Chapter 30 - The Operation

On the personal front, things were moving along, too. Doug and Sandra returned looking tanned and relaxed. Doug was a chemist who Sandra had met at a professional conference. He had done some of the work on the materials they used in the medical business, and things had just clicked. He worked for one of the big names in that business (no, I won't name names!) and after almost twenty years without a partner Sandra had fallen - big time. For that matter, so had Doug.

Julie and I got a laugh about how the two of them had tried to hide the fact that they shared a bed on occasion until they figured out that our free-love generation didn't give a damn about such nonsense. We had never tried to hide our sexual activities - after all we had to bribe roommates to get some time for our sexual activities.

As far as advancing my hopes of a physical transformation toward womanhood, having a friend in the business was invaluable. With hormonal treatment out of the picture for now, the rapidly expanding field of implants seemed my best course. The first silicone breast implant was done in 1962, proving the concept. Of course there were problems and difficulties, but by 1971 Sandra's company was ready for trials of a new generation of silicone gel implants. The big problem was that several of the plastic surgeons simply refused to consider implanting breasts on a man.

Funny how for all those years I had patiently accepted there was nothing I could do to change my body from what I had been born with, but now I knew I was wrong I was utterly impatient to get on with the changes. I had pretty much abandoned church as a waste of time, and not just because god had given me the wrong body. But I had to wonder if there was something more involved to have the surgical skills, the materials and the money to use them just drop out of heaven all at the same time.

I still haven't got an answer to that one, but with Sandra calling in favors and a lot of calling and doctor visits I had a date - Monday, August 16, 1971 I would use a chunk of my trust fund and walk out of the hospital with breasts the following day. Oh sure, they warned me those breasts would be black-and-blue and funny looking, but they would be all mine and look just fine in a few months.

Isn't it nice when you're reading something like this you can just insert a row of asterisks and jump over a couple of months. I wish it had been possible in real life, but I somehow managed to live through those months without expiring of anticipation or having Julie kill me. I know I was a large pain, but that woman had empathy. Looking back on it from this distance I have to wonder just why she was so willing to let me get those breasts, especially in light of what caused our eventual breakup. There are not many people who are so blessed with understanding friends in their life, especially those of us with gender issues.

The time eventually came when, at a ridiculously early hour in the morning, I went into the hospital. Why is it that doctors are such dedicated morning people, anyway? I woke up with a weight on my chest. I also woke up to a massive frown from a nurse who was anything but nurturing. She just looked at me in disgust and walked out, her body language radiating disapproval. What brought that on? I was unconscious, fer cryin' out loud. What could I have done to piss her off like that?

The next time I came around, Julie was there and my mouth was dry as a desert. I croaked and pointed to my mouth and Julie figured out my sign language. Soon a straw touched my lips and I sucked in sweet refreshment.

In my still not-quite-aware state all I could think of was when I had been sick as a kid, Mom would fix me a cup of orange juice and ginger ale and put a bendy straw in it so it was easier to drink. That memory brought a flood of other memories of my parents, especially my mother, who had been so encouraging and understanding of my need to be Connie and not Conrad.

"Thank you," I croaked to Julie.

"Glad to see you looking better. You wouldn't believe what an ugly bra they put on you, though."

"All this money and no fashion sense. That's the medical establishment for you."

"If you can make awful jokes you must be feeling better."

"It doesn't hurt too much, but it feels stretched."

"Might be because those puppies stretched things out a bit."

"One good thing, though."

"What?"

"I'll get to see what bouncing breasts feel like from the inside."
 

One more incident to relate from my time in the hospital. Somewhere around lunch time I got hungry, after all they hadn't let me eat anything after midnight yesterday so it's not too surprising. Julie had gone to the cafeteria for some food when they wheeled the cart with lunch up into the ward, but nothing was delivered to my room. When Julie got back, still no dinner. She went to the nurse's station to ask and got the runaround.

That's when my favorite bitch-goddess made a guest appearance. Seems the nurse that had glowered at me didn't approve of trannys and was not going to be nursing one of those. My first inkling came as the volume out the door started to go up. Then it got really loud as Julie demanded to see the supervisor of this damned place. She was refused and it got quiet all of a sudden. About twenty minutes later it got louder again.

Julie the bitch-goddess had gone up to the hospital administrator's office and pushed her way in demanding to know what kind of idiots ran this place and threatening malpractice, mayhem and general havoc both legal and physical if something wasn't done about Nurse stick-up-her-ass right now!

