Chapter 4

We drove toward the hospital -- one on the north side of town, away from the Medical Center where Mae had worked.

“My stomach is growling,” she said as we rode. “They said no food after eight last night and I’m hungry already.”

“Your surgery is tomorrow. They’ll probably put you on a clear diet.”

We arrived and I waited as she went through the admission process. Then we went upstairs to her assigned room. A nurse handed her a gown and Mae changed into it, keeping her briefs on underneath.

Another nurse came in with a tray. “Dear -- we need to do a bowel prep on you.”

“Why? What for?” Mae asked.

“The surgery will be very close to your rectum. We want to have you cleaned out to avoid complications. Sometimes ... rarely ... the doctor will need to use a piece of your colon as a source of tissue.” She handed Mae a large tumbler. “Drink this down, dear. I know it’s not pleasant.”

Mae forced down the contents of the tumbler and handed it back to the nurse. “What was that?” she gasped.

“It’s GoLytely. You’ll need to repeat that every twenty minutes for four hours.”

“Four hours?” Mae looked at me imploringly.

“Yes, for a total of four liters.”

After the third dose, Mae folded her arms across her belly. “Oh ... cramps ... Excuse me.” She headed into the room’s bathroom.

For the next several hours she made trip after trip to the john while forcing down glass after glass of the solution. “God,” she exclaimed, “it feels like it’s running right through me.”

“Maybe we should see if they can schedule a colonoscopy while you’re here,” I remarked. “You’re prepped for one.”

In the meantime she had X-rays and blood work. Her surgeon stepped in for a consultation, as did her anesthesiologist.

By eight that night she was resting in bed. “How are your intestines feeling?” I asked.

“They’ve calmed down,” she replied. “Go Lytely they called it -- more like Go Muchly. My bottom hurts from all the pooping ... and I am so hungry -- that lemon Jell-O dinner didn’t really satisfy me.”

“Try to get some rest. You’ll have a busy day tomorrow.” I kissed her forehead.

She hooked her arm around my neck and drew my face to her lips. “I’m glad we had last night,” she said.

“So am I.”

“At least if something goes wrong ... I’ll have felt you hold me in your arms as a lover and not just as a friend.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’ll be fine.”

“Do you have to leave?” she asked.

“I’ll stay ‘til they kick me out.”

We turned down the lights and I rested in an armchair. Mae slept fitfully -- truth be known, neither of us slept well that night, and we were both awake at dawn.

A nurse entered to start an I.V. line in a vein on the back of Mae’s left hand.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“In case we need to get any meds into her in a hurry,” she replied. “The anesthesiologist will induce her through it -- though he’ll maintain her with a mask. She’ll be under for around six hours.”

Mae regarded me from the bed. “Having an I.V. line kind of ties you down,” she remarked.

The nurse returned with a syringe. “Okay, dear -- roll over ... uh-oh, time to lose the briefs.”

Mae tugged under the covers and handed me her briefs, then she rolled onto her side. The nurse lifted her gown. “You’ll feel a pinch ... done.”

“What was that?” I asked.

“Just something to relax her and take away some of the anxiety. We’ll take her into the O.R. shortly.”

I sat and held her hand. “Now are you scared?” I asked.

“A little.”

I watched her face relax and her eyelids droop. “You’re feeling the drug, aren’t you?”

“Hard to keep my eyes open...”

The door opened and a pair of orderlies wheeled in the gurney. They slid Mae onto it, one of them minding the I.V. line, lifted guard rails and wheeled her down the corridor.

I paced the waiting room. One of the nurses passed through and spotted me. “Hang in there,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to go to the commissary for a sandwich.”

“I don’t have an appetite.”

I plopped in a chair. Exhaustion had set in about an hour earlier, but every time I thought about what might go wrong I got a pain in my stomach.

The nurse beckoned me from the doorway. “She’s in recovery.”

She led me to Mae’s side. I picked up her hand and patted the back of it. “Mae?”

Mae’s eyes cracked open. “Len?” She looked my way. “When are they going to start?”

“You are done,” I replied. “Now it’s time to heal.”

Her treatment plan included a week’s stay in the hospital. I visited her daily. At first she was really out of it as they kept her quite heavily sedated. By about the third day she had been weaned off of the sedation and was alert but in quite a bit of pain.

By week’s end Mae was ready to go home. We had a consultation with her surgeon and received instructions on how she should care for the incisions and the vaginal dilators she had to use so her new vagina would heal in the right shape. The doctor recommended at least a week of bed rest and the lightest of activities for the two weeks following. Then, I was driving Mae back to the house.

Mae had discounted her doctor’s advice about a week of bed rest but when we reached home, I had to carry her to her room because she was too sore to climb the stairs. In fact, she was in so much pain she could hardly walk. I offered to help her change dressings but she refused to let me see the results of the surgery. “It’s a work in progress,” she said.

I had scheduled a week of vacation to care for her. There was no way she could prepare meals, so I resorted to making rice and noodle bowls for lunch and dinner.

The first night I brought a tray to her. “Here,” I said and sat beside her on the bed. She swallowed a couple spoonfuls and set the tray aside. “Mae -- you must eat. You need nourishment in order to heal.”

“If I eat I poop and it hurts to poop,” she replied. “It hurts to pee and it REALLY hurts to poop. Oh, God, I had no idea I’d be so sore. And, so swollen. It feels like a tennis ball between my legs. I just want it to stop hurting. And this dilator I have to wear is so uncomfortable.” She held up a device resembling a slender dildo with a loop on the end.

“That’ll keep you stretched inside so you’ll heal in the right shape.”

“I know, but it hurts to put it in and it’s uncomfortable -- and this is one of the smaller ones. I need to work up to this one.” She picked up one that was longer and thicker. “Oh, God -- why did I go through with this? We had perfectly good sex the night before I went into the hospital.” She eyed me. “THAT’s why you refused me -- you didn’t want me to know we could have good sex without the surgery!”

“That is nonsense, Mae,” I replied. “If sex were the only obstacle, and if the other night had removed that obstacle, and as a result if you had wanted to cancel the surgery, then I would have supported you one hundred percent. But that’s not the only issue. You’ve been wanting this all your life. You’re young -- you have your whole life ahead of you -- your whole life as the person you want to be. You told me you refused to play the hand you were dealt. What’s a few days of discomfort compared to the rest of your life?”

She looked at me. “Yes ... of course ... I just wasn’t expecting it to hurt so much.”

“What were your expectations? What did your surgeon tell you to expect? I looked up the procedure you described online. This was major, major surgery, Mae. He had to rearrange the anatomy in your pelvic cavity. The description of what they do was the most cringe-worthy article I’ve ever read. On top of that, your surgery went well. I also read about some of the complications and what you would need to go through to correct them. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Please don’t lecture me.”

“I’m sure growing up was difficult for you,” I continued. “I can imagine your anxiety every time you needed to use a public restroom. Now, nobody can challenge you. What about that boxer in the movie? What was her name? Noon Tung?”

“Nong Thoom,” Mae replied.

“If she could endure it so can you.”

Mae turned from me and whimpered. “Can’t I have another Tylenol-3?”