This is goodbye to the old me. Today, I undergo my gender confirmation surgery. This, I hope, will be a defining moment for me. I will emerge from the haze of anesthesia a new woman.

Gender confirmation surgery is the epitome of a life-long dream. I am about to rid myself of the very symbol of my masculinity: my penis. It will be cut open and turned inside out. The head of the penis is made into my new clitoris. My testicles are removed and a fluid-secreting gland in my intestine is attached to my vagina so I can self-lubricate. All remaining skin is then used to make the clitoral hood, labia majora and minora.

Eventually I will be able to have an orgasm and urinate. The only thing I can’t do is have a child.

But those are the graphic details. Imagine what this will do for me: for the entire 35 years of my life, I suffered immensely with a penis that served as a constant physical reminder of my dysfunction. I’ll be back at work in a few weeks fully confirmed a woman. This surgery will make me whole.

So this is a send-off for my penis.

I was born with a penis. It is why, like every other transgender woman, I was labeled a boy. People assume that a penis means I am a man. In the trans community, we never say that we were “born male;” we say we were “assigned male at birth.”

Early in my childhood I knew I was a girl. It did not bother me that I had the wrong thing between my legs. Even as a kid, I knew that some girls just had penises. It wasn’t until kindergarten that I realized, by the way other people treated me, that I was a boy.

At the time my best friend was my schoolmate Maritza. She and I spent every day at school together, in class, at recess. We were inseparable. My parents thought it was cute: their son, at the age of five, already into girls.

I thought she was a girl just like me. I knew I was different, but at the time it didn’t matter.

Halfway through the year, I arrived to school excited for the great adventure Maritza and I were going to have that day. Walking up to the classroom, I was greeted by Maritza’s parents looming over both of us.

They told me that Maritza should socialize with girls more and that because I was a boy I should find other boys to play with – I ran away in tears, my heart and my world shattered. I was a boy.

That day in kindergarten left me devastated. I left for home with my mother, confused. I stood on the step stool in my bathroom glaring at the odious figure in the mirror. I felt betrayed by my own body.

This boy was not me; I didn’t want it to be true. Gazing straight into his eyes, I saw myself shrink away. That night, splayed over my bed, blanket over my head, I cried myself to sleep.

The world no longer made sense to me. What was I? A boy or a girl? I wandered throughout the next few years unsure as to my own purpose, without any certainty about my gender. All that I knew was that I was not like other boys.

This was made all the more evident when I experienced my first wet dream as a young teenager.

It was anything but standard. I was in my bedroom. A man. As I looked around, the door to the room opened. A handsome man wearing a loose open neck white shirt, blue jeans and boots walked in. He offered me a small cake. I ate it and my body begin to change into a woman’s.

What we did next was beautiful, intimate and life-altering.

I woke in my dark room, sweating, heaving and disoriented. I was surrounded by the signs of masculinity: baseball trophies, He-Man sheets and a race car mattress. But I had just been a woman and it was spectacular.

Soon I began to date women. I knew that I was into men, though I never saw myself as a gay man. The girls I dated let me hide in plain sight. I knew that going to the skating rink together or making out in front of our peers would help sell my subterfuge.

I was 16 the first time I had sex with a woman. Ariel was the most forward woman I knew. We met at a local mall and my male friends at the time were fawning over her, even though she had no interest in them.

All I could think about was how amazing it would be to be her — a girl that turned heads as she floated through a room.

Instead, she floated over to me and told me how sexy she she thought I was. Ironically, it was my lack of interest in her that drew her to me. We went to my empty house.

She ushered me inside and was already half-naked by the time we reached my room. My entire body was convulsing and the thought of what I was about to do sickened me. Still, my penis betrayed me and responded to the stimulation. I let her take complete control.

The sex was awkward and disappointing. After she left I went to the bathroom and threw up. The worst part was the realization that I would have to have sex with girls with the rest of my life to appear normal.

Three years ago, I started taking hormones and my relationship with my male body has been forever altered. I take medicine that stops me from making testosterone and estrogen pills that give me breasts, and redistribute fat to my hips, rear and thighs. My skin has softened and my hair growth has changed.

It also atrophies my penis.

Erections become less frequent, and then can stop all together. The process eventually kills off the sperm, effectively rendering me sterile. For me, as a trans woman, the effects to my male genitalia are positive. Having the very symbol of masculinity attached to my body is disturbing. Any time I experienced an erection was, to me, disgusting. It was an all too real reminder of the dissonance I experienced between my body and my mind.

Although I have, over time, come to accept the physical reality of my body, the presence of a penis throughout my life has left me feeling grotesque. I could not look into a mirror without wanting to end my miserable existence. The boy I saw in that reflection, belied the woman I knew myself to be.

But that is all changing. I’m writing this the night before my surgery, which is happening as you’re reading this. My entire body is oddly relaxed. I am happier now than I have ever felt in my entire life. I am going under the knife, in order to correct a mistake made long ago. It was no one’s fault. In just a short period of time, I will be rid of my penis and awaken with my vagina.

ILLUSTRATION BY SAM WOOLLEY

Mandi Camille Hauwert is a correctional officer at San Quentin State Prison in Marin County, California and will be a regular contributor to Ratter. She also co-hosts The Queer Life radio show on KBBF 89.1 FM in Calistoga from 6-8 p.m. every Friday. Follow Mandi on Instagram.