My First Year of Phalloplasty: A Handy Timeline.

[cracks knuckles] Cool. I’m back at it! Let’s do this.

Before I get into specifics about last week’s urethroplasty, I figure I should lay out a timeline. This blog’s gotten a bunch of new followers lately, and it’d be keen for everyone here to be able to follow along on the same page. :3

February 12, 2005: I take the leap to living full-time as a man at age 25. As I had only recently moved to the city I now live in, and had scarcely left my apartment before this, introducing myself as someone new raised no eyebrows.

Late 2005: I enroll in counseling with the University of Minnesota’s Center for Sexual Health. My counsellor agrees that I qualify as someone who would benefit from gender conversion therapy. I am educated about the possibilities and outcomes of hormonal treatment, as well as various surgeries I can work towards.

Due to warnings that my depression might get worse while taking T, I decide not to opt for HRT treatment. I also decide to keep binding for the time being, as the only sexually reactive parts of my body are my nipples, and though the risk is low, I’d rather not take the chance of losing that feeling if I was to get top surgery.

Phalloplasty is mentioned as an option for sex reassignment surgery when one can’t undergo HRT.

Though I function more naturally as a man in general society, I identify most strongly with being an androgyne, and feel neutral towards the parts I was born with. I ask if there’s a possibility I can keep any of them. “I’m not sure,” is the response I get. “Nobody’s ever asked that before.”

2007: I start saving my money.

2008: I begin building connections with psychiatrists and therapists who I’ll need letters of recommendation from before anyone will consider me for phalloplasty. Some agree. Some don’t. Enough do.

2013: With a significant amount of money saved up, I set my sights on Mr. Christopher’s surgery team of London, England. His phalloplasty results are, in my opinion, the most organic-looking currently out there. I make plans to see him in London for a consultation.

September 2013: Mr. Christopher tells me that he won’t allow me to undergo surgery unless I first agree to a full hysterectomy and vaginectomy. “Why else would you want to have this done?” he asks. “It would make no sense.”

I also learn the hard way that, currently, my psychiatrist and therapist letters are considered to have expired after over a year’s time.

I leave for the USA without scheduling a surgery date.

When I report to my counsellor at the Center for Sexual Health, she gives me the name of an up-and-coming surgeon I might want to check out, one Dr. Curtis Crane.

July 2014: I have a consultation with Dr. Crane in San Francisco, California. He’s cheerful, personable, and assures me that having phalloplasty without taking hormones or removing my original parts is indeed something he can do for me. “Who am I to tell you what body parts you should feel natural having?”, as he puts it. He is, to my knowledge, the first surgeon to be willing to perform such an operation.

I sign up for his next possible phalloplasty date that very day… which turns out to be in June of next year. Dr. Crane is a busy fellow, to put it lightly.

June 17th, 2015: The words “radial forearm phalloplasty with urethral lengthening, glansplasty, and no scrotoplasty” cannot convey the joy and sense of contented wholeness the procedure brings me today. I spend the next week in the CPMC hospital, where I’m discharged on Day 6.

June 23rd – July 17th, 2015: I spend the next month by myself in a live-in hotel in Corte Madera, with three weekly follow-up visits to Dr. Crane. Uber and Taskrabbit become my best friends, when it comes to getting places and making sure I stay fed.

I develop 3 fistulas under my phallus head (healed over by regular use of Medihoney gel) and accidentally open a groin stitch that leaks serous fluid constantly. The latter ends up giving the area an infection that takes a week longer than anticipated to heal. I’m grateful I took off the full 4 weeks from work instead of the 3 I initially planned for.

A small section of skin at the top of my glans dies, discoloring the area with a dark purple blotch. In doing so, the new dong gets its nickname: “Spot.”

July – October 2015: Abnormally thick scar tissue limits my ability to move my donor arm’s hand and wrist. I enroll in weekly hand therapy sessions, which successfully give me back a full range of motion.

September 2015: I develop a stricture that gets more painful by the day.

October 2015: I arrive back in San Francisco for two days to have Spot examined, by now barely able to urinate without pain so bad I’m almost passing out hunched over there at the toilet.

The results point to a stricture far thicker than anyone had anticipated, and I end up staying an extra week to have a cystoscopy done, revealing a solid wall of scar tissue in my urethra, right at the join where the original urethra ended and the new lengthened one began. I’m given a suprapubic catheter, to remain in until the next possible surgery date Dr. Crane has available.

