The Way Things Happen

A semi autobiographical story about a youngster who crosses the fence because of PAIS. I've writen about 5 or 6 pieces of this and will try to finish it in about 7 or 9 pieces. Here's piece number one

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Here I am at 15, I look in the bathroom mirror with my razor in hand, looking, nay peering, through the misted mirror searching in vain for a hair to annihilate… huh, fat chance…

“Nige?… when did you first start shaving?”

A gruff voice from the shower where my older brother resides daily for twenty minutes returns a merry, “about 12 why? Still a razor virgin eh, you little wimp?”

“OK Mr Clint Eastwood — just coz you reckon to be God’s gift” I rinsed the razor and replaced it in the medicine cabinet, not knowing that the first time I would use it would be to denude my legs of the fine downy bumfluff that covered it like gossamer…

I felt wretched, would I never grow up? — would I never have a voice that commanded respect?

I returned to the bedroom and dressed for school — Boy’s Public School — uniform, hated by every boy since 1893 — in this particular school anyway since that was when it was built. Grey flannel trousers and a grey shirt black blazer with red piping red and black tie…. And, thank God we no longer had to wear them after 1st year, a cap that looked like a cricketer’s nightmare.

A voice wafted up the stairs, “Nigel, Jerry, if you’re not down in five minutes, the dog gets your breakfast!”

“Rusty doesn’t like porridge, so your bluff is called mum!” I shrilled back down…

“Less backchat or you’re biking to school and it’s pouring down”

I looked in the mirror again as I brushed my hair and I suddenly focused on the picture on the wall behind my reflection — Karen Carpenter — I realised while my hair was all over the side before I swept it back into a low slung pony tail that I actually looked like her… I was stunned, unable to move til I heard my brother thunder down the stairs like a herd of buffalo — which considering he only had the regulation two legs, was quite a feat — or should that be feet?

If I was any more tardy the porridge would be engulfed by Mr Garbage Bin and I would see only the bottom of the dish.

As mum dropped us off at school, Nigel headed off to the upper sixth form block and I saw him no more that day.

I did however take time to look at myself during morning break — in the scarred and damp scoured mirror that lined the toilet block wall above the sink.

I looked no worse, in fact I reckon I was looking pretty good until I realised that my nemesis was watching from the door..

“Coo, Jerry has a vain streak, perhaps we could help him out with his looks eh?” he called to his cronies, but he backed off as a couple of sixth formers pushed him out of the way and separated him from his support group. He knew that my brother was a prefect and understood the penalty for bullying was severe at this school — he only got to use his mouth and he wasn’t particularly adept at that.

My mind was in a funk, I had twice looked at myself and found that for some reason, I looked like a girl. Hey I was no buff he-man like my brother, but I was average height and rakish I suppose you’d call it — 5’7” and skinny… about 100lbs soaking wet — but it was wiry I told myself, ‘I wasn’t a weed…was I?’ I thought…nah.

When I got home that evening I realised I had spent nearly all day wondering what was happening to me — or rather, what had already happened. I took off my uniform and slid into my jeans and a black sloppy Tshirt — with Led Zeppelin on the front. I didn’t actually like it but I felt I had to show as much teenage angst as possible… and Led Zeppelin was about as awful as I could bear.

I took the band off my hair as I sat at my dresser and let it fall over my shoulders and brushed the kinks out, as I usually did, and slowly oh so slowly I realised that as I brushed, I looked in the mirror and I appeared more and more female — not in a dreamlike sense, but in a real recognition of who I really was, a skinny guy with nice hair, or a slim girl with small hands and long fingers. No acne marred my complexion, no Adam’s Apple sat in my throat, my hair draped like silk over large soft brown eyes. I felt the stinging in my eyes that precedes tears and turned from the mirror to avoid looking into my own eyes…., “Christ, I’m a girl; what do I do now?” I couldn’t escape what I had seen, and I knew that my life was about to change, for what I realised then, I had always known, that ever since I could remember I had not liked who I was, or more really what I was, a boy, a misfit, a gawky geek with no friends.

That day in the mirror I had seen me for the first time and I knew that I was about to become everyone’s worst nightmare, a thing hated by all those who called themselves normal, someone who identified with the opposite sex. I wasn’t yet going to put my words to it because I knew that to do that would be to admit defeat and even though I knew, I was frightened — as frightened as anyone who realises that they hold a secret that will affect lives

Day 2

I sped to school on my bike the next day — a full 30 minutes early — a first in the annals of the family name.

I had had an awful night and had risen with the dawn and showered and changed almost before anyone else had even stirred. I didn’t want them to see me, I didn’t really want to see myself — I knew I was already moving away from where I had been the day before — I felt different — I knew something that no one else did and they would be able to tell. They can always tell — mothers that is, they sense it from another room even, so I kissed mum goodbye before she’d really woken.

“I have to finish my homework so I’ll get to school early and do it in the classroom before the bell” was my excuse for leaving like a tsunami was on my tail. Mum called after me. “I’d like to know what you were doing last night when you were supposed to be doing your homework?”… I took it as a rhetorical question and ignored it.

