The Risk of Change

Being a mother is difficult. I have always believed with enough unconditional love everything would turn out great for my own kids. So, when Lou, my youngest child, called and told us about their upcoming surgery, I felt honoured when they asked me to come and help them through their recovery. The long drive to Vancouver from Canmore gave me time alone to consider what was about to happen to my beloved child. That’s when the negative thoughts began to creep in about the risks of major surgery. I pushed them back, reminding myself this is Lou’s decision and I loved them enough to help them through no matter what.

On the phone before I had left, their father had asked them, “Are you sure about this?” I cringed, but I was proud of him for asking. It was a question I had been afraid to ask, but it had been in the back of my mind. Lou had replied confidently, “Yes I’m sure.” “What if you regret it?” he asked as a follow up, but Lou said, “Only a small percentage of trans-gendered people regret their decision. It’s something I’ve considered for years and have been on the waitlist for quite a while.”

When I finally arrived at their apartment, I wrapped Lou in a warm hug.

“Where’s Chloe?” I asked.

“Working,” they replied. “I have to pick her up at seven.”

“Can we spend the rest of the afternoon together?” I asked, hopeful for a few hours of quality time.

“Yes, but I have errands to run,” they said. “I just want to make sure we have everything we need in the house before I’m stuck here.”

What I kept to myself was my need for this time together, both of us whole in body and spirit, to calm my own nerves before Lou’s surgery. I felt selfish to feel this way, but I thought it would reassure me to hear about their decision process and hear from them that the surgery would be safe. I love Lou so deeply I couldn’t risk losing them. I kept reminding myself it would all be okay, but doubt wouldn’t leave me alone.

Our conversation as we ran errands was tentative at first, because I didn’t want to slip up and reveal my own fears. Lou would need both physical and mental strength to recover. They didn’t need a weeping, fearful mother. They needed me strong.

As we talked, Lou walked me through how things had happened so far.

“When I first asked about gender affirming surgery, my doctor put me through a major screening process, which included psychological evaluation. Once they were certain I would be okay to have the surgery and that it wasn’t just on a whim, I was put on the waiting list. They asked me about hormone therapy, but I didn’t want that. While I was on the waiting list, there was a change in government and I worried they would stop covering gender-affirming care as heath care. If that had happened, I might have had to wait several years.”

I hugged Lou, my well-spoken, sporty kid who exercised and ate well and took care of their body. They got along with everyone - family, teammates on various sports teams, schoolmates, but were also not afraid to stick up for their rights as a person. Unlike introverted me, my child is extroverted and dramatic. In their early twenties, Lou acted using the name Sonny the MC at several Burlesque shows, and I attended many of their performances. This lovable drag character was friendly and outgoing, full of jokes.

But, I wondered sometimes if Sonny and their comedy was another mask, a way of deflecting the pain they were feeling inside. I recognized there had been physical pain from binding the part of their body they couldn’t connect with, as well as the emotional pain of seeing a body in the mirror that didn’t align with the person inside. In the past there had been major depression and sometimes flashes of anger. It was so difficult to see my child like that, but I understood it came from their pain.

Even knowing how difficult their life had already been at their young age, I still couldn’t push back my own fear of the major surgery happening the next day. I wanted Lou to be happy with their body, yes. But I was afraid. There were still risks such as reaction to the anesthetic, infection, sepsis. No, I couldn’t think about those things. I had to just enjoy having Lou to myself for the moment and feel the joy of connecting deeply with them.

We spent the day together running errands, chatting, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Due to various circumstances, it had been almost a year since I had spent time with either of my children other than on video calls so I was grateful to be there. I kept touching their hand, putting my arm around them, assuring myself they were really here with me.

At the end of the day we picked up Chloe from work and Lou made us all dinner. After dinner, we all sat down in the living room to chat.

“So,” I said, “Are you ready?”

“I need to book a flight out of the country,” Lou said, half-joking.

“What?” I had almost accepted the upcoming surgery as a given, but it looked like Lou was having last-minute doubts.

Chloe hugged Lou. “You’ve been on a waitlist for almost two years,” she said. “Why would you want to run away now?”

“I’m scared,” Lou said. “What if something goes wrong?”

My stomach flipped. Was Lou changing their mind? Were they thinking it would be too risky? I couldn’t lose Lou, I just couldn’t. But this was what they wanted and had been waiting so long for. I examined the special pillows they had ordered to ensure a comfortable sleeping position after the surgery because they said, “sleep and healing go hand in hand.”

Lou revealed they had thoroughly researched the surgery online, had found someone who had recommended specific exercises for before and after, had made connections with people in their community who had experienced the surgery. Lou was ready. I chocked it up to last-minute nerves. And though part of me wanted to tell them to skip it, to be safe instead, I realized I would be doing more harm than good.

Chloe spoke up. “Your surgeon specializes in this surgery. He has so much experience, he’s talked to you about everything. You even saw a psychologist in the early stages. You’re so prepared, and we both know you’ll regret it if you don’t go through with it.”

Lou nodded, and I hugged them too, knowing I couldn’t show them I was also afraid.

“I’m here for you, whatever you decide,” I said.

I could see the weight of the decision to change at the last minute on their face. I knew at that point, risky or not, surgery was the right decision for Lou. Looking back, they had experienced crippling depression over several years, hiding and ashamed of their body as a teenager, using street drugs to numb their pain, and then traveling to Europe and the United Kingdom after graduation, perhaps to escape something they would always carry with them. Our fear of losing Lou in those years had been overwhelming. My fear of this surgery was less.