December 2015: Back in San Francisco, this time under the care of Dr. Chen, Dr. Crane’s new surgeon.

Dr. Chen cuts out three centimeters of scar tissue from my urethra, then sews the ends together where the scarring ends. I stay in San Francisco for two more weeks, returning home right on Christmas Eve.

Due to dwindling funds left available, I start looking for a closer urologist for the future, and finally am pointed (through word of mouth) to Dr. Elliott of the University of Minnesota’s Urology department.

March 2016: My first visit to Dr. Elliott comes just as pain and urine stream thinning start happening, just like they did in September, though thankfully without the pain this time. Dr. Elliott schedules the soonest X-ray and cystoscopy available.

April 2016: Yup, the stricture’s grown back, and looking just as thick as before.

May 2016: Dr. Elliott decides that a two-stage urethroplasty is the best way to treat my stricture problem. I’m put back on a suprapubic catheter until a urethroplasty with buccal tissue harvest can be done.

June 15th, 2016: First stage is completed.

June 20th, 2016: Follow-up appointment. My initial genital sutures are removed. Everything looks good so far, according to the doctor.

Three months from now, I’ll have another cystoscopy to see how the scarring is going (or, hopefully, not going). Six months from now, the second stage of urethroplasty *should* be scheduled, where they’ll sew the hole in my urethra shut, I’ll be able to pee standing up again, and that *should* be the end of it all.

Fingers remain crossed like hell.

[looks up at all that] Huh. Guess I did more this past year than I ever realized I did, didn’t I?

Random food for thought: Both.

And suddenly, as I showed him the phone photo of my junk, the guy at the anime convention who’d been hitting on me for the past half hour paused.

“That’s… *that’s* your dick?” he asked, looking confusedly at the screen.

I nodded. “And my vagina.”

He snickered. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but… you’re too freaky for me.”

“Tch. Your loss,” I sneered back at him.

We went our own ways into the night.

It’s interesting. I haven’t had many self-proclaimed drag queens show interest in me until this last weekend’s convention, but if the question ever comes up, I find cis and trans folks tend to react along the same lines if they hear I’ve got both parts.

The trans people tend to raise an eyebrow. I get a lot of “Why would you DO that?” Why would I go as far as most trans guys’ hopes and dreams could take them, and then stop halfway, keeping my factory original parts? It’s the same question I got from every phalloplasty surgeon I saw before I met with Dr. Crane. It’s expected that everyone will want the same thing. A surgery, then B surgery, then C, then D. As far from the side of the fence I was plunked onto as humanly possible.

(Heck, one trans guy I talked to once was upset with me for not transitioning to be a “full” man. Called me a traitor. [shrug] To each their own.)

The cis folks who hear I’m packing double have a different, but no less predictable, response. From young dudebro guys to little old ladies, anyone so far who’s had it come up in conversation has had the same reaction: “Have you thought about doing porn? You could make *so much money!”*

I don’t doubt it. I’d need to get clearance from my partner first, but I’d be lying if I said the thought had never crossed my mind.

Still, I met with a lot of folks at Anime Detour’s Trans Alliance and It Gets Better panels, and the response was undeniable: for some folks, A+B+C+D just isn’t going to work for their peace of mind. And though there may be only two surgeons I know of who’ll currently allow you to get, say, just B and C, not the whole package, it’s my hope that more and more doctors will acknowledge the changing tides and start looking into piecemeal physical gender reassignment.

I know what I am. And though I may check the M box every time I have to choose, my heart’s not set in only a M or F box.

My gratitude for living in a time where I could change my body to reflect exactly that is constant and ever-joyful. :3

Three-month Extravaganza!

Aaaa, can you believe it? It’s already been three whole months since I first got my phalloplasty!

While I couldn’t find any party hats tiny enough for Spot to celebrate the occasion properly, I’m instead offering a photo retrospective showing the then-and-now of the surgery.



^ THEN: Three fistulas opening at different times, all underneath the head, made urination tricky. Marker lines left on my dong from surgery team looked a little awkward for the first couple weeks. Stitches everywhere.


^ NOW: Fistulas have healed! Yay! Urine stream has healed… a little oddly, veering waaaay over to the left, but it does so in a predictable pattern, so it’s not any trouble to correct for. Stitches have faded to a birthmark shade of light purple. No skin bubbles left underneath the shaft between stitches. The tip’s gained some scruffiness from arm hair growing back in.