My real reason for the early start was to see the school nurse — who else could I turn to — who else could I trust? I’d been to see her every year for my jabs and stuff and she was always bright and cheerful and most importantly, she was approachable. I had thought about it all night and I’d sweated and tossed and turned in my bed and overcome my fear. I knew I was different, I needed to know how much.

I racked my bike and slipped into the clinic at the side of the school hoping no one I knew was in there — in a school of 600 boys, you get to know a lot, but not that many.

It looked like I was in luck, just the secretary and a load of empty seats met my eyes as I ‘casually’ stepped into the waiting room.

“Yes young man? Do you have an appointment?” The secretary peered over her glasses trying to appear efficient but looking more like a waspish school marm from the previous century.

“No, I just need a few minutes with the nurse, I need to ask her a few questions, if that’s alright?” I hoped she would enquire no further, I was wrong.

“And what would that be about?” she shot me a stare as if to say “out with it, out with it, boy”

In panic to delay the moment, I stammered, “didn’t anyone tell you,--- you sh-shouldn’t start a sentence with a conjunction?”

“That’ll be quite enough of that, what’s your name and what class are you in? I need to get your file”.

“J Holland miss, Lower 5y,” I added quickly to defuse the situation, I didn’t need her to be an enemy if things were to go as smoothly as I needed. She seemed to have forgotten the impertinent exchange. One to me…

“I have Jerry Holland here for you nurse” she spoke into the intercom.

“Send him in”

The secretary marched in front of me and passed the file to the nurse after ushering me into her office.

“Sit down Jerry, what seems to be the problem?”

“Well, I need some help,” I advanced, I was about to change my life and I felt a bit dizzy with the rush of blood I was now feeling — ‘I wonder how much adrenalin I just fed into my system in the last ten minutes,’ I thought blankly.

“Oh, have you hurt yourself or does this come under the realms of growing up? You look a little pale” She came round the desk and grabbed my wrist before I could answer and started to take my pulse. She looked at me sharply.

“Are you on drugs? Your pulse is going like a steam train”

“N-no, it’s nothing like that” Her face relaxed and she went back and sat at the lounge seat by the coffee table — I sensed she had just turned my nurse’s appointment into a counsellor’s one.

“So tell me, how can I help you?” She offered, pointing me to the chair nearer the coffee table, a more comfortable easy chair rather than the hard wooden one by the desk.

“I don’t really know how to say this”, I started. My mind starting to jumble all the best efforts of the explanations I had devised during the deep of the night.

I suddenly pulled an idea out of the air and tugged the band from my pony tail and shook my hair loose.

The look on the nurse’s face was one of surprise followed by a tenderness that I had never seen except on my mother’s face when I fell down the stairs and opened up my head on the chair at the bottom… “Oh my goodness, that looks very different. Tell me what you think about what you just showed me”. The nurse was canny and had given nothing away.

“Well, I think you got the picture when my hair fell forward, I am turning into a girl aren’t I?

“What makes you say that?”

I held up my hand and marked off the fingers, “Well I’m 15, and I haven’t started to shave or anything , my voice hasn’t broken and I’m just about the shortest and lightest guy in the class.--” I had started to realise just how different I was as I noted the discrepancies in my peer group.

“Well at 15 it doesn’t mean much, but it can make you feel like you’re not making the grade, I expect.”

“Well I’m not terribly good at team sports either — probably because I couldn’t stop a Chihuahua with a sore leg.” The nurse grinned and told me that there’s “not many sports that allow dogs on the team, especially handicapped like that.” I felt the tension ease a little.

“So what do you think we can do about this?” She continued to ferret at my conscience and my self perception.

“Aren’t there some tests we can do or something to see what is happening?”

“Well ok, lets do a physical to start with so we know where we are at the moment,”

I gulped and nodded not trusting my voice.

She looked at me and said quietly “don’t worry, no matter what we find, it won’t get past this door and I won’t write anything in your records until we’re sure about where we’re heading OK?”

I nodded and smiled, inside the churning abated somewhat…a line from ‘the Scarlett Pimpernel’ emerged from somewhere “Stap me vitals” it felt just like some one had !

“Right lets get you stripped off, would you like to go behind the curtain or just drop em right there?” She grinned and made light of my embarrassment. I stripped right there as she popped her head round the door and spoke to the secretary “30 minutes, no interruptions OK?” A murmured assent was enough to confirm my privacy.

At the end of 30 mins she’d tested about everything that could be tested and I was sat there at the desk as she wrote up her notes on her personal diary “this is locked away and I have the only key”, she assured me.

“Ok I’ll tell you what we’ve discovered so far. It appears your testes haven’t ‘dropped’ yet and that is indicative of your not reaching puberty yet. The other signs of puberty are also absent.

I have taken blood samples which will be analysed at the local hospital and I will write your parents a letter when I have all the data back from them. I don’t expect any changes in the two weeks which it will take to get them but if you feel the need to come and see me — please feel free — I’ll let the secretary know that you have priority. Is that OK?”

I felt stunned, “does that mean I’m going to turn into a girl then?” my head was spinning and I felt sick.

