My recovery from SRS surgery (trans bottom surgery AKA gender Gender Confirmation Surgery) at GRS Montreal was, to put it mildly, an experience. It wasn’t the recovery itself, or even the horrific things I witnessed, but rather the unforgettable characters I encountered as roommates and neighbors.

To start things off, let’s talk about my first neighbor, let’s call her Dirty Talk Diane. Now Diane, without exaggeration or hyperbole, was the literal bane of my existence and still to this day despite the fact that I’m one of the happiest people out there, there is no one I hold more of a grudge against than her. Immediately following surgery I was welcomed into the arms of the mother of all migraines (read about that here) so to say I was in blinding pain would be an understatement, all my senses were amped up beyond anything I had ever experienced before and I felt like any single sound or sliver of light would be the end of me. Que Diane. She had her surgery right after mine and was placed in the private room next door. Unfortunately for me, she not only possessed the most shrill voice imaginable, but she spent her entire recovery (no exaggeration) on her phone, not just talking, but having literal phone sex. And not just any kind of phone sex — baby talk phone sex. ICK! Against my will, I was forced to listen to all of her nasty business. I’m no prude, and I’m certainly not one to kink-shame but c’mon theres a time and place. I’d hear her telling whoever was on the other end how she was touching herself and “fingering” herself, and I knew it was nonsense. Again, we’d had our surgeries back-to-back, so not only did it feel like a grenade had gone off between my legs, but at that point, I had so much packing literally sewn into my skin to hold everything in place that I knew she was in the same boat. All that “fingering” she claimed to be doing? Lies! I complained to the nursing staff multiple times, but they honestly didn’t know what to do with the information. All I wanted was to be moved so I could get some peace and quiet. After a few days, a room finally opened up, and I was told I’d be getting a roommate.

I was so relieved to be moved upstairs that I would have skipped with joy if the swelling hadn’t forced me to walk like a bowlegged cowboy, Yee- Haw. This is when I met ‘Beth’ or how she will always be known to me, ‘Big Balls Beth’. Luckily they were super friendly, but looking back, maybe a little too friendly. Since they got their surgery a few days before me they really, and I mean really wanted to show me the results of their procedure so I’d know what to expect in a few days. They kept encouraging me to come over to take a peek under her sheet, how generous… of course, I declined, I mean, I didn’t even want to look at my own junk let alone someone else's and had I done so, I can’t imagine what sort of Vietnam flashbacks I’d still be having to this day. You’re probably wondering why I affectionately nicknamed them Big Balls Beth if they had theirs removed, well, Beth was immensely proud of the herculean sized balls that they used to have and not surprisingly, was eager to show me photos of them. It was like how pet owners show off their babies by pulling out their phone and scrolling through their photo albums but just like before, I had no desire at all to see photos of ‘Scruffy and Shaggy’. 

My hospital stay dragged on, slow as a snail-paced freight train. But eventually, it was time for me to fly home. There I was, wheelchair-bound, dealing with some seriously swollen junk and still accompanied by my trusty 10/10 migraine. I thought it couldn’t get any worse, silly me. An air Canada staff person wheeled me to a security checkpoint to go through my luggage as suspicious items were flagged, those items were my medically necessary dildos that I needed for dilation post op. I watched as some 20 something year old bearded man struggled to keep a straight face as he unzipped my bag and took out my dildos one by one, sliding his hand up and down them checking for god knows what. If I hadn’t been already in such a miserable state, I probably would have been more embarrassed but at this point I kind of enjoyed the fact that I that he seemed more uncomfortable than I did. 

I was through security and being pushed to my gate, I had my head hung low, shielding my eyes from the glare of the incandescent lights and trying my hardest to cover my overly sensitive ears as well. The man pushed me to my gate and left me in the handicap stall beside the boarding desk. I breathed a sigh of relief, I was almost there, I just had to get through another 2 hours before I’d be on the plane and on my way home, I could do it but life, as it seems to do, was playing dirty that day. To my absolute dismay, my ears picked up on an unmistakable voice that carried through the airport like the sound of nails being dragged across a chalkboard, it was ‘Dirty Talk Diane’, she was back and being pushed in my direction. Fuck me sideways, I couldn’t believe my ‘luck’ that not only was she booked on the same flight as me but he was now going to be parked beside me for the next two hours. I had a burning rage building inside me while she called everyone in her contacts list, however this was overshadowed by just how much pain my head was in. Now she had never personally seen me in the hospital so she didn’t know I was her neighbor, she didn’t know of all the nasty things I heard her say in that weird as fuck baby voice and she didn’t know that she was the cause of so much of my pain, so I bet she was real confused when she was kind enough to ask if I was okay and I responded to her by softly telling her to fuck off. Was it a kind thing to say? No. Did it feel good? Hell yeah it did!

And that, my friends, is the story of my glamorous, star-studded recovery from SRS surgery. It was a wild ride, full of unforgettable characters and experiences that I’ll never forget (no matter how hard I try). But hey, at least I have some good stories to tell now, right?

So, if you’re ever considering bottom surgery, just remember: pack some earplugs, a blindfold, and a whole lot of patience. And if you happen to hear someone talking about “fingering” themselves right after surgery, just walk away. Trust me on this one.

The end (thank god).

Transitioning is complicated but voice work doesn’t need to be, if you’re looking for help to bring yours out, hit me up at https://www.voicebykylie.com/contact

Till’ next time,

Kylie