Last night there was some kind of party going on outside the centre. I guess being a warmer country, that double glazing isn’t even thought about: there was nothing between me and the party, so I couldn’t get off too sleep. Of course, I did eventually, and then I slept for about eight hours, which isn’t too shabby!
This morning I received an email from my husband. He’s heard that I have been really worried about him. I am incredibly relieved that he’s well enough to email. He said that his phone wasn’t charging (he may still be suffering from confusion and disorientation after his episode, so can’t work this out properly yet). I feel angry that I’ve been so scared, “fear leads to anger” as Master Yoda said, however he really cannot help it: a person who suffers from PTSD is a sufferer and is not responsible for how they feel. Indeed, often I get insights into how my husband feels most when he is ill. It took me a very long time to realise that just because he’s in a dark place didn’t mean that what he says isn’t actually his he feels all the time. The dark place he goes just makes him unable to defend against that darkness.
Now I’m packed, I’m wearing long jogging bottoms (long for the cold English weather when I get home, but also soft so as not to feel too uncomfortable in the understairs area), underneath which I’m wearing the tightest of my compression pants and the sexy surgical stockings from my operation, which I pilfered for this very reason!
Now I’m on fourth runny poo of the morning. Nobody had mentioned antibiotics, although they make sense, however they do cause some tummy upsets. Such fun. Something else that anybody following in my footsteps might like to know! Pack moist toilet tissue to help clean up after a bowel movement.
The nurse has given me my pills and instructed me on when to take them. I have 3 different types of pill, 2 of which are antibiotics the other is ibuprofen. I’ve also got an ointment to rub into the scar. I do need to get some surgical tape and dressings; perhaps I’ll be able to get that at the airport. I’ve set alarms to go off at the appropriate times – the plane will be disturbed by the sweet sound of the classic Dr Who theme!
True to his word, Guillermo made me his fabulous tuna tartare for lunch. It was as good as ever!
I also want to mention the nurse who has worked with me most, and helped with my Spanish, Aracely, who gives the warmest and most wonderful hugs!
Marla asked whether it’s mind sharing the Instagram pages for the Mexico Transgender Centre and the Zen and Healthy recovery centre, I am delighted to share them here:
Linkcare Medical Group, who performed my operation: https://www.instagram.com/linkcaremedicalgroup?igsh=MjBxejk4ZXJsNWpo&utm_source=qr
Zen and Healthy recovery centre: https://www.instagram.com/zhrecovery?igsh=dmUxcm5uanljdHVi&utm_source=qr
My journey north to San Diego airport was with Marla’s aunt Teresa. We had a lovely chat in a mixture of English and Spanish. Of course, aunt Tere’s English was way better than my Spanish, but it was fun nevertheless. US customs entering the States was a drag. The line we were in seemed to have a jobsworth sending a lot of cars to secondary inspection. Aunt Teresa thought he was probably new to the job. This was supposed to be a fast lane especially for cars with medical passes. The other lanes moved much faster.
Chatting with Marla via WhatsApp (the poor girl has crippling toothache), she’s talked about cooking to the UK. If she does, she hopes to have a reunion with her eunuch children! That would be amazing!
It has been pointed out to me that I’m flying home lighter than when I left and that I should have had a cheaper ticket 🤣. I suppose that didn’t take into account Guillermo’s wonderful and my frequent meals. Although I reckon that they are mostly passing straight through me. 💩
Having changed my flight, I lost the assistance if booked, and the short queue to get through security and the little walk around the departure lounge has made me ache. I spoke to the nice chap at the gate and told him that I’d recently had an operation and that originally I had assistance booked and asked if I could either board first or last. He’s going to let me board first with the wheelchair users.
I am already missing the coffee from the centre. The airport’s coffee is leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Thankfully, I had some Airwaves left to take the taste away.
I had a quesadilla from the food court, which was good, if messy to eat. Again, glad I brought moist toilet tissue!
Runny poo number five in the loos of San Diego airport. Hurrah for flushable toilet tissue!
Before I sign off ready to board the plane, I would like to thank everybody who has messaged me to express their food wishes or interest in this blog. I hope that it will prove useful to guys like me who seek castration for whatever reason, and help provide a safe and sane route to the body you need.
I’ll write a quick post when I get home to finish this particular part of my journey and let y’all know how my husband is doing.
I am also going to create a static Knowledge Base page on this blog with all the key notes that I’ve made about this entire journey. A sort of cheat sheet to help you. I’ll invite people to review it and suggest amendments according to their own experience with the process.
One day I hope that the UK becomes enlightened enough for guys like me to receive the treatment we need in the UK.
Finally, in all my days in Mexico to be made a eunuch, I still haven’t met any!
Eunuchorn 
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