At half-six last night I got the news: my operation would be the first one in the morning, somewhere between 09:30 and 10:00. I am to eat nothing after midnight and remove all my metal jewelry; I have three ear piercings, one of which just unscrews, I don’t know how to take the others off. I am to shower, but not spray or put creams on, so to make sure that I don’t do those things I put the moisturiser and deodorant away somewhere else. I also decided to shave my head and trim my beard because I might not be up for it for a few days and something I’ve learnt about recovering from illness is that it’s actually a bit easier if you don’t feel too manky.

I’m not to eat after midnight, but I can drink.

Shortly before turning in for the night, I got a message from Marla: somebody would coming to my room at 6am to do my ECG. I took that as confirmation that I really was up first in the morning!

A nice nurse called Alex came and took my observations (somebody has been doing them twice a day everyday since I arrived – the readings have always been on the high side, which I put down to nerves); my BP again was a little high (unsurprisingly). The more junior staff use little wrist BP machines; Alex took a few attempts and each time it was high. It possibly didn’t help that we were chatting about tattoos and I was sat up. He eventually went to fetch a manual cuff, and I took the opportunity to try to calm myself a bit: it worked, my BP recorded something only slightly above normal, so all was good.

Since they knew that I wouldn’t be able to have breakfast, Alex kindly arranged for me to have a late supper … watermelon, and granola with yogurt!

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I had expected a rubbish night’s sleep. I managed to get off a little after eleven, only to realise sometime around half-two that is been awake for ages. My anxiety was off the chart. Interesting lesson here: anxiety is not the same as fear.

My balls keep tingling and moving around, which doesn’t help me to relax.

I remembered something my psychologist said about anxiety, he gave me an abbreviation (which I cannot remember), but one part of it included a short burst of intense exercise. So I did some pushups and attempted some burpees, however after one burpee I stopped because I didn’t think the other residents would appreciate a thump-thump as I jumped up and down.

The psychologist, as part of that abbreviation, also suggested immersing my head on water, and since the sink was large enough, that’s exactly what I did. It worked and I was calmed enough for another couple of hours, eventually realising that I was awake again just after four. I did a little hypnosis on myself (I have a collection of sound files on my phone and SoundCloud).

Just after five I finally gave in altogether so got up and brushed my teeth. I feel like I need a poo, but it’s not ready yet. I am hoping that I’ll be allowed a coffee because that will get things moving.

I started the shower while I was brushing my teeth, but first thing in the morning it takes a long time to get going … so remembering my psychologist’s advice, I had a cold shower, which really worked wonders. The warm water did come through eventually.

I phoned my husband and told him that I was having the operation today. He was quite shocked and had to sit down. We talked for a while and told the other we loved them. We miss each other very much, but I know that it was the right decision – he is with me all the time in my heart.

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While I’m waiting, I find myself thinking of my mum and her operations. These were operations to save her from cancer; they didn’t work. She was so brave and didn’t let on how she was feeling. From his I’ve been feeling about this, I can imagine that she went through periods of fear and anxiety, to quiet acceptance. It’s different for me because there is an element of choice to the procedure I’m having (I’m saying an element of choice because I think that without the operation my dysphoria would lead me to fix myself). For me the feelings flip between high anxiety to electric excitement. Except for this morning: I’m too bloody tired to feel anything much right now!

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Weird thought for the day: I will be the first eunuch I will have met in real life!

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The ECG doctor has just been. My BP is just under the max that I’m allowed, which is lucky! The ECG itself was very different from the ones I’ve had back home. He took these giant clips out of his bag; I immediately thought of nipple torture. They actually went around my wrists and ankles. The chest sensors used suction cups.

However, I am not allowed a coffee and I really want to have a poo before I go! If you’re wondering, I did manage to force something out before I left, but it wasn’t very satisfying.

I am also so tired now that I can’t feel either anxiety or excitement. I mightn’t even need anaesthetic – I might fall asleep anyway!