The next morning, Lou got out of bed calmer and more determined.

“I see you didn’t leave the country,” I said.

“No, I’m good now. It was just last minute nerves.”

The three of us headed downtown, with me driving and Lou sitting next to me, navigating the best route into downtown Vancouver. Chloe sat in the back, silent for the ride, perhaps feeling her own fear. We parked in front of a row of office buildings, none of them looking remotely like a busy hospital. There were no ambulances or people running in and out. There wasn’t even anyone on the street. I spotted a man on the other side, walking a dog.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Right there,” Lou said, pointing to an ordinary looking building with glass front doors. “I have to ring the bell, and a nurse will let me in.”

“We can’t come in with you?” I asked, my voice squeaking with panic. “Will you be okay?” I held my breath, tears threatening to expose my fear.

“Don’t worry, Mom. They’ll take good care of me.”

I pressed back tears as I reached across the seat and hugged Lou.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.” Lou got out of the car.

Chloe got out of the back seat and kissed Lou on the lips.

“I gave them your number,” Lou said. “They’ll call you when I’m done.”

“You got this,” Chloe replied, looking Lou in the eyes. “See you soon.”

Chloe hopped into the front seat as I watched Lou disappear through the glass doors. I fought against the rising fear. This was not what I had expected, but I don’t know if the sight of a big hospital with all the doctors and nurses who could solve any crisis would have made any difference. I had always made sure I had a picture in my head of what was going to happen and last-minute changes to things always caused irrational fears to invade my thoughts. Could they remove me from their life as easily as they could remove this body part?

Chloe sat quietly. She must have noticed my shaking hands on the steering wheel of the car I hadn’t started yet.

“Can we go shopping?” she asked. “Lou wants me to bring them a gift for after their surgery.” Chloe scrolled through her phone. “There’s a Winners and other stores just around the corner. We can leave the car parked here.”

I bit my lip, wishing I could be there with Lou, but thankful Chloe was here and I didn’t have to wait alone. Shopping would distract me and Chloe had reminded me of Lou’s love language—gifts.

I locked the car, figured out the parking meter, and we walked together to the next street.

Poking through the merchandise on so many shelves, I wondered what to get for someone permanently changing their body. Lou loved making things with their hands, and I found a pipe cleaner pencil craft, not too difficult and could be done while lying in bed as they healed.

Time flew as we shopped, and after a few hours of shopping and a downtown Vancouver lunch, Chloe’s phone buzzed. It was time to pick up Lou. We returned to the car and Chloe read the instructions that guided me down a back alley to a green door in a six-space parkade, complete with a dumpster. Chloe got out, pressed a buzzer and disappeared inside the building.

I got out and paced, inhaling the dank, musty smells in the parking area. Alone with my mutinous brain, I pictured the discarded body part in a plastic bag in the dumpster next to the door. All the horror stories I had seen online of botched surgeries and torn out organs flooded my thoughts. I gulped water from my water bottle, pulled out my phone and scrolled to the silly baby videos that could distract me. The cute babies reminded me of my own baby, Lou.

Finally the mint green doors opened and a nurse backed through pulling a wheelchair. There was Lou, awake and safe, and I felt like I would lift off the ground in relief. I hurried to help, opening the passenger door. Chloe adjusted the seat to the angle Lou was to sit at and nurse helped Lou into the car. Chloe leaned in and buckled Lou’s seat belt.

“Are you okay, Lou?” Chloe asked.

“I’m good,” Lou said, smiling.

“I have the care instructions, don’t worry,” Chloe said, hopping into the back seat.

“Did the surgery go well?” I asked the nurse.

“Everything went well and they’re doing fine.”

“Thank you,” I said as the nurse disappeared inside the green door.

I returned to the driver’s seat and got in.

“Hi Mummy,” Lou said, a silly grin on their face.

“Hi Lou. How do you feel?”

“I had a good sleep, much better than last night.”

I smiled, fighting back tears of relief. I gazed at my quirky, loving Lou, still the same person, despite looking high on whatever drugs they had been given.

I stayed for two weeks, grocery shopping, cooking and cleaning. Chloe set up a schedule of what needed to be done, she put medications on the timer in her phone, cooked and cleaned. Two days later, she became ill with a severe case of tonsillitis so I did my best to take care of everyone, including Jocko the cat. While I would have been comfortable doing everything to care for Lou and their partner, I greatly appreciated the wonderful queer community who stopped in to help with cooking, visiting with Lou, telling stories, and most importantly, accepting me.

After two weeks, Lou was still tired, sore and barely able to walk half a block, but the doctor said they were healing nicely. Chloe was healthy and capable of caring for Lou, so it was time for me to head home.

I had no idea I could develop even more love and respect for Lou in their altered form, and I felt a stronger and more loving bond with Chloe. As a bonus, I had become an ally, found a wonderful connection and gained a new understanding of their queer community. Turns out, sometimes taking the risk brings greater rewards and I wouldn’t trade my child, happy, healthy, whole, for the world.

-Vicki Grace

Vicki Grace is a neurodivergent writer living in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada where she is inspired by the natural beauty of her surroundings. She loves all stories that evoke an emotional connection with her characters and their surroundings, especially mysteries and thrillers. She is a member of the Alexandra Writers Centre Society where she has learned much about the craft of writing. An accountant for most of her life, she got a late start to her writing practice but has published a prize-winning short story called The Long Ride in the anthology "Canadian Shorts" by Mischievous Books.