonia and other shops so I haven't got any. Instead, I've got some Santa-red nail varnish and I think an application on all four paws would be just right!

The above photo is from my Christmas shopping spree in nearby Sanremo the other day. The illuminations are not just for Christmas but last to the end of the national song contest in mid-February. By the way, the ice-cream shop Gelatè, centre-left, serves a really thick gooey hot chocolate (well, you didn't think I went there for ice-cream in December, did you?)

Shaken

There was a small earthquake here the other evening. The building shook and creaked a bit and I'm sure there's a crack in the plaster in the bathroom that wasn't there before. I shall have to take care in heels!

 

GRS success

This morning I got a lovely email from my friend who had her trans surgery earlier this week and is back at home. It all seems to have gone very smoothly and painlessly and she is very happy with the result. I hope she heals well. She is a very pretty girl, has approached her transition very maturely, has full support from her children and employer, and to cap it all she is engaged to be married, so I see a very happy future ahead. 

I'll be back with my annual Christmas message in due course.

Sue x

Face off

 A recent post by Lynn got me thinking about the worries of being recognised even when presenting female and, above all, of seeing one's male facial features despite the makeup and hair.

I am fortunate that my appearance when I'm Sue bears little physical resemblance to my male alter ego. The hair and makeup and jewellery really do make a big difference. Yes, I can see that my nose and chin aren't right for a woman, but I don't really equate those features with my 'official' face as they're only parts of the whole that disappear under the artifice.

I clearly recall the first time I ever had a proper makeover. I am very short-sighted and had to take my glasses off in order for Jodie at the Boudoir dressing service to do my makeup. So the fact there was a mirror opposite meant little as I appeared to me as just the same amorphous blob as I see in a hairdresser's mirror when I'm having my hair cut. Then she put a wig on me, told me to close my eyes and then handed me my glasses. When I opened my eyes I was left staring at a woman and it took me several seconds to realise that the woman was me. It sounds really dumb, but it just didn't register at first that I was she. Logically I should have known it was me straight off, but the sight threw me as I could see nothing of the familiar me at all. A unique and unforgettable moment.

That first view of me (though I took my specs off to be photographed). Mystery female.

The fact I don't spot my male face is not the same as saying I pass for female. I do the best with what nature gave me and, on a dark night with a balaklava on, I guess I pass for female! Joking aside, I do make a conscious effort to create the look that I have honed over the years and that I feel suits me best, chiefly with the thick hair and the heavy makeup. Overall, it also helps me that I am petite but I know and appreciate that having a tall, large body can seem a big obstacle for many TGirls.

I feel sad when trans friends say they feel they need plastic surgery primarily to remove the small remains of male traits they see in their faces. That's dysmorphia for you, sadly. I am not an advocate of surgery except as a last resort in serious illness, but your playbook is different and it may be totally right for you. My suggestion, though, on plastic surgery of any kind, would be first to deal with any psychological aspects of what is bothering the patient and then approach surgery to deal with any features that may still be felt to be defective. I used to work with doctors and so many of them said that too many people seek medical intervention - from pills to abortions to surgery - when they are unhappy rather than ill or injured.

So often our trans lives are dictated by fears of being read as not female, of not passing, even after years on hormones and after GRS. The efforts and expense we trans people go to to look like the sex we identify as in order to be treated as that sex is extraordinary and it's the harsh judgmental treatment of society that makes us go to such lengths; some trans people to great extremes to hide any idea that they were ever trans. Societal norms, judgmentalism and threats of harm and ostracism are the real issues, the bane of our lives. It's hardly improving with the increasing attacks on us by religious bullies, hardline feminists and other transphobes. I don't like wearing makeup at all, it damages my skin and feels horrible. But since being called "Madam" in a shop is the most wonderful thing in the world, I go through with it as there's little other way of attaining that goal but to look as fem as possible. Many thanks to service staff who are prepared to use the right terms of address to us even when they clock we are trans.