Overall, my dong even got a seal of approval from my general MD back home during my annual physical exam a couple weeks ago! She was all kinds of impressed.



^ THEN: Looked like nothing alive. Had the sickly sweet smell of
wound dressing and disinfectant. Needed at least five minutes to
unbundle all the bandages and dressings to reveal itself to the world
and possibly terrify any children/onlookers. Healed with such thick
scarring at the wrist as to cause me to lose most of my hand/wrist
mobility for some time.


^ NOW: Much more healthy-looking in its color and overall appearance. Regular hand therapy has returned hand/wrist motion nearly back to normal, with some wrist stiffness and a slightly swollen/reddish hand. Still terrifies small children if left uncovered. This Halloween opens up a whole universe of possibilities.



^ THEN: Sticky gummy hell for the first week, then itchy flaky hell for the next two. Had to be kept constantly bandaged, so as not to soak anything laid over it. Made sleeping at night… problematic.


^ NOW: Has healed immensely! No drippage, stickiness, or shedding snow-like skin flakes anywhere for months. Barely even looks like Rocky Horror Picture Show lips anymore. More like a rectangular mild sunburn.


THEN: Scourge of daily living from five days after surgery through ‘till very recently. Needed bandaging at all times, lest it soak through whatever I was wearing and make it look like I’d pissed all over whichever car seat I was riding in.

NOW: Killed in Vietnam. Or healed itself out of existence. (I always get those two confused.) It will not be mourned.


THEN: My immediate giddy thought whenever walking past anything standing still: “I could pee on that now. Should I? SHOULD I? I TOTALLY CAN!! Wait no that’s probably a bad idea…”

NOW: I have somehow not racked up any public indecency charges. This baffles me. I had no idea my willpower could hold out for this long.


– Carry objects over 25 pounds! Yay, I get to… start taking out the trash every week again. Hm. (Still, yay!)

– Accept penetrative sex with my original plumbing (or as I call it, the Warp Zone)! [NOTE: I had the okay to be on the penetrating end of penetrative sex a month earlier, with the downsides that (A) without an inflatable rod put in surgically, I’d be nothing but floppy, so (B) I’d probably have to double-bag Spot with a couple of condoms to attain a hope of being rigid enough to put it in. The More You Know!™]

Here’s to another three months, and then another, and another, and so on! [blows party horn]

7 More Things I Didn’t Expect After My Phalloplasty


I’m bringing this list back a little over a month after my phallo surgery last June (first part found over here: [Tumblr link broken] ), ‘cause there’s a few more things that’ve happened in the meantime that I *also* didn’t see coming. Keep in mind, these may not happen to you, but make sure you know going in that they *might.*

11.) THERE’LL BE WET SPOTS IN YOUR PANTS FOR A WHILE. Once your catheter is removed after two or three weeks and (joy of joys!!) you finally get to pee out of your phallus, your new meat is going to be totally inexperienced at what it’s doing– even moreso ‘cause the urethral tissue will be inflamed while it’s still healing. Urine will often be trapped within the urethra after you *think* you’re done going, only for it to slip out when you’ve already zipped up and walked away.

My way of getting around this has been to keep my dong cradled upon what’s called an “adult shield liner” (basically, an adult diaper, but just the crotch section) that I’ll stick between my legs, but even with that on my side, I have wet spots drip out after a bathroom visit and into my pants more often than I don’t.

I’d stress that you should take regular showers and change your clothes often, ’cause otherwise you are going to *stiiiink* after a couple days.

12.) SLEEPING ON YOUR STOMACH WON’T WORK ANYMORE. This one’s fairly obvious, but I still didn’t think of it. I’m a stomach sleeper– or at least, I *was,* until I had new sensitive bits down there I’d be crushing if I did. Sleeping on my side has been the go-to option so far, though it was harder than I’d like to admit to adjust.

13.) YOU MIGHT NEED A WARDROBE CHANGE. I used to be a boxer-briefs guy all the way. That was when I only had a 3-inch silicone packer to deal with. Bring that sucker up to a flesh-and-blood, not-so-squishable 5 inches, and space in the front of my drawers got dangerously tight in a hurry, if it didn’t poke out from the bottom seam altogether.