“Do you want to?” she looked at me as I squirmed without answering and allowed me to relax before she continued. “At the moment, nothing is certain, nothing is odd, just that you’re a bit late with your puberty, the blood tests will show up any other problems if they exist and I’ll let you know as soon as I can, Ok?”

“Yes nurse”

She wrote the time on a piece of paper — and signed it. “Right off you go to the next period, this’ll give you a clearance for being late”.

I felt worse than I did the day before, my future began to look like a bleak day on the moors — cold and without succour. My schoolwork that day reflected it.

Over the next two weeks I kept checking my nether regions wondering if my late start was going to happen or if it was the end of Jerry as we came to sort of know him…

I asked Nigel if he could remember when his balls dropped — “When I was about 7 “ he said grinning, “you got problems kiddo?”

I just looked back at him and smiled, “nah it’s just part of a survey on growing up we’re doing”, I lied …

Two weeks to the day as I appeared for Tuesday maths first period, the maths master intoned, “right, got a note here, er Jerry Holland, nurse wants to see you, off you go, don’t hang about, and don’t be long, you’re bad enough without taking time off”.

‘Typical’ I thought ‘I’m not in control here and I have to be back before I know how long I’ll be’.

I stepped into the clinic, and lo it was festooned with first year students — booster shots I guess… There were lights in the spare office so I guessed the local GP was doing them. I stepped up to the secretary who just pointed me to the nurse’s office “go right in Jerry” she said warmly — I got more of surprise then than I did from what the nurse said.

“Come in Jerry,” the nurse looked up and smiled, “take a seat” — I was going to say “I wouldn’t have them given” but I guessed the situation called for more gravity.

As I settled she flicked over a few pages and wrote in the margin of one or two. “Right, we need some more tests, and we need to speak to your folks,” I looked at her wide eyed with mounting fear, “nothing to worry about, but we need to make some decisions about your future,” she did her best to calm me, I didn’t respond…

“Am I dying?” I was gripping the edge of the chair to the point my knuckles were white.

“I’m so sorry Jerry, I shouldn’t have frightened you like that. No, you’re ok, very healthy, just a bit tardy physically as we thought. The blood tests showed up with about the normal levels of testosterone but there’s an enzyme missing which allows it to work, it’s causing what we call Partial Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome or PAIS which accounts for your lack of physical progress.”

I was not sure if that was a good thing — but I hoped it was curable….I asked…

“Is it curable?”

“Well we’ll organise some tests, but we need to know what you want to do with your life. We need to know whether you’re a boy or girl inside”

I felt the stinging behind my eyes again, “I don’t know who I am — I never did, I don’t feel like anyone but me,” tears formed in my eyes and slowly spilled over the bottom to run down my blotchy face — nurse passed the tissue box and tried to console me, “We’ll sort it out, don’t you worry, I’ve written a letter to your parents, is there anyone home at the moment?”

“Yeah my mum works from home, she’s a wedding planner”

“Have you discussed any of this with her?”

“Er, no, I hoped it wouldn’t amount to anything.”

“Well I want you to go back to your class with this note for Mr Gregson to tell him to cross you off for today. In the meantime I’ll ring your mum and tell her you’re on your way home — I want you to sit down with her and go over what I’ve written in the letter OK ? I’ll explain to her over the phone what it’s about”

“It’s serious isn’t it?” I looked at her with dread in my heart for the answer..

“Well, I won’t lie to you, it may change some things, but it’s not dangerous and I think you have a wonderful chance that everything will turn out well.”

It didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.

Week 3

I was so frightened of what my mum would say that I almost didn’t go home — but I knew the inevitable would be unavoidable so I submitted to the worst journey of my life — I felt like my bike was a tumbrel and my home the guillotine. (Author’s note: a “Tumbrel” is the carriage that took the nobles to Madame la Guillotine during the French Revolution)

As my key slid into the door mum opened it from inside and suddenly I was enveloped in a warm and loving embrace, “oh my darling., why didn’t you tell me?”

I almost never got the chance to say anything as I half suffocated, clasped as I was to her, she isn’t strong, but she was putting in some bicep effort.

Eventually I was released and she ushered me through to the kitchen and made some tea as I slipped off my school pack and my jacket.

I offered her the letter, which she took with a huge sigh, as if to say, ‘Ok lets see what we are in for’.

She read slowly and she then reread it as she sipped her tea eventually she sat down and read it again. I could sense her eyes glistening rather than see tears.

A few minutes passed and I finished my tea and poured us both another from the pot.

Mum’s lip was trembling a bit and she looked a bit pale — I started to feel sick.

“Tell me mum, tell me, the silence is killing me” the guillotine took another thump.

“Ok, we have to take you for some sort of Xrays and some more blood tests. Then we have to see a psychiatrist.”

“What the hell for? I’m not insane!” I was incensed — I was going to give that nurse what for later…

“Settle down Jerry, the shrink will be able to help you make some decisions, I will too, but I don’t know how to start.. oh God, what will your father say?”

“Decisions about what?” I was getting angry.