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Felipe, the driver for the last two days, dropped me at the hospital at 8am. It was the usual white knuckle ride through the traffic, but I am used to it now.

I’ve just had my pre op bloods taken. I think it was a trainee under supervision; I suppose everybody has to start somewhere! I’ve also just met Dr Aguliar; nice smiley, reassuring chap. I’m still not 100% clear on what anaesthetic I’ll be getting. He said sedation, another doctor said epidural. I asked whether I could watch, if I felt up to it, but the answer was “no”. He’s expecting my surgery to be about midday. I am now hoping for both an epidural and sedation.

The pre op took three vials of blood, and they pumped three lots of antibiotics into me. Preemptive, I guess. I also had to put on a pair of rather fetching surgical stockings – the type where your big toe sticks out.

A word of warning: this isn’t the UK and things are done differently here.

All the pre-op work was done by 9am. I now have three hours of lying around waiting. I am bored, hungry, and thirsty. Thank god I brought a book with me!

At least I’m not feeling anxious right now. I think I’m feeling a bit burnt out by the emotion of it all.

Dr Aguliar came back to confirm the procedure as orchiectomy. I said “and scrotectomy”, which concerned him because he didn’t think I’d paid enough. I told him that Paris had sent a second corrected invoice, so I went on my phone to find that, while he phoned Paris. All sorted. That goodness I insisted on having a corrected invoice!

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After the doctor left, another guy came in and led me to another room. I was asked to lie on the table on my left hand side while they manhandled me into the correct position for the epidural. The worst thing about the epidural was the local anaesthetic needle! It was interesting feeling my legs slowly going numb – like an extremely good hypnosis session! I had been most afraid of the epidural needle – that’s probably thanks to mum, who used to tell me about the huge needle she had to have in her back when I was born.

After that I was quickly moved into the theatre; a much smaller room than I was expecting, though no bigger than was needed. They put a couple of poles up either side of my chest and pinned my gown up so that I couldn’t see what was going on. Basically everybody else could see my equipment excet me. I did try to peek, but they kept putting my arm back. Not that I could have seen anything anyway really: I had been told to leave my glasses and hat in the first room. My legs were manoeuvred into stirrups, which didn’t help with keeping me warm. Having been numbed, they could have tied them in knots and I would have known

During the procedure itself, I dozed a couple of times. I was aware of pressure sometimes, which felt more ticklish than anything else and I giggled quite a lot. I felt strange tuggings in my abdomen, which I guess was where they were trying to get as much of the dangling things out as possible (I have heard people having residual pains from inadequately removed cords). I think I was aware of the incision, but I couldn’t swear to it. I felt, as well as emotionally drained, still some level of excitement; I also felt curious to know what was going on. There was never any pain. There was, however, the smell of burning. Were my nuts being roasted over an open fire? Nah, it was just the cauterising pen sealing off blood vessels.

I did feel cold, and somebody gave me a blanket for my top half, but of course most of my torso and my legs were open to the air.

Afterwards, the surgeon asked if I would like a photograph, so I said yes. Then he asked if I would like to see “them”, so I was keen to. It was strange, the testicles themselves I didn’t recognise (being on the inside, I have never have seen them). They were larger than I expected. I recognised the sack – I felt relief when I saw it. That’s when I knew that it was finished and real.

I was shaking. I was cold, but that wasn’t the only reason. I didn’t really know what was going on. An extra blanket helped with the cold, but didn’t stop the shakes. Apparently it’s the adrenaline leaving and quite normal.

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I was wheeled into another room, where I lay for a while before thinking that I should call my husband. “Yo quiero mi celular, por favor” got me my phone, but I didn’t know the word for “glasses”. Once I had my phone I called my husband. I wanted to put his mind at ease. I told him how it went, and I held him emotionally over the phone and he held me.

Hubby was emotionally exhausted himself, but I wanted to talk for a bit longer. I don’t know why, but I recited Leisure by William Henry Davies. I said that I didn’t know why I wanted to say it, although I find it one of the most spiritual pieces of poetry. Hubby said “maybe it’s the line ‘where squirrels hide their nuts in grass’?” Which made us both crack up!

