Does gender reassignment surgery hurt?
As always this is written from my personal experiences and I do not speak for other people’s lived experiences. This post covers surgeries and anatomy.
This blog is written as a personal reaction to a couple of points that seem to proliferate across Twitter and some sub-Reddits. Namely, 1) Gender reassignment surgery (GRS) is the most painful thing ever part two, and 2) the surgery is essentially an open wound your body tries to heal and exorcise. Personally, I find both these points awkward, as while I certainly do not want to dismiss anyone’s pain and suffering through their surgery, a lot of these conversations essentially bracket the whole trans medical narrative as a road to Golgotha where at the end we undergo a faux crucifixion whence on waking we are reborn on the third hour of recovery into a transcended wholeness that brings new burdens to bear. I dislike this narrative primarily because it imbues being non-cishet with an almost martyr complex and dovetails into other anyone who transitions outside of cisgender normativity as a suffering soul.
Does GRS hurt? Short answer, for me, is no, primarily because I had an epidural and a ton of morphine as I was coming round. Even the week in hospital was relatively pain free, as at most I suffered from discomfort. The frustrating part was dilation, which I will cover in the next part, but the actual surgery was probably the most pain free surgery I have undergone. I preface this as someone who has had seven general anaesthetic surgeries in my life including two on my inner ear and four dental local anaesthetic operation. The dentist and my first ear surgery were by far the worst pain I have ever felt. This is not to downplay the suffering of those who do experience GRS surgical pain, but I really, really dislike the notion that this pain is in any way a scourging of the soul.
The open wound narrative is very much based on the trans exclusionary radical feminist notion that GRS is simply a man’s attempt at co-opting womanhood. In doing so, the turning of the penis into a vagina leaves a scar, a mess, a wound that will never heals, serving as penance for trying to change genders. This is a complete fallacy on many counts, especially as the surgery does not leave a wound, but rather a vagina that is fully capable of sex, lubrication, depth, and looking after itself if the surgery goes according to plan. I am 13ish years post op, and I have not dilated for over ten years. My vagina works, lubricates, and overtime my body has co-opted it as its own. Dilation is necessary because the surgery creates a pocket within the abdomen that the body must adjust to, and once it has adjusted minimal maintenance is required.
I get that any form of surgery is scary, and that my writings about my personal GRS are almost blasé. Yes, there are risks of complications, and that different surgeons produce vastly different outcomes. I speak with a massive level of privilege on many levels, the first one being is that I actually had surgery. I do not take those privileges for granted. I feel I need to advocate for a non-cishet life that is not a road to martyrdom, that is actually full of joy and pride in what I have done. I have no shame in talking about these issues, for me there was no suffering or cross to bear in my GRS.
Many trans folk borderline venerate surgery as this sacred rite of passage that they must go through to become whole, and that without it their lives can never be complete. This is the cross they pick up daily, one which is heartful deep in the soul. It took me eight years almost to the week from coming out to finally having my surgery, and during all that time I did bear that cross. I walked each step of the way knowing that the only way to be right in myself was this surgery, and so my empathy is always with those who were in my shoes. I feel utter compersion every time someone has their surgery of whatever kind, seeing their inner self gloam with happiness. This happiness is a transfiguration of sorts, not from martyred soul, but from an inner knowledge of one’s true self.
GRS is a joy for me on many levels, and I do feel it transfigured me in many respects. I came back from Thailand with a new sense of myself, my body being one with me for the first time, and I genuinely have no regrets. To talk of surgical pain, especially in the context of my other surgeries, feels weird, because all I remember is the vivid afterglow of waking up in the recovery room with the most blissed out sense of self I have ever had. Thanks morphine. Of course, I am not a reliable narrator, and it could well be that in reality things were rougher than I remember, but, crucially, my hindsight comes from a sense of fulfilment and transfigured self.
Does GRS hurt? You have had my long answer, and I think the deeper questions it raises are as much philosophical as they are biological. Philosophically, it is a completion and rendering of the self that is indeed transfiguring on many personal levels. It takes a source of internal frustration and pain, mutes it, turning it instead into a source of pride and self-confidence. Trans people do not go into surgery longing to be cut wide open, leaving a trail of scars that potentially render our transfigured selves public. The crucible of our souls is sterile, our re-forgers clad in scrubs and working with steel, and upon waking we have been recast anew.
There is no right answer to this question, as it will always depend on the experiences of those who have been reforged. I am but one voice among many, though I do hope I speak from a place of hope and compassion. All surgeries carry risks, and I have been very fortunate that I have come through all of mine without issues. Does GRS hurt? For me, no, it brought only joy and completion. Others may say differently, and it is for them to speak their piece.