I went from Large boxer briefs to XL boxers, and had to start my underwear inventory from scratch (which ended up being 7 boxers, laundered twice a week– remember all those wet spots I mentioned having?). Count this as around $50 I didn’t think I’d have to spend.

14.) YOUR DONG MIGHT GROW HAIR. Again, this result varies from person to person. But I had electrolysis for a year before phalloplasty, and apparently that wasn’t enough to stave off *all* the hair from my arm. Right now, the head of my phallus has a layer of peach fuzz on it. I don’t mind it, and it doesn’t seem to have grown into the urethra or anything nasty, but it was a surprise after a month to realize I had hair sprouting down there.

15.) NOTHING WILL PREPARE YOU FOR HOW YOUR DONOR SITE IS GOING TO LOOK, THAT FIRST MONTH. I seriously didn’t think this would be an issue. I *love* horror movies – the gorier, the better. Bring on the Cronenberg arm, I told my surgeon team.

But when it came to unwrapping that section of my arm from its layers of bandages and gauze, and having to change that gauze, and wind everything back on again, every day, for 30 days… I had no idea. You can see your every heartbeat *moving* under there, that first week out of the hospital.

It’s going to look way, *way* better over time, even after just the first month. It really will, I promise. Deep breaths. You got this.

[EDIT, in 2018, including above photo: Heck, I had tattoos put around the scarring after it healed, because this scar was from something *happy*, and I wanted people to smile at it, instead of flinch and ask what in god’s name happened.]

But. It’s… *A Lot.* at first. Just be aware of that, going in. Gore hits a little different when the gore is part of you.

16.) WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T GO THAT FIRST MONTH ALONE. I am living proof that a person can technically make it through the first month of post-phalloplasty healing without having someone there with them. I stayed the whole month in a rental hotel room. Video chats with friends on a borrowed iPad and TaskRabbit and DoorDash drivers were my only human contact with the outside world.


Bring a friend to stay with you. Bring a family member. Even if they’re jerks. I’m not kidding. If they won’t pose any physical threat to you, please, show yourself enough kindness to have somebody else there.

This is the reason why, to this day, if I hear a person has to go that first month alone, I will *immediately* hand them my contact info, so they can reach out when they need to. I do it gladly. I wouldn’t wish the hell that month was on *anyone.*

17.) NONE OF THESE THINGS MAKE THE PHALLOPLASTY FEEL ‘NOT WORTH IT.’ Seriously. No matter how many complaints I’m bringing up here, feeling whole for the first time in my life has made all these hurdles and quirks *combined* seem like no big deal. I’ve been all but euphoric since day one, to the point where people I know have mentioned how happy and calm I am now, and I can’t imagine I’m the only one who feels this way. Bring it on! >:3

Another from the main blog that belongs here just as much.

10 Things I Wish I’d Been Told Before Having My Phalloplasty


Full disclosure: I’ve just had radial forearm phalloplasty with Dr. Crane’s surgery team this past June 17th, 2015. Mine was done with urethral lengthening, no vaginectomy, no scrotoplasty, no rods, and without top surgery or testosterone beforehand due to me-specific medical complications. I don’t claim my experience to be universal.

Would I change my mind now, 12 days post-op? HELL NO, haha. And yet, I’ve never heard anyone mention the facts listed below when I was researching online.

If I can help just one person preparing for or considering this procedure sleep a little easier from having a better idea what to expect, that’s all I’m after. :3

Here we go!

1.) YOU WILL SMELL HIDEOUS FOR MANY, MANY DAYS. Which is okay! Nobody should be judging you for this. You’ll have just had whole parts of your body moved around; you’re gonna have enough on your plate. But you’ll have six days in your hospital bed go by without a single shower, just occasional wet-wipe pad rub-downs– and then you’re not allowed to take one once you get out for another ten days, either. It becomes a sort of Zen stank, your scent lofting to the heights of the universe to declare your new existence. But yeah, you’re gonna be smelling levels of stankalicious you didn’t even know you could reach.

2.) Also, hate to break it to you, but YOU PROBABLY WON’T BE SLEEPING WELL IN THE HOSPITAL. Or maybe you’re the type who can nod off for quick naps. That’s keen! I really hope for your sake that you can, ‘cause all through the clock, there’s gonna be nurses and assistants wheeling in to check your blood pressure, your Doppler readings, how much you can inhale at once, getting blood draws, everything you can think of, every half-hour to an hour or so. I take forever and an Ambien to be able to go under, so I didn’t sleep the whole six days as much as I passed out for half-aware exhaustion hallucinations for a few minutes, or at least until the next assistant arrived at 4:30am.