I eventually got fed, but I wish I could have been there to see the show. I also got a nice letter apologizing and carefully asking me not to sue them or something like that. In writing this I found my experience was not so unusual for gender-conforming surgery patients in that era. I guess I got off lucky with just having to wait to eat.

Chapter 31 - Connie Goes to College

Sometimes I have a hard time believing how ignorant I was back then. I mean, really - I expected I would just go back to the school as Connie, inform whoever needed informing of the name change and finish my degree. I had had so little opposition to my growing identity as a female I just figured everybody would be like that.

Boy, was I stupid. Just the frequent use of that common exclamation should have tipped me off. The reaction by so many to Steve and my new gay friends should have tipped me off. If I had been paying attention to politics outside the campus, the (I'll put it kindly) debate over the ERA should have tipped me off. Then there were the hearings about the soon-to-be-passed Title IX: No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.

The problems started out slowly at first. We met Maggie and moved into our apartment together. That part was easier than it could have been. Doug and his sons had offered to drive us and our luggage to the school, no way we were going to be taking all our clothes and things on a bus. The big, strong men moved us in, and Doug even sprung for some furniture at a second hand store. The place looked pretty good by the time we were done.

Naturally we three girls talked the night away, and when we got to the subject of my new tits, nothing would do but to show them to Maggie. We were all girls here, weren't we?

The bruising was almost gone, and there they were, but mostly covered by the surgical bra. I could walk comfortably now, and was very happy with the result - as long as I had a bra on. I was still not ready to bounce my breasts very much.

So we had to cover all the gory details, the doctor visits, the fancy footwork by Sandra, nurse stick-up-her-ass, and the trust fund. No, we didn't mention any hard figures. One thing every college student learns is that there are those who would 'gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.' (If you don't recognize the quote, Google Popeye.)

I was fortunate that there was only one professor on my schedule that had me in his class before. The rest of them I 'corrected a typo' with my name and that was that - or so I thought.

Not so with the students. Enamored as I was with my new breasts, I wore a top that showed a little cleavage. Not much, there were still some bruises, but those breasts were not anything you would find on a college boy. (Don't you hate that undefined period around college age where nobody can decide if you're a boy or a man? Makes for difficulty writing, it does.)

After Connie-on-the-radio became a campus sensation, I could hardly be anonymous. The shy boys said like: "Conrad? Is that you?" to which I answered: "It's Connie now." the bold boys asked: "Are those real?" to which I usually replied: "Would you ask your mother a question like that?" Good thing you Momma jokes were safely in the future.

The girls were usually more polite, but they wanted to know if they were real, too. A considerable subset wanted details on how I did it, so I bet my plastic surgeon got a few calls when I passed out his name and phone number.

Several of the boys were convinced that I was doing this to get out of the draft. Remember, this was during the height of the Viet Nam war, a fact that males with a college deferment were acutely aware. Another method of avoiding the draft was to be a homosexual, but that came at a price. Everybody knew that the army wouldn't take pansy buttfuckers. Did I grow a pair of tits to get out of the draft?

Seriously, that never occurred to me. I grew a pair of tits because I needed them to become the woman I longed to be.
 

When the time came for Connie's first call-in show, it was beginning to sink in that I could not be just another student lost in the mob. Julie, Maggie and I arrived at the station to find my fan club waiting, but my fans had a problem. Rumor had flown with its usual speed that I now had cleavage, but nobody was too sure just what I looked like.

Oddly, it was Maggie's presence that tipped the fans, she being a well known feminist spokeswoman and a friend of Connie-on-the-radio. I tried my best to smile and be polite, but I was embarrassed to be the center of attention.

The radio station was flooded with calls for Connie's first call-in show. We did have a topic, but nobody wanted to talk about it. I was the topic, like it our not.

Julie and Maggie were there to offer their support, but after the first couple of calls that asked about what Julie or Maggie thought about me, they each got a mike and joined in.

Talk about your three ring circus! This was before the infamous 'seven dirty words' decision (Google George Carlin) so we didn't even have a tape delay. We had to cut off a few callers who asked questions that would make a sailor blush. Maggie tells me that I did blush a few times. The station manager made an on-the-spot decision to extend the Ask Connie Show and additional half hour because the phones showed no signs of stopping.

Then we had to escape the station. There were all kinds of people in the basement, waiting for us to leave, not just my fan club. Most of them we friendly, we signed autographs and I got kissed by people who I had never met before. Hell, Steve kissed me and he's gay! There was one hairy moment when the Julie-the-bitch-goddess was almost invoked; some religious wacko started in on us but his buddies calmed him down before a holy war started.

Quite an exciting day.