“Well it seems you have some choices here and you don’t, if as the blood tests show, that you aren’t responding to testosterone, then it’s likely that you never will, no matter how much they pump into you, and if that’s the case, you will grow up looking more like a girl as that’s sort of the ‘default’ situation.”

“We need to help you decide how to make a decision whether to live as an effeminate man or to undergo reassignment and grow up as a girl.

“REASSIGNMENT???” I stood up just as everything went a fuzzy white then black.

I awoke some thirty years/seconds later with a wet flannel on my brow and my head nestled in my mother’s arms on the kitchen floor…she was rocking back and forth and crying buckets, I reached up and touched her face, “It’s ok mum, honest, it was just such a shock”. I didn’t tell her that the shock wasn’t all bad.

We hugged and let it out for a few minutes then my bum was getting numb from the lino’ so I sat up and we reassembled ourselves.

We looked a sorry pair but we had suddenly bonded, I wondered if this is what being a girl was all about.

Nigel came home and imitating his usual buffalo herd raided the fridge and headed for his room to change… he didn’t notice the subdued pair sitting at the kitchen table.

We had spent the afternoon jotting down all the things we were going to have to do over the next few weeks — and what decisions I was going to be making.

The thing that headed the list was CONFIRMATION…

We needed a second opinion and some X-rays so mum had already phoned the hospital, she had been given a date so far down the road that would have been drawing my pension before the day of my x-ray dawned. So she made a plan of attack and asked the doctor to refer me for a suspected crack in my pelvis — due to a sports injury — and had got a next day appointment… crafty huh?

Being as how that was Wednesday, I realised I would have another day off school — which wasn’t so bad really as I hated Wednesdays — Rugby all afternoon — They still believe wars were won on the playing fields of England… the only wars I saw won were the ones waged against the weaker individuals. I know that it looked like a majority win but some of us were left just that little bit lower on the pecking order week by week. I think I was the only kid in school last year who never needed to wash his kit… I never ever went near the ball. I was the last to be picked in any team event — sure, I knew (I had assured myself) that meant they were saving the best til last, but it sucked just the same.

I sat in my bedroom that Tuesday evening, somehow everything was different. I knew I was heading down a road less gravelled — bumpier and more savage but ultimately more beautiful and more natural (for me anyway).

My father hadn’t been clued in as yet — but mum said she was going to talk to him when they were in bed. She said it would be ok — ‘dad would understand’. I was sitting here with just about every appendage and my eyes crossed that it was so.

I felt like my nerves were stretched and I was on the verge of sobbing my heart out — I was frightened beyond belief. Last month I was just another slightly underdeveloped kid in school, now I didn’t know if I was even in the right school.

A knock on the door made me jump back into the present, “can I come in?” Dad asked softly. My eyes felt like saucers in fear as he opened the door. I searched his face for some sign of his temper. He wasn’t an angry man or homophobic as far as I knew but he was dangerous once a moral line was crossed.

“How are you feeling?” he enquired gently as he sat by my side on the bed. I realised as he sat that I wasn’t even in bed — I was still sat on the edge — and had been for hours…on the edge…

“I’m ok, I guess, just anxious, I don’t really know what to think, what’s happening Dad?” I looked into his eyes, searching for an answer, he put out his arm and even though I hadn’t hugged him for nearly 6 years, I fell into his arms and burst into tears.

My father still loves me. I hugged him till my knuckles were white and I was all cried out — about 4 years by the feel of it — his pyjamas were wet.

When I had lapsed into the occasional hic and snuffle stage, he gently released me and uttered a profound truth, “Whoever you are and whatever you do, I will always love you. You are my child and I will do anything to ensure your right to pursue happiness and love whichever way suits you best.”

The pounding of my heart returned and I smiled at him, “where did you read that one?” I jibed.

“Actually, I said it from here,” he said touching his chest with his palm, “and I mean every word.”

“Good enough for me,” I said with a rueful smirk.

“Night son-er kiddo” he put his hand on my shoulder, “don’t forget to brush your teeth and don’t stay up too late, you need your beauty sleep,” suddenly he winced, “sorry, no offence.”

“None taken, night dad.’ That phrase about beauty sleep had been used by the family for years… it would never have the same connotation.

“Come on Jerry, you need to shower and make sure you put clean underwear on,” came distantly from the kitchen along with the smell of bacon — yum.

I shambled, half in sleep to the bathroom (a silly thought occupied my mind… I would put on dirty underwear? EEEww) where Nigel was just finishing up — he still had no idea what was going on… “morning Jeps, up late playing with yourself again? You should be wearing boxing gloves in bed.” Sibling jokes are disgusting first thing in the morning….

He left me to it and I finished my ablutions and joined him at the breakfast table 5 mins later — which is par for the course if you’re a 15 year old boy… I guess.

“Nigel, we’re having a family meeting tonight and you will be home at 6pm to attend Ok?” there was a business like sound to mum’s voice, Nigel looked at me curiously, I shrugged.

“Sure I’ll be home as per”.

He noticed I wasn’t dressed for school “hey, how come Jerry isn’t going to school?” God, anyone would think that I wanted this interruption to my life.

“Never you mind, just make sure you’re home at 6.”

