At last I get to discuss
things with a therapist

A Fortuitous Adventure:
or, how I got my first job

by Louise Anne Smithson

Chapter 23

My first appointment with a therapist

In the event, Anne and I didn't go to visit Gran on the Sunday. Karen and Jim decided to drive over to announce their engagement, and at one point Anne and I were going with them, but then Joyce had an important last-minute job for the three of us. She offered us a bonus and promised us to keep the following Sunday free if we agreed to work. I therefore suggested to Anne that we deferred our journey for a week, as by that time I'd have seen my therapist and might better know what to say to Gran. This change of plan also suited Anne, and then Clare decided that she would also like to come with us on the 23rd August.

I also explained to Joyce my intentions to remain in Shrewsbury and undergo formal transition to become a woman. She didn't seem at all surprised or fazed by the news and so no doubt she had already discussed my situation with her daughter. Nevertheless she did take twenty minutes to have a chat with me, asking if it was what I really wanted to do, and was not just a phase that I might grow out of. She meant well, but I was a little put out that she could think that I would make such a momentous decision on the basis of a whim. I did my best to explain to her my resolution and seriousness of mind without losing my cool. Having things out in the open did at least enable me to raise the issue of possible evening and weekend work beyond the end of August with her and also to ask to rearrange my working hours on Tuesday afternoon, when I was due to have my first appointment at the Hospital. She promised to consider me, but thought it best to wait and see exactly what I was going to be doing after the summer, before committing herself.

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I was feeling increasingly nervous about the prospect of my first appointment as the weekend went on. Would the therapist take me seriously? Would she insist on my waiting until I was eighteen? However, I was now quite determined about the outcome. I would try and go through the formal channels and co-operate with their requirements as much as possible, but there was no way that I would ever now revert to living as Chris. If necessary I would have to seek medication on the internet.

On Monday evening Rob and Geoff had got themselves involved in playing some mindless games involving bats, balls and a net. Clare went along to watch them, no doubt excited by the prospect of watching perspiring guys in shorts, but that did nothing for me. I would rather sit at home and watch my nail varnish dry. In any event I was far too wound up by the prospects for the following day to think about other things. I think my elder cousins noticed as before going out themselves they came to my room for an hour to help me choose what I should wear for the occasion, as a way of taking my mind off other matters.

‘Look for something fairly smart, but not too girly,’ said Karen. Remember that you want to impress her with what a sensible, level headed, and above all convincing, young woman you are, but also bear in mind, that she may want to examine you or request some fluid samples for testing.’

‘I don’t exactly feel particularly level-headed or sensible at present,’ I replied. ‘More like a silly little schoolgirl.’

‘Don’t worry we all had to go through the silly schoolgirl stage before we became the mature women that we now are,’ commented Anne ruefully.

‘It is not too late to change your mind if you are having second thoughts, Emily’ said Karen.

‘Oh no! Don’t get me wrong. I’m not having second thoughts about my transition. I know this is what I have to do if I am going to be happy in my future life. I just wish the process of getting there could be easier.’

‘In that case you don’t need to worry; you’ll be fine, just remember everything that we have told you.’

---

Clare, Jenny and I were due to serve a buffet at an outdoor reception over Tuesday lunchtime, but there would be time afterwards for me to go back to the office, get changed and make myself presentable for my appointment. As I opened my locker at work I noticed there was a small card inside. It was just a cheap greetings card with a simple ‘Good luck’ message inside but it had been signed by my three cousins, my Aunt, by Jenny and her mother. Fortunately, I was alone when I discovered it and so nobody saw me wipe the tears from my eye and blow my nose. Nobody could ask for kinder and more supportive friends and relations.

