I suppose the title really says it all. But I'm not one to be satisfied with only half a dozen words when a hundred can be used!
Last Tuesday evening I had my ten-week consultation with Mr Philip Thomas, the surgeon, with his clinical nurse Liz Hills in attendance. It was booked in for 7.00pm, but as there were a number of people there in front of me, I didn't get to see Mr Thomas till 7.45pm or so. I was able to have a bit of a chat, chiefly with a beautiful girl called Kimberley and her partner, who had come from Bath and were putting up at a hotel. There was also another couple who had come all the way from Sheffield, and were driving back there the same evening - sharing the driving of course; but I wouldn't have attempted such a journey myself.
Once called in by Liz, Mr Thomas asked me how I was getting on with dilation. I had little to say, except that I could do it without difficulty or discomfort, and after the first week had seen no blood or discharge on withdrawing the dilators. But I mentioned that I seemed to have only four inches in depth. He was surprised: I'd originally had five inches, and should still have something close to that. I didn't pursue the matter: it was hard to measure such a thing precisely, and it wasn't something I was hung up on. I certainly had adequate width: the big dilator slid in very easily.
Then it was time to get my kit off - well, the lower half - lie back and be examined. I had a mirror in my hand and could see everything. Mr Thomas pointed out the various bits that he had created for me. They looked nicely formed, and very natural within the limitations of the surgical technique. The suture lines were fading fast now, and the swollen bits were much reduced, although it would still take a some time before I was fully healed. Taking it easy remained very important.
Basically the penile-inversion method gives you a realistic exterior, with nice fat labia majora, exactly right for a middle-aged woman. Inside it is a bit simplified, or should I say plain and unfussy. The labia minora are only suggested, and are nothing like the elaborate flaps that some women have. And the clitoral hood is small, hardly meriting the description of 'hood' at all. But then it all looks neat and tidy, and easy to keep clean. Let me put it this way: it looks like a set of female parts designed in Scandinavia. A rational, accessable, low-maintenance layout, free of unwanted obstructions. And let's face it, few men are going to inspect what you have in there. Indeed, what man except a doctor or surgeon is an expert on what female parts look like? Or what woman, come to that? I expect to prance about naked in a ladies changing room and be totally unremarked.
One thing I noticed was that the clitoris is oversized, and you can just imagine how it might get rubbed during intercourse, or when using sex toys. Hmmmm! I haven't got any intense sensation there yet, and Mr Thomas was careful to say that it's impossible to predict just how much sensation anyone will eventually have. But no doubt, over the coming months, matters will improve - although I am perfectly reconciled to waiting a long time for my first orgasm.
Unknown to myself, because I'd felt nothing, there was a small patch of bright red granulated tissue just above the entrance of the vagina. Mr Thomas dabbed at this with a silver nitrate stick. He did not think it would need any further treatment. Apart from that minor point, I had healed up very well, and everything was functioning as it should. So I was cleared to live a normal life as a woman. That was very welcome news! Liz added that if I had any worries or problems, she was still only a phone call or an email away.
And that was that. I shook Mr Thomas' hand and thanked him for his work, saying sincerely that I was very happy with it, and Liz and I hugged. Then, with a farewell word to Kimberley and her partner, it was hey-ho for home and a late meal.
I felt elated and yet curiously adrift. I'd been signed off, disconnected. That meant I had no lingering complications needing treatment, but it also removed my personal link with the Nuffield. I would miss the place and the people there. Well, perhaps I'd be able to return from time to time, when visiting other girls going through surgery. That was a nice thought: I do hope I get the opportunities.
And if I ever needed a job? The Nuffield is fairly local, in a pleasant modern building, with a nice setup, delightful colleagues, and free parking. A job on reception, say. Worth thinking about?