Last Wednesday, I had the first stage of a two-stage urethroplasty using buccal skin grafts.
My follow-up appointment was this past Monday, where the doctor took out my sutures and said everything was looking good.
I can prove it. I have photos.
But I cannot for the life of me describe to you what actually happened during the process right now.
Because there’s been something else going on in the background that I haven’t mentioned until now, but it’s time to bring up.
I’m Gerbil. And I’m an alcoholic.
Last Wednesday was the second time since I started drinking hard liquor daily two years ago that I’ve had absolutely no alcohol in my system. The only other time was a year ago, the six days I was in the hospital for my phalloplasty. And even back then, I rushed to a bar as soon as I could walk.
But, yeah. I was riding a detox high for four whole days after last week’s surgery. I was *radiating* happiness. There’s nothing to describe it besides the feeling I had the last time I detoxed and woke up to see Spot finally a part of my body, and knowing that my body felt whole at last.
I joked with friends that I’d slayed my Final Boss, getting phalloplasty. That it was all smooth sailing from here.
That’s a lie. There is no *Final* final boss, or at the very least, phalloplasty wasn’t mine.
Don’t get me wrong, it was definitely a megaboss! Probably the end of an entire stage of my own personal ‘game.’ But as the months went on, and I kept drinking, gained a hundred pounds, spiraled back into depression… I can tell you, getting a flesh-and-blood working dick sure wasn’t the end.
They took out my catheter Monday morning for the first time in over seven weeks. Just like they warned me might happen for the first couple days, I was wetting myself almost every half hour. All through work.
I relapsed Monday night.
Just to see if I could feel any better drinking a “normal” amount anymore, I rationalized to myself. It was only a couple drinks. (Only. I’ve stopped and started again four times now on the wings of “only” two drinks.)
My doctor gave me the day off today after hearing what I did. “Learn how to pee again before you go back to work. It should only take the one day.”
He added, “You thrive on having good stories to tell people, right? How perfect would it be to say you had your last drink on a full moon, at the Summer Solstice?”
He knows me.
I *do* thrive from telling people my stories.
I’ll give a report on the urethroplasty when I can, I promise.
Right now I’m busy beating down another megaboss. Probably not my last, either.
It’s still worth the fight.
Thanks for your patience. Be kind to yourselves, everyone.