Today sees me one week post op of my fourth, and hopefully last, hair transplant surgery.
Back in late February I headed to Latvia after a long search for a surgeon who would take on my hair restoration case. A tricky one due to the very advanced state of my balding. In April’s Gscene I covered the search for my surgeon and my experience of Latvia as a solo trans woman, to read online, click here:
I returned from Latvia having endured 2 days of surgery averaging 14 hours per day. 50% of my restoration complete and surgery dates booked in early May for two more days in theatre to complete the work.
As torturous as the process was and as hard as I found it to be alone and trans in an Ex-Soviet State it’s not those experiences that have stayed with me over the last 2 months and lead to a spiral in my mental ill health, causing me to isolate myself from those I love and avoid social situations. It was the actual thing that I am proactively trying to correct, my lack of hair.
Following surgery my head is swollen, painful, very delicate, takes a lot of care, and wigs are completely out of the question. Whilst pre surgery I could choose to wear a wig or not. Post op I was unable to wear one and that is completely different. Should I wish to wet shave my head and present as a bald woman, all power to me. When I am post op and have patches of hair growth, areas yet to be worked on and areas with baby hair growing I do not feel like a powerful bald woman but I am more conscious than ever of my head and troublesome hair. In the two weeks before my second trip I was able to wear a wig despite pain and itching for a few hours, but a few hours afforded me some welcome dysphoria relief.
I now feel like I am back to step 1. I am, once again, miserable for the summer ahead of me, having to stay out of the sun, covered up, without a wig, and I hate it. I hate that I wasn’t allowed to transition as a young girl before I lost my hair, I hate that nobody would help me when I was a teenager, I hate that I grew a beard that I am now slowly ridding myself of, I hate that I am 6ft 2, I hate that I am a size 10/44 foot, basically I feel as though I hate being trans.
Who would choose this life for themselves?
Being trans is so tiring. I question my ability to continue with transition. I wonder whether I should have taken what seems the easier path of suicide, opposed to the much harder path of transition. I wonder if I will ever be happy with my outward appearance. I wonder if I have the strength to make it through these next turbulent years as my body goes through transition. I wonder if I will still be a victim of suicide, but then, I remember.
I remember that I have invested many thousands of pounds into my transition already. I remember that I have just put myself through four 14 hour long operations to restore my hair, full results of which I will not see for around 2 years. I remember that I am battling the side effects of HRT and that the results of feminisation will not peak for many years. I remember that I am working towards further surgeries in 2018 and 2020.
Going through these slow processes, planning them, and seeing them through makes me realise that I am investing in my future. I actually have a future, I don’t hate being trans, and I am not going to be the victim of suicide.
Being one week post op, I am, of course, feeling sorry for myself. I recognise all the signs of Post Operative Depression. I am sleep deprived, in horrendous pain, I can’t chew as it hurts my temples, and I am struggling to self care and remember my pills and injection regimes. Despite all this I must tell myself it is only temporary, it is another step to feeling as comfortable with my gender presentation as I do with my gender identity, and that it is all part of my bigger plan. A plan that does not include suicide.
“I wonder if I have the strength to make it through these next turbulent years as my body goes through transition. I wonder if I will still be a victim of suicide, but then, I remember.”