Facial feminisation surgery was years in the making for me. I’d felt ready for a long time, but I needed to be in a place where I felt supported enough to go ahead.
My wife’s support mattered. Acceptance had been harder before, but things were better than they had been. That helped me move forward with something I’d wanted for years.
The serious planning began about six to eight months before surgery.
Finding my surgeon
I started by researching surgeons. I already had a good idea of what I wanted and felt I needed, but I knew the right surgeon would help me make the final decisions.
I looked at reputation and the surgeries they’d performed. Most of all, though, I wanted a personal connection.
I built a tool using AI to search the web for possible surgeons and put them into a spreadsheet. I filtered by location, insurance acceptance, and other practical considerations. Then I started calling.
I spoke with about nine surgeons and shortlisted three.
When I spoke with the surgeon I eventually chose, she went straight to number one, by a long way. There was no doubt in my mind.
It was her personality, her bubbliness, and the way she spoke to me. That first consultation felt like two people chatting. She knew more about a subject, and she shared that knowledge freely.
It was so easy and so clear. I didn’t feel a distance between us as doctor and patient. There was no confusion—just absolute clarity on so many levels.
I felt so fortunate. I still do. I can’t quite believe my luck.
The spreadsheet outlived the search.
I kept adding to it until it wasn’t a spreadsheet any more. It’s the GA Surgeon Explorer now: 1,115 surgeons across all 50 states, the procedures each one performs, whether they take insurance, and somewhere to record every call and what came of it.
I widened it well beyond facial surgery, because the next person looking might not be looking for what I was.
It sits behind a sign-in, because I built it for me.
Turning the plan into a date
My surgery included brow reduction, blepharoplasty, an eyebrow lift, eye-orbit widening, hairline advancement, fat grafting to my cheeks, jawline reduction, a facelift, rhinoplasty, and lip reprofiling. For my lips, I wanted a surgical change rather than fillers.
Her team walked me through the entire insurance maze: pre-approval, a gap waiver because she was out of network, and then a single-case agreement. I did very little of that myself. Her team handled it all.
At some point, we booked the date.
Then the countdown started.
What I felt was excitement. Absolute, total excitement. FFS would be the first of my gender-affirming surgeries, and it was huge for me.
All those facial procedures would happen in one operation. It ultimately lasted twelve and a half hours.
Five in the morning
My wife and I arrived at Providence Saint John’s in Santa Monica, California, at five in the morning.
We checked in, and I was taken back for the pre-op preparations. We took a few last pictures. My surgeon drew her markings on my face, and then we took more.
I would never look quite like that again.
Everything changed there, that day.
They gave me a cocktail of medications, and things became fuzzy. I remember being moved, then someone telling me to breathe deeply.
That was it. Lights out.
Waking up
My first memories of waking are fragments. I felt as though I was moving, although I might have been completely still. I had no idea.
I felt frantic. I had to get to Providence Saint John’s. That was the thought in my head, even though I was already there.
I tried to get up, and someone eased me back down. My shoulder hurt. I tried to turn onto my side, and someone stopped me.
Everything felt crazy.
At some point, I told the nurse I was thirsty. He started giving me ice, telling me to keep it above my tongue.
I kept asking for my wife.
They brought her in, and she carried on feeding me ice.
The first nights
A man took me from post-op to the ward. I remember him being happy that his shift was nearly over and talking about going home to celebrate his football team advancing in the World Cup. That conversation stayed with me among all the hazy fragments.
Getting settled on the ward felt a little chaotic, although I’ve since been told it wasn’t. I was still full of medication.
My wife stayed with me. There was a couch or cot for her to sleep on—I believe it was uncomfortable.
I slept through most of the night. I have hazy memories of being woken while staff emptied a JP drain and gave me medication. Even now, those memories aren’t clear.
By the next morning, things were a little clearer, although my blood sugar was still through the roof. My surgeon came after breakfast, and I stayed in hospital for another night.
Staff had me get up and walk to help prevent blood clots. I was on a liquid diet because I had incisions inside my mouth.
That day is still mostly a blur.
The following day, my surgeon assessed my blood sugar and removed the drain. Then I was discharged.
I looked like a mummy—all wrapped up, swollen, and, to my eyes, absolutely ghastly.
But I was still so happy.
Back at the beach
My wife and I went back to our apartment on Santa Monica Beach.
So, so, so happy.
I deliberately didn’t look in the mirror. I knew I was a million miles from what the final result would look like, and I wanted to give myself time.
Those first days at the apartment were awesome. We went out and walked a lot. Food was sloppy scrambled eggs, tomato soup, chicken soup, and all sorts of liquid things.
About a week after surgery, I decided to look.
It was rough. I was swollen, there were sutures everywhere, and I still had splints in my nose.
But I could see where it was going.
I was very happy. I knew I was only just beginning to heal.
Going home
At a checkup in her office, my surgeon removed the splints from my nose and cleared me to go home. We left for North Carolina the next day.
Travelling felt a little surreal.
The CLEAR machines didn’t recognise me. TSA took extra time to verify my identity. I couldn’t eat in the airport lounge.
When I got home, everyone ignored the elephant in the room. I was bandaged, swollen, and full of sutures, and nobody said anything.
I loved that.
At that stage, I felt there wasn’t much anyone could say about how I looked that would be positive. I was still healing, and I was glad nobody made my appearance a talking point.
I had to wear a strap over my head and under my jaw for six weeks. That was hard, but I did it.
This was important to me.
Loving who I see
The changes have revealed themselves gradually. The swelling is still settling, and I’m still healing. But we already have an excellent sense of where it’s going.
And it’s awesome, in my humble opinion.
I love who I see now. I love what I see.
It’s a million miles from where I started.