If you still see 'him' when you are her and it bothers you, do seek support from your trans friends and allies. It doesn't bother us, although I appreciate that's not at the core of your worries. But other trans people can give advice, share experience, suggest other ways of looking at the problem, or feminising it with our wonderful clothes, hair, makeup and accessories, as well as offer emotional support. Reframing the problem helps. Is is really just disappointment? I think we all get that. I'd love to look like Bettie Page but I never will! (Maybe Bettie Page wanted to look like Marilyn!) I think it's a much wider problem than just a trans one or just seeing residual masculinity.

Bettie Page

It's not easy being trans - so much to fret about. But I think our specific experiences can be seen within the wider frets of humanity, especially regarding appearance, presentation and our social status. I don't know any woman who doesn't fret about her appearance, whether she's too fat, got bags under her eyes, is getting wrinkles, etc. etc. Not even so much to appear attractive as to cope with the rivalry and judgmentalism of other women. Our frets as trans women are not the same, but what is the same is the fact that we fret about our appearance to avoid judgment. A kinder world would help.

A dip in the archives

Three years ago, in a similar heatwave to the one right now, I went out in London, one of my last trips there. Here's my report, and you can see in the photo that I have just foundation and lipstick on, no other makeup, which is the bare minimum I can manage and still feel feminine. Link: An evening in Chinatown

 

Sue x

Cari lettori italiani

 Più di cinque anni fa ho iniziato il percorso per prendere la cittadinanza italiana iure sanguinis perchè ho così tanti antenati italiani. Il consolato italiano a Londra, uno dei peggiori al mondo, non ha mai risposto a centinaia di chiamate, visite e email. Niente. Una situazione più che disgustosa - inumana. Mi sono trasferita in Italia più di due anni fa e ho fatto la richiesta qui. L'iter continua e continua e continua e io non vedo la fine. La burocrazia italiana non è uno scherzo o una sciocchezza ma una manifestazione di malizia ufficiale antidemocratica e corrotta. L'innumerevoli insulti che ho avuto dagli ufficiali mi fa schifo. Italiani, non vi vergognate?

Sue x

 

More steps in trans living 2: contemplating transition

 In my last post I described how, ten years ago, I felt not only the need to live as a woman in the real world but experienced hormonal changes that felt in some ways like a second puberty. I began to wonder if physical transition was inevitable. 

Although the medical, social and legal processes involved in transitioning were clear enough, there is a difference between theory and practice. Socially it would not be impossible, especially as I was on the point of working for myself at home, although I was concerned about my family. Although I am more than old enough to distance myself from my family of militant fundamentalists, and have largely done so, the word militant is important as it is unlikely that they would leave me to transition in peace. Several trans women in similar situations as myself have had no end of harassment from fanatically religious relatives who cannot permit the 'abomination' of transgenderism to pass unmolested. One girl I knew even had to get the courts to force her parents to desist. So that was going to be a problem for me, but one to be faced if necessary.

The official recognition of transition was also a concern as it is a pretty long drawn out and distressing process. There have been some improvements in the last ten years but it is a serious decision to change name and status for every future interaction. I agree that, since it is a major decision, a little official resistance is needed to challenge any whimsical notions, but still one had to live full-time in one's true gender for at least two years before one could get a Gender Recognition Certificate to change one's status legally. My mind is a little hazy on the rules ten years ago as there have been changes since, but that two-year period started with your doctor referring you to a gender clinic.

Did I want to talk to my doctor? Did I want to go to a gender clinic? No hormones or other assistance would be available until after the clinic had taken charge of me, a referral process that usually took months, and often a year or more. And you were expected to be living full-time female. This is the problem with a lot of gender care in national health services: it's an all or nothing situation. Either you are committed to living a new life and being pushed towards gender surgery, or there's nothing for you. The overwhelming majority of trans people fall into the latter camp and get nothing. It varies between countries and there are slow improvements across the board but that's basically the choice I had ten years ago.