We ate our bacon and beans. I thought of “Blazing Saddles” and pitied Nigel’s classmates this morning.

…………………

There are few things as evocative as a hospital smell, they speak of birth and death, illness, trauma and pain. They almost never evoke the feeling of improvement or getting better. How miserable is the smell of disinfectant.

We sat having waited the customary two hours in the inner sanctum of the X ray dept.

I had been sitting in one of those awful ‘tie up the back’ things seemingly forever. I was cold and sad.

“OK son, this way, lets have a look at that pelvis of yours” he beckoned, “Well you seem to be walking Ok,” I had forgotten to limp but I guess subterfuge was a lacking skill of mine.

“Hop up on the table and lie flat on your back,” I made an effort to look pained as I moved onto the gurney that was more akin to a morgue slab than a table. Wasted effort, he wasn’t even looking at me

After manipulating me this way and that and “hold still” and “don’t breathe” a few times as the machinery clicked and buzzed, “Right, all done, you can get dressed now, wait outside and we’ll give you an initial impression and send the results to your GP.”

Twenty minutes later, feeling much warmer in my street clothes, my reverie was broken by the x-ray guy returning with four large sheets of film.

He spoke quietly to my mother, but little pigs have big ears.

“Well Mrs Holland, your boy hasn’t got a break, but we will send these on to the GP as there’s something else we’d like him to look at.”

My mother, bless her heart, looked him right in the eye… “which is why we wanted the x ray in the first place, but you said you couldn’t fit him in til September — which is 4 months away. So I lied.”

“Oh, right, so you know about his slight — er — underdevelopment?”

“Well we have an idea, we just need to confirm the problem.” My mother looked him up and down as she spoke. “But we couldn’t get anyone to take us seriously yesterday, so I told them it was an injury”

“Do you know the name of the person you were speaking to?” The lab tech asked.

“A Mr Ashburton” The contrast between his white coat and his face took on a distinct higher ratio, “Oh, that’s me… I am sorry”.

“Well no harm done,” she looked round the empty waiting room, “well I must get on, and I can see you’re very busy.” Contrast altering once more, the tech bid us good day.

Mum suddenly turned to him before he could leave with the x rays…”Would you like me to improve your efficiency even more? I could take those with me — we’re on the way to the Doctor’s now”

He actually smiled sheepishly as he handed them over, “it’s against the rules, but I guess it is ok”.

Mum took me home and then went out again, I guess she’d gone to the doctor’s without me. I really didn’t want to know anyway — I was in pure denial and I was really feeling quite ill with anxiety. I guess mum knew that.

When she came in she made us some coffee and we sat once more in the afternoon sunlight. She reached out and took my hand. “This is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done sweetie, so please let me finish before you start in to me.” I could see the pain in her eyes, this was not good, my heart revved a notch and I started to feel sweaty.

“The doctor looked at the x-rays and said that the size and density of your testes means that you will never be able to mature as a fertile man. That’s not to say that you will be unable to have sex, just that you won’t be able to father children.

That’s all he can say right now until we try to correct the problem with hormone therapy, which is the next step.

The doctor also said that depending on the tests that are already being carried out on your blood samples, the type of Androgen Insensitivity you have will be diagnosed and what they can do will be according to those results.”

“What does all that mean in real terms mum? Does it mean I get to stay a man or what?” the ‘or what’ was what was making my mind spin..

At this point I really knew that even though I was supposed to me a male, I had blown it big time. My nuts were useless and I was firing blanks… not that I’d ever fired anything yet — not even a damp squib… I trembled as the reality hit me…

“Don’t answer that last one, I don’t think I can bear to hear it yet.”

I left the table and sought refuge in my room — I wasn’t crying, but I was hyperventilating and felt very strange. I looked around my room — Airfix models of Warplanes hung over the desk in the corner — relics of my hand eye coordination learning days. A couple of pics of my fave footy team, Liverpool. A poster of the Carpenters… the detail my eye was capturing was probably a result of the amount of adrenalin in my system.

Ah Karen, what did you do to me? I was suddenly in a rage — ripped the posters off the wall and tore at the fishing line that hung the planes from the ceiling, the noise was amazing considering the small nature of the conflict…

The debris littered the floor, and I stood panting with the wing of a bomber in my hand — like Thor with a thunderbolt.

“I SAID, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” came up the stairs when the pounding in my ears abated.

“Yeah yeah, just altering my room a bit,” I shouted back between gulps.

I later fixed the tear in and rehung the Carpenters poster.

I looked at my watch, 3.20pm — the library was still open — I need to get a book about this AIS thing — I hit the stairs at the run — mum stood back as I shot past her, “just going to the library — I need some information…”

“STOP” - I skidded to halt “what do you want now? the library shuts in  ½ an hour and it takes 20 minutes to get there”

In her hand was a book the thickness of a telephone directory. “the doctor lent me this”

I expected it to have the title “All you need to know about Gender.” But it was just “Endocrinology and Enzyme Function Volume 2” boring as hell.