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So I’m lying here in the hospital waiting for my legs to wake up, feeling hungry, but no longer tired. My left leg feels really strange and it’s taking longer than the right; I still can’t feel my left foot, where as my right feels almost normal. My bum feels numb, which makes it feel like I’m sitting over a hole. I was slowly becoming aware of the concrete nappy that I’m wearing. Feeling elated.

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A fellow called Gelding was interviewed for BME; he described a super-hot castration scene as the way he was made a eunuch. I was a little disappointed to discover that this story was completely made up, I felt that I should feel angry because I and many others had been turned on by it and had it in my mind as an ideal and maybe not unrealistic way to be castrated. I understand why he made it up: telling people that you are voluntarily castrated isn’t always received well. There was one thing he wrote in that article that I thought about a lot over the months leading here:

I was mellow due to what drugs they had given me. I had experienced a realization of a deeply felt though publicly hidden and suppressed sexual fantasy. Feelings of loss fought with feelings of accomplishment.

https://news.bme.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/pubring/people/A10101/gelding.html

So that’s how I thought I would feel. My feelings are different today (that’s not too say that they won’t be different tomorrow). I feel peaceful, fulfilled. I am calmly awaiting my recovery so that I can explore my body and what it means to me now. I have not been patient these last months, I have been ruled by my emotions. I must now rest.

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I can feel the concrete nappy more now, I’m aware of an ache in my groin. It feels as though there is a plate between my legs. The areas that used to run either sides of my ball sack that now meet actually feel like they are even further apart. It is starting the feel quite uncomfortable, actually it’s starting to nudge over the border from discomfort to pain. My lower abdomen feels like I’ve been punched. I may also find out the answer to how do you wee when you’re wearing a concrete nappy and your cock is pointing upwards!

Sneezing is painful. Ouch! That made me shout out loud! Usually I like sneezing; it looks like I’m going to have cut back on the pepper for a while!

I’ve just been given some pain relief and am being encouraged to stand. I feel like I might need to have a pee. Standing confirmed it: I just dribble wee onto my smock and onto the floor. The assistant went and fetched a bottle, she steadied me while I tried to pee. It didn’t happen. I can’t squeeze any muscles down there to make pee happen. She was very sweet. We’re going to try again in an hour.

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A little later, the nurse comes and helps me walk around. I do much better than last time, but I only produce a little wee, but at least it went into the bottle this time.

It’s just as well I didn’t have any kinky illusions on what a professional castration would look like! I suppose it’s still – uh – fun and exciting, but it really lacks anything sexy! Thinking about it, there are people for whom wearing nappies and peeing themselves is a thing: maybe every situation is a turn on for somebody – isn’t kink a wonderful world?

One thought. I have seen my testes and the sack, but I don’t feel like I’m missing anything in the trouser department: there is so much padding, bulk, and discomfort that I am not certain that I will be able to get my shorts on.

Oh! There’s another worry! I focused on clothes that were easy to put on and take off, but I think I now neglected another practically: if I can’t control my bladder, light blue flannel shorts were not a good choice!

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By 17:30 I’ve emptied my bladder, so that pain has gone. I don’t really have control of it yet, but at least it’s not painful and it’s not leaking. The lovely nurse phoned Felipe, and while he was on his way, I dressed. I have this enormous pad down my front just in case things get leaky in Felipe’s car. The ride back to the centre wasn’t quite the usual white knuckle ride; I imagine that might have been down to the reduced visibility caused by the heavy rains (roads are flooded and the rain has clearly been practising this performance), but I’m willing to bet that he’s just that little more gentle when he’s carrying somebody back after a procedure. When I got back to the recovery centre I found myself hugging the nurse. I think I am feeling emotional. And now I’m waiting for my evening meal down in the communal area.

…. and I still haven’t met another eunuch!