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| Well, here it is. A new year and only nine days until I leave for Montreal, Quebec, Canada for GRS (Gender Reassignment Surgery) to be completed by Dr. Menard. I have dreamt of this forthcoming day all my life but never believed I would see the day it would actually become a reality. The only apprehension I feel is being unfamiliar with hospitals, as I've never had such a major surgery and have only been hospitalized three times before. I want to talk about everything associated with going to Montreal but no one at home wants to talk. I've probably talked so much of this pending journey that there isn't anything left to talk about without being repetitious. It seems like just yesterday that, as I was growing up, such a reality as the approaching day was never conceived as possible. Endless years more were spent fighting and denying the feelings that I knew were my true self. Even when I did accept the woman that I was, I was afraid I was too big, too male, and too old to ever undergo a transformation. I felt such a transformation cost too much, would cost untold tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars and the surgery done by some obscure surgeon in Sweden. I think back to the dozen years I tried to tell my spouse Jeri of my feelings and how, when I finally did she embraced my gender dysphoria and helped me become who I am. I look back at the first time I did a full dress in clothing that actually fit and was coordinated, with Jeri's help, of course. We spent hours putting on make-up and getting everything just right. I felt so pretty. I felt so feminine and so natural. We videotaped this first experience. When I looked at the videotape, I was horrified! I was now certain that I could never transition. With all that help, coordination and make-up, I was but a man in a dress. How depressing. I could never pass; I could never realize my dreams. As it was, I did not know about hormones and their effects on the body. I didn't know about electrolysis or many other things. How funny it seems now. Even at six feet two and one half inches, I always pass now and how rare it is to have an experience where I don't pass. Now it's only days away from GRS. I have come a long way on this journey. |
| Time approaches for me to catch my flight to Montreal. I was too excited and didn't sleep most of the night. I'm up at 4:15 AM and getting ready. My flight leaves the Rock Springs (Wyoming) airport at 6:40 AM. I'll fly to Denver, Chicago and then finally Montreal. I've had my things packed for a week. The flight to Denver is on a small shuttle plane. Twenty of the 22 seats were taken. The calm morning skies reveal snow-covered mountains below. It's all so peaceful. After I arrive in Denver I have a several hour lay over. I write Jeri a short letter and mail it. I already miss her. Trouble seems to be brewing on the horizon. My flight from Denver to Chicago is delayed 50 minutes due to severe weather conditions in Chicago. In contrast to the small commuter plane I took out of Rock Springs, the flight to Chicago is on a DC-10. It's only about a third full and I have a window seat. They're showing movies but I'm lost in thought, thinking of Jeri and the kids and how I wish they could have accompanied me on this journey. We arrive at O'Hare International Airport in Chicago and the weather is terrible. Heavy snow, strong winds and freezing cold. Many flights are delayed and many more cancelled. My flight to Montreal is delayed one and a half hours but I'm thankful it wasn't cancelled. My flight to Montreal is on a DC-9 jetliner which sparks another memory. Just a few months prior I had my oldest daughter in the pilot's seat of a DC-9 and, as a joke, had caused one of the jet engines to whine and startle her every time she touched a control. I thought back to that day just two months prior. My excitement gives way to weariness at being on airplanes and waiting in airports for such long periods of time. I had departed Rock Springs at 6:40 AM Mountain Standard Time and it's now 8:25 PM Eastern Standard Time and we're still going. I begin to worry if I will miss my connections in Montreal. It's snowing, cold and late when I finally arrive in Montreal. No problem at customs. My concerns fade when I find Robert Clark, limousine driver, waiting for me at the airport. Robert is friendly, proper and distinguished looking. Robert stated he had been waiting for some time and was concerned if I would arrive due to the weather conditions. Robert drives me to Dr. Menards residential care unit on this cold, snowy day, giving me a tour of the area in the process. Robert talks with both knowledge and pride of the Montreal area while having an interest in where I am from too. As I hazily survey the snow draped scenery from the rear of the limousine, there is the illusion of a fantasy world beyond the glass of my window. I think it is a fantasy, my dreams come true. It's still hard to believe everything is becoming a reality. We arrive at the residence at 11:20 PM. I am quite surprised to find the accommodations to be a large modern house in a residential neighborhood. The night housekeeper, Lydia, meets me at the door. I discover she has immigrated to Canada from Russia several years prior. We hit it off quite will; Lydia is a very wonderful and friendly person. Arriving so late it would be expected that it would be time to turn in for the night. Surprise! There were several people waiting for my arrival in the dining room. First there was Brittany, a post-op from Arizona who was scheduled to have some supplemental surgery done. Carley was there, a beautiful girl with blonde hair and a charming personality. Carley was originally from Pittsburgh so we found common ground right away as I grew up in the Pittsburgh area. Carley is now from Las Vegas and is accompanied by her boyfriend Cheyenne. All the girls swooned over Cheyenne. He had a wonderful personality, a body builder with a neatly trimmed beard, dark complexion and was quite interested in all the girls and their stories. Cheyenne was always the gentleman and made everyone feel so feminine. I was certainly impressed. Even at my size Cheyenne picked me up like I was nothing and held me in his arms. |
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| Next there is Annette, a 24 year old Hispanic girl from Chicago who is loud, crude, and boisterous. Annette makes me laugh and I love her attitude along with her sense of humor. She has been on injectable hormones since age 13 and has huge breasts and a very big booty. Despite the picture I paint of Annette she is a very neat person being honest, straightforward and open. We get along very well. Michelle is another one of the post-ops. She is a thin black girl from Las Angeles who is a writer for a popular television series. She is tired but always friendly, soft spoken with a smile for everyone. Michelle seems to have problems following the surgery and appears weak and frail. Finally there is one other post-op girl named Michelle who is from Florida and worked at Disney world. Michelle and Annette frequently clash and I wonder if Michelle has made the right decision in pursing GRS. In the evening I finally have my long awaited consultation with Dr. Menard. I have studied GRS in depth and have very few questions. Dr. Menard seems like a very warm person genuinely interested in the transsexuals whom he treats. I complain to Dr. Menard that there isn't any firewood for the living room fireplace. Dr. Menards wife, Sylvia, is a nurse and is frequently in and out of the residence. On one occasion Sylvia might be in as a nurse, later she might just drop by for lunch or to chat. Sylvia is quite friendly and oversees care of the patients as well as the day to day operations of the residence. |
| We stayed up until 3:00 A.M sharing our stories. I am quite open and they listen intently to my account of love and support from my souse and children as I relate my gender journey. We all have such fascinating stories and share the details, some which are very intimate. A snowstorm hits and adds feet of snow to the inches already present. I have a beautiful view of this winter wonderland out my bedroom window. I spend most of my day in anticipation of consulting with Dr. Menard about the details of my pending GRS. To my dismay Dr. Menard is being delayed by the snowstorm. That afternoon the post-op girls begin to return from the hospital for their recovery at the residence. They seem to walk ever so slowly and take deliberate steps. After they get settled back into the residence we have the chance to become acquainted. First, there is Mikela. A young oriental girl from Montreal who is very pretty and refined. Mikela works as a hairdresser and make-up person for television and movies in New York City. |
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| My Gender Reassignment in Montreal |
| By |
| Linda Anne Simpson |
| January 1, 1997 |
| January 9, 1997 |
| Friday January 10, 1997 |
| Linda Simpson and Cheyenne |
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