Tuesday 14th
The flight home seemed much longer than the first one out. Party this was because it was a night flight, whereas the other one had been a day flight. There were less videos to watch, and the main lights were out for most of the trip.
I didn't know what to expect as far as aches and pains went. Ever since surgery and especially after the graft I've had a variety of sensations in my genital area -- like sharp shocks. This had subsided mostly by the time I left, but it was still there. I sat on a pillow all the way, and the only time when I had real trouble with this was when they served dinner and I couldn't move position much.
But I also had to go to the toilet several times, and there was always a queue. I had maybe ½ hour sleep, maybe. It was impossible to get comfortable on the flight.
Finally the plane touched down at Mascot, and we were back in Australia.
It didn't take long to get through customs. One of the officials told me about a shark attack in Western Australia (how nice to know!). We waited for our luggage to appear and then went outside to wait for Jo.
Now the problem was this -- I'd sent a couple of emails to friends in Newcastle whom I hoped would pass on a message to Jo, to pick us up at the airport. But I had no idea if the message had got through. In retrospect I'd sent the wrong message. What I should have said was: I'll phone you from the airport. But I didn't, and the result was that Robyn and I were waiting for a lift that we weren't sure was coming.
I phoned home and got the answering machine and left a message there. I tried phoning the Gender Center but every time I tried something would go wrong -- either a wrong number, or the phone would take the coins and not acknowledge credit. I had only just enough coins left to make one more call. I phoned the people next door, who told me that my Station Wagon was still in the driveway, and that Jo's Ute wasn't.
Now in the message I'd asked him to drive the station wagon down. The ute only had one seat, whereas the station wagon had a back one. I didn't want to be cramped. What I didn't know at the time was that the Station Wagon had a flat tyre, and that Jo was on his way in the Ute. But I had no way of knowing if Jo was coming or not. He may not have got the message, he may be somewhere else, or out selling fowl manure.
We waited and waited and waited. Finally, after 2.5 hours we made a decision to catch the train home. I was able to leave one more message on the answering machine that we'd left for Newcastle, and then we went. It costs $10 at least to use the trains from the airport, as the stations are managed by a private company. We got to Central, and then caught a train to Cardiff.
I fell asleep on the way. From Cardiff we caught a taxi to Barnsley and home. When we got there we found that the Ute was still gone, and that we were locked out -- I hadn't a key on me to open a door. But, the side window was unlocked and I hoisted Robyn in to open the house from inside. We settled in nd waited for Jo.
He returned about 1pm. He had got the message, but two days late (he was meant to get it on the Saturday). He'd driven down, but there'd been an accident on the Freeway which delayed traffic, and then he'd gotten lost trying to find the right place at the airport. It was a comedy of errors. I thanked him and paid for his petrol.
Wednesday on...
The days after my return were busy and hectic. I had a collection of bills to pay, people to see, and things to buy (like washing machine and vacuum cleaner).
I saw my endocrinologist on the Thursday, which was much earlier than I expected. He examined the surgical results and commended them. I saw my GP the day after and brought her up to date on how I was. I went to a party on the Saturday.
Just so much to do. I felt like I'd returned with a thud! From the tourist fantasy of the trip, back to reality at home. I felt a bit crowded for the first few days and then I was able to relax more, regaining a measure of my own space.
Robyn left a few days later. She'd been such a help on the trip.
Gradually I recovered -- the stitches dissolved as they were supposed to, and I progressed up the dilator hierarchy (I'm currently just starting on #4). It will take at least three months to heal full, but already I feel good. Sometimes though I get days were I just feel so weak.
For the first time in my life, I absolutely need discipline, in dilating, and in making sure I don't overtax myself -- a prolapse might be the result if I do. But this is probably a good thing for me. Life moves on, at last.... *smile*
4 September 2004
It's been almost four years since I had my surgery. In that time I've been broke, depressed and even suicidal, but not once have I ever regretted having the surgery done.