3.) When you’re going to the bathroom (number two) a few days after surgery, DO. NOT. PUSH YOUR BOWELS. It’s gonna be frustrating beyond belief waiting for it to come. Trust me, it’s gonna come. And you’re gonna be on so many stool softeners and laxatives– when it came for me, it literally fell out of me. But yeah. No pushy, or you’ll be like naive Pre-Pushing Gerbil who thought, “Just a *little* push won’t hurt, right?” And before I knew it, I was looking at streams of what I could’ve sworn was blood dribbling out my groin from the staple I popped (see #8 below). I didn’t think I was even pressing with enough pressure to DO that, but I was wrong. Don’t be like Pre-Pushing Gerbil.

4.) As a matter of fact, until you get to know in those first couple days what the difference is between actual poop or just tricky gas? DON’T BE ASHAMED IF YOU MESS THE BED. Multiple nurses and care assistants told me, they’ve all seen *way* worse, and they’re gonna be changing the sheets regardless. Accidents can happen, before you’re comfortable knowing what needs a bedpan or not. (Though the first couple days’ worth of *my* asking to use the bedpan were some frustrating, empty-fart-filled times for all.)

5.) YOU PROBABLY WON’T BE SLEEPING WELL ONCE YOU LEAVE THE HOSPITAL, EITHER. You are gonna be sore as all hell the first week after you’re out– especially Days 2 and 3, by my experience. The leg skin graft is so huge that, for me, when it started oozing (and it did, for days, constantly), it soaked my bedsheets on that leg’s side. When it finally dried about five or six days later, my leg muscles kept twitching from how itchy the scab was, so then I couldn’t sleep from *that.* It’s gonna be rough. Doable, believe me. But rough.

6.) THERE IS NO WAY ‘I WAS IN A CRASH’ EXCUSES WILL WORK IF YOU GO FOR THE FOREARM DONOR SITE. This one can be chalked up entirely to my not seeking out more recent photos of forearm donor sites beforehand, but instead of the stitch-heavy displays often seen in the past, my donor site can instead be described as “shrink-wrapped meat squeezed down to a ridiculously small-looking surface area.” It’s a little disturbing in its own way, but nothing that the old “I was in a motorcycle accident” chestnut would reasonably excuse. Crash injuries do not look like this. Instead, I plan to answer all inquiries with “I traded a wizard a pound of flesh to get a bigger dick.” It’s technically not wrong.

7.) BABY WIPES WILL BE YOUR FRIEND. There’s gonna be an awful lot of dripping and oozing going on in multiple places for a good long while, and regular toilet paper’s just too scratchy and dry to be of much help. In fact, in the first few days, using TP instead of baby wipes actually scraped up an opening on the surface of my junk that still hasn’t closed after days upon days of Medihoney, so make sure to treat your new appendage right from the start.

8.) THAT PINK LIQUID ISN’T BLOOD. This one’s less universal than the rest, but knowing it would’ve saved me a bit of stress. I popped some non-vital stitches in my groin on Day 5 in the hospital (remember #2?), and was leaking what I swore was bloody urine in a steady drip from the groin. When it hadn’t stopped in three days, and in fact had become more frequent, I was sure something terrible was going on. But no. There’s stuff called serous fluid, usually found around surgery sites, that I’d simply opened up a groin tap for. It’s light pink, and it is completely harmless; it’s just *super* annoying to get all over anything you sit on. (I took to calling it Lisa Frank Unicorn Blood.) Wrapping a towel around my waist and tucking it into the top of my underwear became my best shot at getting some sleep without waking in a panic that I’d wet the bed half an hour later.

9.) YOU HAVE INNER STRENGTH YOU MAY HAVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE IN YOUR LIFE. Believe me, if you’d’ve told me beforehand how many times I’d be dealing with situations in the first couple weeks that included the phrase “so I look down and I see [what I thought was] blood spraying all over,” and that I wasn’t going to bat an eye over it even in the heat of the moment, I would’ve laughed (and asked you how you got into my apartment). But you’d be surprised. *I* certainly was. You don’t know me, but trust me: nerves of adamantium are not in my nature. Until those times when they had to be.

