This afternoon, exactly one month after my gender-affirming top-surgery, I went on my first post-op hike: a real, 4.5-mile hike with almost 500 feet elevation gain (after a 2.5-mile walk).
One of my closest climbing buddies took me on the hike — or, rather, he drove us to the trailhead and I took us on the hike. Just like the times we rock- climbed (& ice-climbed) together, just like buddies do: each doing their part for each other.
I hadn’t seen him in five weeks. We went rock-climbing together outdoors five weeks ago, four days before my surgery. And to “just” hike together was a new experience for us. We have had some “buddy times” sitting on the open trunk of our car drinking beers or standing in the refreshing creek, chatting after a whole day climbing together. But this was the first time he had ever driven out to visit me and keep me company while I’m convalescent. Not knowing what I’d be up for — at the end he said, “I’m glad to see how much energy you’ve got. I know you were struggling a little while ago and I wasn’t sure how you’d be doing today, what your energy would be”. But he came and visited me nonetheless. This means the world to me from any friend, of course; but maybe I expect it less, or am more surprised by it, when it comes from friends like my climbing buddies who are used to seeing me & interacting with me in “power mode” or in “hyperactive mode”: if these adventure buddies are willing and happy to spend downtime with me, it adds an extra — or a new, special level — to our friendship.
It also meant a lot to me that when we got back to my place, although he didn’t need any food or drink that I offered him, he purposefully switched off his car’s engine, saying, “I’m just switching off my car so I can get out and say goodbye properly and give you a hug” — which he did, giving me the longest, tightest hug he’s ever given me (a very long and tight hug which is unusual for him as he’s not at all touchy-feely). It almost seemed that he’s even more comfortable with me now that he’s seen my flat chest. Which feels lovely — validating and affirming and sweet — to me, especially given that he’s a cis-man.
These friends’ hugs mean the world to me. My friends actually getting out of their cars to give me a proper hug, to show me their affection, to hold me, means the world to me.
There have been many — too many — times in my life when I didn’t feel held. But recently, and throughout the past month, I have felt wonderfully held by many lovely friends. Like the one who came to pick me up from a conference yesterday when I had a meltdown and then drove me to get a hot chocolate and joined me for a walk and finally dropped me off at my place, also stepping out of her car to give me a big, warm, bear hug. Like the friends who have been driving me to my doctors’ appointments & other errands. Like the friends who have been visiting me and hanging out with me for meals and chats. Like the friends who have been calling me and texting me to check in with me. Like the friends (including my cis-male climbing buddies) who have been eager to see my post-op pictures and validating and encouraging my physical as well as mental recovery.
There has been lots of pain and loss in my life and I still am afraid of what might come, especially in some settings or scenarios. But my wonderful friends have made, and are still making, it easier or, at least, less solitary to walk my path(s).
The Little Prince and the Fox 