I am not one to rush into things and I like to be as informed as possible. So I decided to visit the gender clinic at Charing Cross Hospital in West London, not initially as a patient but as a visitor. I would arrange to meet up with girls after their appointments or accompany them there and chat to the staff or other patients or their relatives in the waiting room. The whole frustrating process became clearer as a result of these discussions, and from online forums, from (rather basic) clinic literature, and even from once gatecrashing a voice therapy class (the voice coach allowed me in).

Two things became clear. Although I was already making new trans friends, it struck me, first, that getting to know as many trans women as possible would broaden not only my knowledge base but also increase my social circle, which was going to be vital if family and friends turned against me. And, second, that it would be a good idea to try living full-time to see what that really entails. Believe me, that prospect seemed wonderful, but I try to keep my feet on the ground and wanted to discover what pitfalls there might be before they arose once I was committed.

So from autumn 2010 to spring 2012 I pursued a policy of doing as much trans stuff as I could and meeting as many other trans folk as possible. There are regular events like Leeds First Friday, Sparkle, Girls' Big Night Out and more at many venues and I started to organise meet-ups in London, mainly via the UK Angels forum, and invite girls to my home for makeovers. There were indeed many periods of weeks at a stretch when I lived as a woman. It was bliss, the best time of my life.

And I continued to consult girls about clinical transition, how it was working out for them, what problems they were experiencing. It began to strike me - as it did a number of girls undergoing treatment after a point - that surgical transition was not for me. I don't feel I have the wrong body. Being born fully female would have been better, but somehow turning my genitals inside out was not an answer to my own needs. 

It also became clear that a considerable number of transsexuals going to the gender clinic had underlying mental health or behavioural disorders, some formally diagnosed and some evidently not but that could and should have been; and it continues to trouble me greatly that, instead of caring primarily for those overarching characteristics like autism or bipolar disorder which have a major bearing upon social interaction and self-perception, and therefore on gender dysphoria and body dysmorphia, the transgenderism appeared to be dealt with largely as an issue of solving the dysmorphia to alleviate the excesses of distress that are more the hallmarks of certain neurological and mental conditions rather than a product of being trans. Surgery is a dramatic solution, and I feel that surgery at Charing Cross leaves a lot to be desired (as I have complained of many times in this blog, e.g. So you still want that gender surgery?). The emphasis on it also leaves most trans people out of the system. And pressurises others into transitioning fully who may have benefited better from a gentler approach. It is, however, a characteristic of the Western medical approach to bombard symptoms with drugs or surgery till they go away rather than adopting a more holistic approach, something that would respond so much better to transgender needs. In many ways, it is not so much medical intervention that most trans people need but a safe environment to exist in. These are huge topics which I may go into another day, but I found it all quite offputting.

What finally put paid to my consideration of formal transition was an eruption of trans-on-trans violence and abuse mainly in early 2012 that changed my whole relationship with the trans community and I have been opposed to the strictures of many self-appointed activists and influencers since. I wrote some quite distressed posts here in 2012 about this. Again, a major topic, perhaps for expansion another time.

So I did my homework, and found in the end that formal transition wasn't for me. Not a fail, but a success in finding out what suited me. 

But what about living full-time, and maximising my trans friends and social life, and coming out? These are topics I will cover next and will involve a lot of fun.

A dip in the archives

Here's a foretaste of posts to come, then: a visit to Manchester in October 2010 to take part in an academic study, meet new friends and old, and attend a local group. Here's us having dinner together.

Sue x

 

Cari lettori italiani

 Oggi parlo di come ho fatto varie visite all'ospedale di Londra dove i pazienti sono i transessuali che scelgono la chirurgia. L'ho fatto per cercare di capire se la transizione completa era la cosa giusta per me. Ho speso molto tempo a parlare con le altre ragazze, e alla fine ho deciso di non cambiare.

Sue x

 

Another delivery at Charing Cross Hospital

I had a phone call from a close friend early yesterday morning. She was going into Charing Cross Hospital for her surgery (gender reassignment, or whatever you want to call it) and was wanting company on her way there. Staring bleary-eyed at Monday morning's emails I decided that a trip to hospital was preferable than dealing with certain clients.