10.) WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW AWESOME IT’S GOING TO BE JUST TO HOLD IT. Seriously. I’ve found myself just cuddling it occasionally, feeling how big and warm and alive it is. I want to give it a hug. Tell it, hey, we got through this, buddy. We did it.

From the main blog. Seems like it belongs over here, too.

Hello again! And, goodbye.

This will be the last post on this blog, and then I’ll be walking away from it, as well as all my social media accounts. If you think the site might help anyone trying to research (what I recently found out was) what they’re now calling the first “nonbinary confirmation surgery,” or “bigenital surgery,” ever performed, then do continue to spread the link to those who have a personal interest in the procedure.

I only wish there was a way folks could contact me now, as I’d love to hear of any IRL educational opportunities I could be of help with. I strive to educate folks about my experience, but I realize now, I need to keep myself safe when doing so.

You’ve all been a delight to know, and I hope my little site and I were able to be of some help. [bows, sincerely] Thank you for sharing this time with me. I wish all of you the very best. ❤

Hi there, I was reccomend to look through your blog by someone after having a conversation about me wishing for pretty much the exact opposite of what you’ve had done. Judging by your pictures I would probably need my scrotum reduced in size to fit a full set of vulva. I’m guessing you would have some resources on the subject? All I’ve been able to find is “Some providers have recently begun offering this procedure.” Without anywhere else to go from there.

Hey, Anon. I seriously do apologize for making you wait since February for such a lackluster answer: I honestly have no idea.

Believe me, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Night after night since I got your comment, I stared at the blank answer screen before me, wondering how I might find out this info myself. I did something I’ve never done before, not in all the years I’ve been running this blog, whether on Tumblr or here on its own site:

I Googled “phalloplasty info site.”

And… I have no words.

Other than THERE’S SO MANY NOW!!!

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be That Guy and be all “Oh, I did it before it was cool” about any of this, but. Please understand. When I set up ‘chinchilla-meat’ over on Tumblr in 2015, there was nothing in the landscape of the Internet about getting a phalloplasty with no vaginectomy. Nada. ZERO.

Now, I’m not only one of several sites for this particular hookup, there’s one person who’s done entire Reddit Ask Me Anything threads about the procedure! Who has FAQs set up on their site and everything! Why didn’t I ever think of that?! That’s GENIUS!

There’s a FACEBOOK GROUP for folks who’ve either had, or want, a phalloplasty with no vaginectomy! There’s thousands of us out there, now!

Some people are having the same procedure done that I had– y’know, the one that had me carrying around my pee in a bag for years?– with no complications.

The technology is improving, more surgeons are offering the procedure– there is no way I can keep on top of it all, balancing going back to college at age 40 to finish my mortician degree vs. keeping up with each new surgery innovation.

All I can say is, there was no data on how my surgery was going to turn out. I was apparently the first to try it. And that was only five years ago.

I say this with no sarcasm whatsoever, pure sincerity here: I CANNOT WAIT to see how obsolete my information is going to seem, five years from now.

I don’t know when I’ll update this blog next, to be honest. I’ll definitely keep it up, and if there are more questions folks have, I’ll be sure to answer them. But from here on out, there are enough voices speaking up about this procedure that I don’t know if folks need to hear mine anymore. My knowledge has barely changed since 2015.

So I’ll say it again, Anon: I’m sorry I don’t have an answer for you. You are speaking to the Wright Brothers, while there are spaceships launching to the stars.

I do hope you won’t have long to wait.

But, yes. My goal in running this info site was to raise awareness that this procedure existed, and I can see now, that very thing has happened. I’m excited beyond words to see where things go from here.

Heart hands, everybody. Thanks for letting me share, all this time. ❤

4th Dongaversary Post!

It’s that time of year again! That day when, three years ago, I bought a smash cake for Spot to celebrate his first birthday, filmed myself beating up said cake with my dong, and put it up on this very info blog.

(When job interviewers ask, “How would you describe yourself?” it is very difficult not to mention this.)

But! Today is Spot’s fourth dickaversary! And to celebrate THIS year, I’ve got a giant info dump prepared, as far as what I’ve been up to lately phallo-wise. (I don’t have another cake prepared. One can only accomplish so many feats in life.)