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I went along to Dr Morrison’s clinic the following afternoon, clutching an appointment card and my mother’s letter. I was still feeling very nervous, suspecting that everyone in the hospital must know all about me. I never felt this way these days when I was at work or out in the street. I handed the card to a middle-aged nurse on duty. She ticked my name off a list and asked me to wait. I had another look at my ‘Good luck card’ but put it away unless it made me emotional again and I spoiled my makeup. Instead I picked up an old copy of a woman’s fashion magazine from a pile and pretended to read, so I would not need to make eye-contact with anyone else in the waiting room. The minutes ticked past, and various names called. I began to wish that I had gone to the loo, although I realised that this was a nervous reaction rather than a physical need. Eventually there was a call for ‘Miss Nicholson’. For half a second I was taken by surprise — nobody had ever called me that before - but then I realised it was me and gathered up my handbag and went into the consulting room.

Dr Morrison was a motherly looking woman in her early fifties. She smiled as I entered the room and invited me to take a seat. I sat down carefully, smoothing my skirt as I did so, and ensuring that I kept my knees together.

‘So what can I do for you young lady?’ she asked.

I had rehearsed my opening line.

‘I was born a boy, but cannot bear to live as one any longer. I hope that you will help me to become a girl.’

She did not bat an eyelid. It was as if I had just made the most natural request in the world.

‘In that case you had better tell me a little bit about your background and how long you have been living as a girl,’ she replied in a kindly voice.

I told her my story about losing my suitcase, and working as a waitress, and how for the first time in my life I’d felt really happy, and that after discussion with my relatives had decided that I wished to begin transition to be able to live as a girl full-time. I also told her about how unhappy I was at school, my insecurity and my lack of friends, compared with my new social circle. I embroidered my account a little bit by saying that I had felt for some time that I should have been a girl. I also told her that I had wanted to leave school but my mother was anxious for me to continue with my education, and so we had considered the option of my taking a college course as a girl. I then handed over my mother’s letter, which was supportive of my wish to begin therapy although expressing some concerns about my future.

At various points in my account she interrupted with questions or requests for clarification.

‘Exactly how long have you known that you wanted to be a girl?’ she asked at one point.

‘I suppose I was about eleven when I first realised, although I have always known that something was not quite right with my life,’ I replied.

The first part of that was embroidery, but I believe the second part was true. I chose eleven as I had read one account that this was the age that many children discover their yearning to change gender, although in other cases it might be as young as three or four.

‘In what way do you feel different when you are dressed as Emily?’ she asked.

This was a difficult one; I shrugged my shoulders, brushed some stray hairs away from my face, and then looked down and examined my manicured nails. (I’d deliberately chosen a fairly subdued colour of nail varnish.) She waited patiently for me to answer, which took some time to put into words.

‘I just feel more like me. I somehow feel more comfortable and more confident living and working as a girl than ever I did as a boy. It’s as if I was always meant to be this way,’ I said.

My answer must have sounded a little lame, or at least it did so to me, but she smiled and nodded and continued taking notes.

Next she wanted to know where I was living. Where were my parents? What were their feelings about my transition? Did I have any siblings? She spent some time asking about my relations (or lack of them) with my father, but I told her that I had not seen him since I was three years old, that he now lived in Australia with a new family and that I’d had no contact with him. She then probed my relationship with my mother; how did I feel about her going abroad for the summer? Did I feel abandoned by her? I carefully explained that it was in connection with my mother’s business and that I entirely understood why she needed to be away.

Dr Morrison asked me about my summer job, my friends and the College course that I wanted to take. Regarding the latter, I was glad that I’d spent some time looking it up on the website the previous weekend as I could speak with some knowledge and enthusiasm. I told her that I had ambitions of one day becoming a hotel manageress; the idea of being an air stewardess sounded a little too girly, and I wanted to come over as being a ’serious minded young woman’.

Finally, she questioned me about what I knew about transgenderism and the process of transition, and was clearly impressed that I had done some background work. I did not say too much about taking hormones as I did not want to appear too eager. I did however make it clear that my long-term goal would be full and permanent transition with eventual surgical intervention when I was eighteen. Eventually after about forty minutes she finished taking notes and put her pen down. She must have filled two sides of A4 paper with her closely written notes.