So I met her at Hammersmith, which is altogether a more salubrious place than it was when I was a youngster in the '70s and '80s when it hosted regular pitched battles between punks and skinheads, nobody worked as they were either unemployed or on strike, streakers ran amok and schoolkids needed to watch out for perverts (two have recently been convicted for crimes there in that era). Comics Rik Mayall and Ade Edmonson captured the squalor there nicely in Bottom. Now it's more cafe culture and arts theatres than safety pins through the nose at the dole office. Sorry, I'm digressing. Hammersmith is the location for Charing Cross Hospital which hosts the gender clinic and I've accompanied friends there many times, as much as anything to see how I feel about attending the clinic for myself.

I found the staff kind and willing to answer all my friend's questions and reassure her over her worries. They put her on E Bay, which makes it sound like she's in an online auction (they probably all say that). The amenities seem a bit basic, though, and the view from the window is less than inspiring, especially as the tubs of what were flowers and grasses have died in the recent heat. I shall donate a watering can to the hospital! My friend was given a green pattered hospital robe and green surgical peep-toe stockings. Very chic. Very sexy. Green is evidently the new black! There were hardly any patients and the only other person who'd had the surgery was being discharged the next day so it was a bit quiet and lonely. I had planned just to see her there and make sure she'd settled in but basically she had a 6 hour wait before surgery and I did stay in the end till mid-afternoon as letting people feed off their own thoughts is not good when they're already a bit nervous, although she was cracking plenty of jokes (not all of them repeatable here). Sadly, I just couldn't stay to see her into theatre but we had a phone chat shortly before. Frankly, as well as having had work to do, hospitals make me feel ill!

I imagine she's resting today. I will try to visit her later in the week and I know other friends of hers are going as well. I think she's in good hands. Although it leaves me with mixed emotions as I don't feel, after considerable thought and research over many years, that a medical route to being trans is going to help me.

The hospital doesn't let you take cut flowers to patients and more, only pot plants. So all her friends have decided that what a girl with a new vagina would appreciate most is a nice cactus! Aren't we cruel! But that's her kind of humour!

Get well soon, honey.

Sue x

Surrey capers, GRS and GPS

After weeks of torrential rain, the sun came out on Monday. Best make use of it, I thought, so I took an assortment of trains, each around 18 minutes late (“rutting badgers at Haslemere” and other suitably Perrinesque explanations) to visit a friend in Surrey. I stupidly sent a text about my arrival time not to my friend but to the wife of another friend who has the same name and who must have been very puzzled by it. No wonder no-one was there to pick me up at the station! I blame my mobile phone’s GPS configuration for the confusion, Gormless Person Syndrome. Anyway, we met eventually! Surrey Girl has recently undergone her GRS (which in our context stands for something like girly reorganisation surgery) and is looking so disgustingly fit, happy, beautiful and well following it that I really think this ought to be prescribed to the population at large as part of the government’s happiness agenda.

We spent time catching up and then had an extremely late lunch at a chic and comfortable gastropub, the Inn on the Lake in Godalming, with the sunlight pouring through the windows. The lake itself, however, is lost somewhere in the undergrowth. Very good food: the salmon and caper fishcakes with a poached egg on top were very enjoyable, and the warm, squidgy, almost-molten chocolate brownie was utterly, deliriously delicious. I have a thing for chocolate puddings but this ticked every sensual box in ways that were positively indecent! We were also impressed with our Slovak waiter’s excellent English and attention to us. A TGirl admirer in the making! (Actually, I hope not)

Next week I hope to drop in on Charing Cross Hospital where another friend will be having her GRS and seems very excited about it. I’m not sure that kind of drastic surgery is for me, not at present anyway, but hope she will be as happy with the result as our Surrey blonde is with hers. And that this might reassure another friend who’s panicky about hers. If it’s right for you then it really does seem to transform your life for the better.

Sue x