“He said chapter 12 has it all in about you, he’s been reading it all day. It’ll answer your questions better than a published tome about transsexuals and gender reassignment” She looked sad and very deflated. “I’ve just been reading it myself, interesting if a bit dry.”

I looked at her dry mouthed as I realised that that was what I was, a transsexual. Someone with the body of the wrong sex…. But I hadn’t yet worked out which way round I was.

Confused and saddened by my mother’s face and stance, I took the heavy tome from her and started up the stairs, mum put her hand on my shoulder, “It’s ok petal, you’ve got a great chance of coming out of this intact — but maybe not as Jerry OK?

I turned and put my arms around her neck and buried my face in her soft shoulder.

“I’ll be Ok mum, I just need to find where I’m at,” I blubbered into her shoulder.

6PM — mum switched off the TV.

Nigel complained “Hey,” then shut up as he saw mum’s face, “what the hell is the matter round here, someone die?”

Dad was sat at the table with a large scotch with some ice tinkling in it — mum had a sherry.

“Right come and sit at the table Nigel, we need to do this properly. I was already sat next to mum, she was holding my hand.

Nigel rose and sighed as if it was the most onerous duty, spied my hand in mum’s and our general hang-dog expression and blanched. “What’s wrong, is someone sick?” looking at me quizzically.

Dad had written some notes on a pad.

“I’m not going to say much at this point, just three things.

One, Jerry is suffering from a problem that may stop him from growing into a man

Two, he may or may not remain as a male - outwardly.

Three, whatever happens, he,.. or she (his expression as he said she was so painful that I was ready to throw up in anxiety) has our love and our support to do whatever he or she thinks best for his or her future happiness.”

Nigel looked blank for a minute or two, his expression went from sickly green to disgust to pain to incredulity all in a space of less than 20 seconds.

“You mean he’s a freak?” The curl in his lip fired it as a snear.

“NIGEL!!! — that is uncalled for and absolutely intolerable, what a terrible thing to say about your bro- sibling.”

Nigel eyed me, looking blotchy red and white from the rebuke, his anger and unbelieving mind.

My lip was trembling and I was about to have another attack of the shudders, I could see stars in front of my eyes and things were suddenly really far away.

I fell off my chair and was caught before I hit the ground , dad was right there for me.

I recovered before I went all the way into blackness.

By the time I was able to see again, Nigel had gone.

I heard the door slam as he left the building.. “I hope he doesn’t tell anyone,” I looked at mum for support. “No, he’ll keep it to himself for now, it’d be too embarrassing for him to let anyone into this family secret.”

“John, could you look outside and see if you can see him?” Mum spoke sadly across the room to my father as he swigged his scotch, the ice long melted.

“Ok,”

I started up the stairs to the sanctuary of my room as dad closed the door. “He’s only in the garden,” he said quietly. Mum just nodded.

Nigel came back in and quietly went to bed about 10pm, he had got cold outside. I slept hardly a wink — why would I?

I felt very low.

The dregs of morning filtered into the room, another rainy day in paradise..

I wandered into the bathroom for my morning ablutions — Nigel was in the shower as per usual. “Hey — get out - I’m not having you in here with me if you’re a gu-url!”

I turned and went back to my room and waited til he was out. I felt like a zombie.

School that day felt like I was a spy, I spotted my brother a couple of times but he ignored me — worse, he seemed to shun me — like I wasn’t his sibling — I couldn’t find the term other than that to describe me — I didn’t know who I was.

It was becoming too much

It was several days later that I got home and mum summoned me to the kitchen — I felt no better, but I seemed to have reached a point where it no longer mattered.

“The doctor phoned today.” She tried to hook my curiosity.

“He’s organised for you to meet with a Gender Specialist in town.” I looked at her with that pained expression that was supposed to say “and how does this affect me?” but I knew how it affected me… I was after all more girl than boy, right?

“When?”

“In half an hour.”

I nearly staggered backwards with the force of the words. “Well we thought it best if you didn’t worry about it, the doctor can get a better impression of how well you’re bearing up.”

‘My tumbrel awaits’ I thought — jeez I hate that thought… “I’d best get changed then, eh?”

“Just something comfortable,” Mum offered.

We rolled up to the clinic and I sat not really feeling like having an interview with a person who would most likely control my destiny.

“Come on slow coach, get a wriggle on, we haven’t all day,” chivvied my slave master opening her door and bouncing with simulated jocularity onto the pavement.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” I alighted from the tumbrel metaphorically flinging my cloak over my shoulder. “Madame Guillotine awaits.” In reality I felt no such bravado. I wish I could lose this feeling of doom.

“Come in, sit down, make yourself comfy. I’m Julie and I’ll be looking after you” Good start I reckoned.

“Right, how can I be of help to you today?”

My mum handed over my file that the doc had given her. “Jerry is worried about his future and we need to make some decisions about what is happening.” Mum took the lead.

“The doctor says here that you have come to a point that you have a choice to make, but that choice may not be what you want… some choice huh?” Julie smiled at me and touched my hand.

“Mrs Holland?” she started.

“Beth”

“Beth, I need to sit with Jerry alone for a few minutes; is that Ok?”

“Sure, I’ll just be outside eh?” she rose and moved toward the door.