‘Well Emily, I must say that you come over as a thoughtful and convincing young woman. I would be willing to take you on as my patient, but I should warn you that it will be some weeks and several appointments between ourselves and later with your mother before we begin to consider hormone therapy. It is only when I am sure that you are mature enough to understand the implications of what you are proposing to do, and have the support of your mother, will I agree to proceed. You are, after all, still very young.’

‘Thank you very much,’ I replied quietly.

She continued with her preliminary assessment.

‘In the meanwhile I am prepared to continue to prescribe you with testosterone blockers you have been taking. These will remove any urgency concerning the physical changes affecting your body, which might otherwise influence your decision. I am also willing to write a letter to your college explaining that you are undergoing medical and psychological treatment for gender dysphoria, which requires you to live as a female. At least you will be able to continue with your education during your transition.’

‘Thank you Dr Morrison, I could not ask for more at this stage. When do you want to see me again?’

‘I’ll ask the Secretary to arrange an appointment in about a month’s time, by that time the issue of your continuing education should be resolved and your mother will have returned to the UK.’ You may contact my secretary if you wish me to write a letter to the College Principal.’

I got up to go out. It seemed she did not want me to produce any bodily fluids on this occasion — no doubt they would come later,

‘These tablets should not have any effects other than to delay your puberty. If you should later decide to stop taking them your body’s natural testosterone will gradually begin to re-assert itself,’ she said handing me a prescription. ‘If you took them for too long they could impact on your fertility, but there is plenty of time before that becomes an issue and there are a number of other things that we will need to discuss.

I took the prescription, thanked her again and left the consulting room. I was feeling utterly drained by having answered so many questions, yet also elated by the news. I therefore went the hospital café to have a drink and to sit and take stock of what had just happened to me. It was just over six weeks since I arrived in Shrewsbury and yet my life had been turned upside down and inside out in a way that I could not have foreseen, but welcomed nevertheless.

I drafted a text message to send to all those who had signed my card and my mother.

1st appt now over — not as bad as I 4t. Dr v. nice & will help, but transition will take some time. Luv Em. xx

So it was official. I was now embarking on the greatest adventure of my life. The prospect was exciting, and perhaps also a little frightening, but as I overcame each hurdle, I was increasingly sure that it was the right thing for me to do.

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I supposed it was inevitable that I’d have to submit to a number of ‘inquests’ concerning my appointment with Dr Nicholson, by my colleagues at work, my elder cousins, my aunt, and later on my mother. By the end of the week I must have gone over the details of our interview a half dozen times and perhaps as many times again in my own mind. But I never doubted the wisdom of what I was planning. I had the feeling that I was making the final preparations to begin a long and exciting journey. I knew exactly where I wanted to go and had found myself a guide. It was now just a question of getting the paperwork sorted and breaking the news to the remaining members of my family — most notably my Gran.

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The remainder of that week was spent on a mixture of working for Joyce, catching up with various chores at home, and going out with Rob a couple of times. Having once admitted my plans to Rob, I did not discuss them with him anymore. I would have been prepared to do so but he did not ask. He just accepted me as I was, which was fine by me. I think we both realised that it was a summer romance to be enjoyed whilst it lasted, but not to get too close in case one or other of us should get hurt. The fact that he was now able to visit the house, from time to time, provided us with further opportunities to get to know one another so that we eventually achieved a 7 on the Snogging Scale*, but Rob was true to his word and we left it at that. This was just as well, as there were times when I was not sure that I would have had the staying power to withstand a sustained assault on my virtue. Having a boyfriend seemed to raise my status as a girl when we went out together. Other girls of my own age appeared to notice and respect me more, and some of the other waitresses would stop to chat at work, especially if they had seen us out together.

Shrewsbury was not a particularly large town, which for the present was one of its attractions. However, that small town friendliness could change once my transgendered status became more widely known. But for the moment no-one knew outside my immediate circle of family and friends. I realised that I was probably living in a honeymoon period and that things would be more difficult in future, but for the time being life was great and I felt more ready to face potential difficulties as Emily, than as Chris.
*See http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Snogging%20Scale