So, what’ve Spot and I been up to lately?

For one thing, I had my yearly visit to the urologist just a couple weeks ago, and I’m happy to say, Spot came back with a glowing bill of health all around.


The drippiness issues that had been annoying me since my second urethroplasty have entirely cleared up, making the adult diapers I’d gotten into the habit of wearing– which I hadn’t mentioned here because they weren’t *necessary,* per se, but when the occasional accident happened, being prepared was nice– something I no longer feel any need to wear. Back to boxer briefs, at last! Woot! 😀

My urologist did chime in with her approval about one thing: the medic alert bracelet I’ve worn on my right wrist for the past year and a half, which I *also* didn’t mention here yet, so! It’s storytime.

Picture it. It’s 2017. Scar tissue has closed up my new urethra for a second time, so I’m in the emergency room. All I know is, it is agonizingly painful to try to pee.

Someone comes into my ER room. “I need to insert a catheter,” he tells me.

I shy back. “Okay, so. Hang on a sec. I’ve had a phalloplasty, so, have you ever–”

His response: “What’s a phalloplasty?”

I demanded that he please step away from my dong.

He protested, saying it was just a simple catheter, nobody likes doing this– and again, I refused, until I could talk to a doctor who’d had experience with phalloplasty phalluses before.

Nobody on site had, it turned out. The ER docs put in a suprapubic catheter based on my demands, then scheduled me to see Dr. Elliott at the University of Minnesota as soon as possible.

I hadn’t told that story because I thought I’d been making a big deal out of nothing, but when I told my urologist about it, she said I had absolutely done the right thing. Putting a catheter into a phalloplasty *can* be done, but she said it should only be attempted by a qualified urologist.

She said further that the medic alert bracelet I’ve been wearing since that incident, given to me as a holiday gift by my mother– “SUPRAPUBIC CATHETER ONLY”– wasn’t necessary for someone who’s had phalloplasty to wear, but that it was definitely a good idea.20190514_120218.jpg

So. Something to keep in the ol’ inventory, if anyone reading this blog is a worrywart like me.

The other thing I’ve done, just in the past few days, was to finally visit a lymphadema specialist again.

I don’t know if it’s shown up in any photos I’ve posted here, but my left hand– the side my forearm skin graft was taken from– has stayed swollen considerably, and this fact is 100% entirely my fault. I had massage, wrapping, and exercise treatment for the lymphadema in that hand for about a year after my phalloplasty, then both stopped doing the recommended exercises *and* wearing my lymphadema sleeve and glove soon after getting the range of motion back in my wrist. My bad, yo.

My excuse was, the only way having a bigger hand on one side affected my life was, I have to buy two pairs of gloves in the winter. But my partner recently made it clear: he thinks my swollen hand looks off-putting, and he wanted me to at least *check* with a lymphadema specialist to see if anything could be done to reduce the swelling. Fair enough, I thought.

My new lymphadema specialist (or “CLT”, as they’re credited after their name) thoroughly examined the affected area, putting measuring tape around all up and down and around my arm and hand, and said she had good news!


Apparently, my hand is at what she called “Stage One Plus,” which is where the skin is still spongy and bounces back when pressed down upon. This is the best stage to be diagnosed with when you have lymphadema, because it means, yes, lymphatic fluid is trapped in my hand, but it can still be manipulated and eased out with regular massage therapy, which I’ll be doing daily now, as well as getting back to regularly wearing my lymphadema sleeve and glove (which still fit me, yay!).

So for the near future, expect updates about how to manage mild lymphadema in your hand if you used a forearm graft for phalloplasty, ’cause those will be coming down the pipeline soon.

In parting, I wanted to mention: Spot’s namesake has actually healed! That dark, discolored spot of dead tissue that gave Spot his nickname? Isn’t there anymore! The skin is all the same color by now, four years in.


He’ll still always be Spot in my heart. I just thought it was interesting. :3

Until next time, y’all!

Hey, all! Been super busy with non-Spot-related stuff so far this year. Hope you’ve been doing well. :3

I had to post today, though, because it occurred to me– I never posted the article I was interviewed for, about a year and a half ago! Consider that oversight corrected.

Feel free to slam your eyeballs against this, if you feel like it:

Last ask of 2018!

Happy holiday season, everyone! Spot hopes you’ve been having a good one.