“I’ll be about 20 mins.” The doc said with a friendly smile.

“Right Jerry,” looking at me, she smiled and took in the whole of me, piece by piece.

“Would you like to let your hair down?”

I complied. I think she was formulating a direction and what chances were going to be like, I felt like a prize bull (heifer?).

“First things first, I’m not here to make any recommendations or decisions for you, any decision must come from you, any changes you make to your self or your life are your decision and yours alone. I’m not here to tell you who you are or what you should do. I’m here to guide you to where you think you best feel able to move on and be happy.

Does this make sense to you?”

I looked at her. Suddenly I felt that I had someone here that I could trust, someone who might understand who I was and what my options were. I smiled.

“That sounds great, can you tell me what my options are?”

“Well why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself first, then perhaps you’ll tell me what you’d like to do.”

This was sounding better and better.

I started to ramble and she jotted down the odd note, suddenly she stopped me.

“Right, so what you’re saying is that you feel caught between two stools as it were, frustrated because you don’t know where you fit in?”

She’d nailed it in one. I beamed at her, “exactly, I just want to get on with my life and be happy.”

“So tell me what your life is like, what sorts of things do you like to do?”

I set off again telling her about the books I read and the places I went cycling when the weather was reasonable.

“Ok, so what you’re telling me is that you like to do individual things you don’t group up with friends?”

After 20 mins she stopped me and invited mum back in.

“Well Beth, Jerry and I have been discussing where he feels he is and where he feels he’d like to be and we’ve come to a place where I’d like you to tell me what you feel about things as they are.”

“Well, it’s all come as a bit of a shock, all we really want is to be happy. Jerry is a smashing young man and we’re very proud of him. He’s intelligent and charming and has no bad habits. He seems well balanced and happy — it’s all we can ask really”

“Have you noticed any changes recently?” The doc fished gently

“Well Jerry seems to be shaken to the core with this new problem, he doesn’t know what he wants, and it’s a choice that is very difficult for him — he’s never been in a situation where a decision could change his whole life.

Up to then, he was just a normal kid on the block, just with better manners I guess.”

The therapist paused, looking for some eye contact with my mother. “Beth, it seems your little girl does know what she wants, she just told me while you were outside.

I asked her what she would like to do with her life. She told me,” looking down at her notes to get it right, “I feel that I always was a girl, something at the back of my mind made me do things differently to guys, it seemed I had to learn very hard to be male, but my female friends down the road seem really easy to get on with — while the guys at school are like, non starters. I just didn’t know it until it was forced on me by this hormone thing, I don’t want to upset mum and dad and my brother thinks I’m a freak, but it’s who I am and who makes me happy.”

My mothers mouth was wide open, and she looked at me, “oh darling,” she recovered, “if that’s what you want my sweet, that’s what will happen.”

Tears glistened in my eyes, I had trusted the therapist and she’d come up trumps, I’d told her my innermost secret and she’d let it out with the timing and grace of Lawrence Olivier.

“What about Nigel? he’ll kill me.”

“Well we’ll sort that out later darling — first up we need to get you on the right track and feeling good about yourself.”

The therapist stood up and shook mum’s hand and then mine — “thanks for coming in and I think we made some wonderful progress today. Ordinarily I would not take today as any more than an indication of preference, but the way Jerry spoke and the situation with the androgen insensity, I think it is almost certain that we’ve reached a decision we can count on.”

I don’t want you to rush off and do too much yet, just have some fun with the idea and we’ll get together again in a fortnight , how does that sound?”

We both nodded agreement, and turned to leave. “Before you leave, just see June my secretary first to book you in in a fortnight. That’ll be (looking at her calendar) June 1st” She grinned, “I’ve been dying to use that line for ages.”

Mum hugged me as we sat in the car, “and you never told me and I never guessed,” she smiled at me then sat back and turned on the engine. I was stunned… I had prattled on in the clinic and my world had changed in an hour. I was to be a girl….. for the rest of my life… forever….Miss Holland, spinster of this parish….

I felt like the rain had gone from my life, all those secret fears and hopes were solid, and sat in the palm of my hand.

I said not one word all the way home — I’m glad I wasn’t driving, I would have killed someone. I was spaced beyond that place they called comatose.

Once we got home, I needed to sit and take stock of what I had done, and how my past had caught up to my future.

I remembered the first time I felt as if I should have been a girl — I was about five, I had been at my cousin’s house and she had been playing with some old makeup of her mother’s — she’d teased me about wanting to try it out and when I thought about it, I realised I DID want to look like my mummy. I thought I was just being silly, but then I thought a bit more about it and realised I didn’t want to look like mummy, I wanted to BE like mummy, I WAS like mummy.

It took me weeks to shake that feeling — long after I had returned from my cousin’s place.

As I thought about my life I realised that it had always been bubbling just beneath the surface, trying not to look like a girl, trying not to move like a girl — that unfamiliar feeling of being male — and growing up (thankfully I hadn’t grown too far) not feeling like a guy.

