Neo-Vagina Monologue 6
Thoughts on the Eve of My SRS
I was born woman, nearly half a century ago.
I was born a baby, as we all are. Flesh moulded around seeds of
goodness, kindness, even greatness. As we all are.
What kind of person a child becomes depends on many things.
The best results obtain when the child is raised in harmony
with her true nature, her true self. Only then can the seeds
flower to their full potential.
I was raised with good values, discipline, and lots of love.
Many fine qualities flourished in me. But there was a problem.
A big one. A vital part of my true nature--my gender--was
terribly misinterpreted. I was raised as a boy, and I lived
as a man. I could not reach my full potential. I could not find
happiness or meaning in life.
A couple of years ago I discovered the dreadful mistake. I set
about correcting it. I was like a topiary twisted and pruned
into a grotesque shape. I began untwisting and reshaping my
psychic limbs. Fortunately I was not fatally damaged, and I
quickly sprang into my natural and beautiful shape. For over
a year I have lived as woman. As I was born. As I shall live
the rest of my life.
Tonight I swallow bitter drink to cleanse my physical passages.
I meditate to cleanse my spirit. Tomorrow I go under the knife.
The surgeon's delicate skill will finally and gladly rid me of
that most visible vestige of my manly past--the nasty little
trickster who misled us all from the very beginning.`I will
acquire womanly genitalia--a reward (after a fashion) for
having solved the puzzle of my troubled life.
The procedure will rob me of that fundamental and mystical creative
power that is the birthright of nearly all human beings. No longer
will I produce tiny swimmers for the great race which only one or
two out of millions can win. Nor will I gain the womanly kiln
within which new life may be fired and baked. While my new body
will be capable of receiving (most pleasurably!) a manly lover,
his ardent exercise will not in me serve the divine procreative
purpose. In birthing my womanly self, I relinquish the power to
birth others. It is a trade-off I make willingly, but reluctantly.
I cede my right to participate in the great genetic contest, but
that's okay. The world has plenty of children crying out for
love, should I choose to indulge my motherly instincts.
I wish the surgeon's scalpel could excise every vestige
of my manly misadventure, somehow leaving behind or
fashioning from skin grafts the complete woman I would have
been, had I been born vagina'd. But that woman does not exist,
and there is sadly no way to know who she would have
been exactly. That's okay too. I am proud of the woman I have
become, and I like her just fine. Perhaps the crucible of a
half century of male socialization and testosterone poisoning
has forged a stronger, more compassionate, and more interesting
person than would have been the product of a more common,
easier path. Perhaps I am exactly what the world needs right
now. Perhaps I am exactly what I need to be right now.
I expect to spend the next half century joyously and excitedly
finding out. But first I need to take a little nap, and let
the surgeon do her careful work..
Lannie's SRS is scheduled for Feburary 17, 2003
under the care of
Dr. Annette Cholon in Menlo Park, California.
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