I’ve still got a little bit of time before the ball drops on 2018, though, so let’s answer an ask I received over the holidaze, shall we? Let’s shall.

R asks:

I really hope that this isn’t to personal or over the line but as I would like to have a surgery like yours one day, I was wondering if your vagina still works. As in can it be penetrated during sex and does it still get “wet”. Again I am so sorry if this is to personal or if this crosses a line.

No worries at all, R! Especially if I’m helping somebody with the info, my experiences are one big open book. :3

And the answer is, it can certainly still be penetrated, just the same as before– the only major difference going on down there is that my outer and inner labia are all gone, used as material to build the extension for my new urethra. My Warp Zone, as I call it, still acts like it always did, self-lubrication when aroused and all. Though it’s worth noting, no more labia means there is suddenly nothing standing in the way anymore around the opening. I was used to having quite thick labia before, so it was a bit of a surprise when my partner and I tried penetrative vaginal sex for the first time, several months after the phalloplasty, and there was suddenly no pause between “your dick is outside my body” and “oh, it’s already in.”

On a related note, you’ve got good timing! I was just rounding out 2018 with an end-of-the-year shave, because I was curious what that area looks like nowadays without any hair. Fresh after a shower– take a look!

vagina is where

Hope this helps illustrate things a bit better, R! Best wishes! :3

I have a question. Where does your penis go when you where underwear?

Since Spot stays flaccid, he’s pretty bendy when it comes to fitting in underwear. He ended up being significantly bigger than I was anticipating, though– I used to pack with a 3 ½ inch packer, so when 5-inch Spot came home with me, I had to replace all my boxer briefs with boxers. Otherwise, Spot was constantly poking out through the leg holes, haha. X3

Genders that aren’t male or female have existed since humans have existed. NB people exist and have for a very, very long time. Don’t let that gross anon get you down. Seeing your transition has helped me figure out how I identify and how I want to be seen, not to mention the body that I want. The opinions of transphobes don’t matter and will never hold a candle to the voices of people you’ve helped. -your friendly neighborhood trans-masc peep

Thank you. So much. I am holding this message close to my heart like a candle-flame right now. My biggest heart hands to you.

Do you think it would be possible to get junk like yours without the urethral lengthening? I read somewhere that doing that can cause complications.

Hm. I have to admit, Anon, this would be a question I’m not sure I’m qualified to give a simple “yes” or “no” to. Scheduling an in-person consultation with a surgeon who has experience with phalloplasty would be your best bet, as far as them being able to tell you what kind of complication rates they’ve had, or if they have experience with that particular combination at all.

I know that when I had my consultation with Dr. Crane in 2014, having phalloplasty with no urethral lengthening was mentioned as an option that *could* be done (just like keeping the clitoris unburied/underneath the base of the phallus was an option), but as it wasn’t something I was interested in, I didn’t pursue it further.

Wish I could be of more help with this question, but I wish you the best of luck on your journey!

Based on how you describe your dysphoria(Ex. How other people see you in public) and the fact that you lied to/got your doctor to lie so that you could get phallo but don’t have any plans to transition any more, kept the “original parts”, talk about getting pregnant like it’s nothing, etc., I’m fairly confident that you just have body dysmorphia and you’re taking advantage of a system that’s not for you. Also, there’s no scientific/medical evidence for “nonbinary,” only against.

Gosh, but I sure love coming back from a social media break to have yet another anon try to inform me that, um, ACTUALLY, I’m doing this “trans” thing all wrong, and I really should’ve just stayed in bed and kept feeling miserable these past few years. Just… [chef kiss] Love it.

Sorry to break it to y’all, but… people like me exist under this great big trans umbrella, too. I’ve met a fair number of folks like me, or those who want to be such, through this very blog. Just because we’re not playing by the exact set of rules *you’re* choosing to take as gospel, that doesn’t mean we’re broken, or misguided, or trying to muscle our way into somewhere we’re not supposed to go.

Have just a *speck* of faith in me when I say that this is how I needed my body to be to reflect who I was on the inside, and that I’m not some pathological liar trying to game the system, okay? My body may not look how you figure it should. But it’s mine, it’s perfect, and I wouldn’t have things any other way, thank you very kindly.

[shakes head] I don’t understand what so many people have against the idea of somebody achieving happiness in their own skin, if that happiness doesn’t fit cleanly within a male/female binary. I really don’t.