Carfax Estate Nanny

I would like to state for the record that washing your hair when you have no sensation (back? yet?) in the top of your scalp is bizarre and difficult. And the prescription-strength dandruff shampoo that I'm using is particularly nasty if it gets in the eyes or mouth. And really, I'm supposed to leave it on for three minutes?

Yes, I know, this kind of surgery is mostly a rich bitch privilege and I should be grateful to even have this kind of problem. But that's hard to remember when your eyes are stinging.

I still don't quite have a solution for sleeping in the recommended position, i.e. with my back at a 45° angle to the horizontal. My camping recliner is almost there, but I think I need a sleeping bag with it. At the rate I'm going it'll be almost too late. My back's sensitivity is surely a sign of age.

Other things I've done that I shouldn't have according to a second reading of the post-op instructions: walk too long at once, carry too much weight (groceries), get busy with Clara*, and pull weeds.

I shall be buying foods today that I can eat when I go off liquids on Tuesday. Oh yes, I shall.



*The sex toy I designed.

Long time no post! That's at least partly because my sleep was absolute ass for most of this week, thanks to a too-soft hotel mattress, and misguided attempts to sleep elevated on hotel pillows.

But! As of late last night I'm home. Seldom have I been so glad to see my son, who picked me up at the airport and of course talked about the news. Happiness.

To catch you all up, on Monday was my first post-op appountment: bandages off, staples out. That left the cast on my nose and splints still in my nose, so still no breathing through my nose, which turned out to be the single hardest aspect of this whole process.

What the hell did I do on Tuesday? Oh yeah: I walked to Dark Garden corsets because I was under orders to walk, but they were closed. That may be for the best because a) those people are very good at extracting money from me, and b) trying on corsets is surely against the Sculptor's instructions at this point. But that block of Linden is itself really nice, with some cool street art and hanging lanterns.

I'm proud of myself for making it to Golden Gate Park and Amoeba Music on Wednesday. When I'm in San Francisco I love to go to the Tree Fern Dell and pretend to be a dinosaur. This time, a pelican flew overhead for added realism.

Thing I deliberately blew off: a tour of SomaFM, which can be arranged. I think it would have been too long a walk to that part of the Mission, and if I didn't walk, there wasn't nearly as much point.

Thursday was high stress and stupid: Alaska Airlines had moved my flight an hour earlier, making it questionable whether I could keep my original second post-op appointment and still catch my flight at OAK. The Sculptor's office rescheduled me on short notice a few hours earlier, which while mighty decent of them meant I didn't get to talk to the Sculptor before I jumped on an eastbound BART train. Punch line: I had to wait two hours before I could even check my bag, then four hours more at weirdly deserted OAK.

Oh, the actual second post-op appointment: cast off my nose, splints out of my nose – I helped remove them – and tape on my nose, which I'll be applying myself for the next four weeks for at least part of the day. As of yesterday I can breathe through my nose again!

So am I going to be goddess? I haven't the faintest, not least because I can see my face change from day to day. But it's definitely not a plastic surgery disaster. The Sculptor's chief medical minion, J, says that in two to three weeks I should pass the "grocery store test", i.e. it should stop being glaringly obvious to everyone else at PCC that I've just had surgery, the "lumpies and bumpies" having gone away.

Oh: there's hope on the all-important non-horizontal sleep front. I went up to the loft this morning, looked around, and saw the camping lounge chair that I got for Burning Man oh so many years ago. That should do nicely.

Welp, it’s done. I’ve had facial feminization surgery, and now I’m busy with recovery: sleeping a whole lot, walking some, drinking my meals, and popping pills on schedule. My head looks like it belongs on a mummy who lost a fight. I haven’t been at my sharpest, of course, but I can remember a few things.

For starters my ride to and from surgery was a Rolls Royce. Believe it or not, that’s a medically sound choice because there is no smoother ride. At my request, the team put “I Wanna Be Sedated” by the Ramones on the OR sound system shortly before knocking me out. The Sculptor wore a sharp dark suit.

I came to about 5 hours later in a recovery room, and I spent the night going on assisted walks every two hours and drinking water and juice. The no-narcotics pain management worked fine, and continued to work after discharge the next day.

And speaking of those pills etc., the bag I picked them up in was the size of a burger order for a whole family. Dancer was invaluable for keeping me on schedule, escorting me to the hotel gym for walkies.

I’m supposed to sleep with my trunk elevated 45 degrees with no neck flexion. That’s fine in the surgery center with their fancy beds and 2-hour sleep stages. But neither Dancer nor I could really make that work in a hotel room all night: my back complained. I’ve been sleeping about half as elevated as I should, but at least I’ve been sleeping.

The first post-operative poop late this morning was epic. How fortunate that Dancer had just left.

I’m still a little light-headed, and I’ve gotten my meds off schedule a couple of times, but the swelling is gone from my hands and I’m on track to walk for two hours today. Go me.