I had watched with interest the girls at the other high school as they budded and blossomed but I’d never really got on with them as a guy — even though a couple my age were living in the street. Carol and Wendy — I’d been to their birthday parties in years past (our ‘rents were friends) and whilst I was friends with the girls, I wasn’t ‘dating material’. I didn’t relate to them as a male.

Mum called me down for tea.

“Come on precious, eat some of that brown bread, it’ll make your hair curl,” I was still miles away

“Shouldn’t I be on a diet now? eat salad and stuff…?”

Nigel “humphed” through his sandwich of chips and tomato sauce. I grimaced watching him shred the loaf and a load of chips with only some Chicken Maryland and peas to coax any nutrients into him.

“Yes you’re right honey, I should be buying more nutritious stuff — you don’t want spots, what’ll the boys think?”

A silence descended on the table, a palpable quiet as everyone suddenly realised what mum had said ‘boys’ I had never thought about it — I would be a girl, so I would be going out with boys, kissing them perhaps and holding their hands.

Nigel nearly regurgitated his tea and spluttered, “you go anywhere near my mates and I’ll kill you! God this is so embarrassing”

I sat with my head bowed, tears streamed down my face, I didn’t know if I was ready to think about boys…. Not in this lifetime anyway….

Dad had been quiet and sat just taking in what was going on round him.

He spoke up, “look Nigel, it’s not what any of us wanted for Jerry, least of all Jerry, but we need to be sensible about this, no one did anything to cause it, it just is. Jerry will not be able to grow up male if what we know at the moment is true and we will have to accept it. Now if you can’t accept it then just keep quiet and ignore what’s going on like you have for the past 4 years. You’ve had no input into this family since you got into long trousers, so if you don’t like it, you can continue in the same vein”.

“Always the same — Jerry this, Jerry that… I just got left to my own devices..no one cared about me.” Mum looked stricken as Nigel came out with a tirade that smacked so sincerely of infant tantrum.

Dad’s voice rose with his colour, “that is patently untrue, and you know it, now apologise to your mother before I ground you, big as you are.”

“Yeah yeah sorry, I just feel a bit left out that’s all — I’ve not had much time to take this in.”

Mum looked over at me, “are you coping ok pet?” I nodded through my tears as I continued to eat — I had to do something, I couldn’t just sit here watching the family fall apart because I had turned into a circus act.

“And don’t think this is any of your fault,” mum said as if she could read minds. “You just take care of staying happy and we’ll worry about the logistics. Nigel dear, I promise you this; this will not be easy for any of us but we’ll get through it because we are a family and you know we all love you.. including Jerry.”

Nigel looked a bit sullen then perked up a bit, “hey if Jemima here gets some friends, she’ll be bringing them home won’t she? This might not be so bad after all.” All of a sudden he was full of female personal pronouns.

I watched telly for a bit, then decided I’d had enough of today, and said my goodnights, mum and dad both gave me a hug — which was something of a change, at least it hadn’t happened for about 6 years.

“By the way, while you’re thinking about sleeping, how about mulling over some nice names for us to call you, we’re not going to get away with calling you Jerry for much longer if the writing on the wall is being read right”.

I said immediately, “Jenny, I’ve always thought of myself as Jenny”. Dad’s eyes were as round as the buttons on the leather chair he was sitting in.

“Ok, goodnight Jenny, sleep well”. Dad’s eyes were glistening in the TV light.

I thought I’d be up for ages but the next thing I knew mum was shaking me — “go get your shower before Nigel gets in there.” She told me she’d looked in the night before and found me out like a light. I spent a couple of minutes relating the thoughts that had been going round my head about my relationships with Wendy and Carol up the street, then headed for the shower.

There wasn’t much happening at school just the regular routine. I allowed myself to slip back into it and relished the quiet before the inevitable storm. Nigel steered clear and the bullyboys didn’t take any notice of me — the weather was warming up and the games field was drying out, so the cricket pads were on and lots of sports were in session at break time.

About a week later, I was summoned to the nurse.

“Hi Jerry, thank you for dropping by, I have a letter for your mum and the doctor has told me all about the prognosis.”

I backed out the door with my hands over my ears — I didn’t want to hear anything while I was still at school. The nurse chased me out and said, “at least take the letter home with you.”

I grabbed it and ran. I presumed the news would now go into my file and the secretary would have some gossip to spread. It was unfair of me, it never happened, she kept it close to her chest. For that I am truly grateful.

I wasn’t over keen on riding home that evening, the letter was burning a hole in my jacket and I hadn’t even looked at it. If I had I would have noticed that it was addressed to me!

It was a copy of the one that my mother was reading at the kitchen table as I got home.

We read them in silence, both of us resigned now to the changes that were about to ring on the Hollands.

“So you have a little surgery to undergo petal, more time off school. And some pills you’re going have to take for the foreseeable future.” I wasn’t happy but it was an answer.

“Don’t forget you have to go see the therapist tomorrow,” my heart lurched again, it was all happening too fast. “It’s Ok, I’ll come with you.”

“I should hope you will,” I looked at her like she might abandon me any minute.

“It says here that the changes will take up to 2 years just like a normal late puberty.” I didn’t add the other parameter; Female… my FEMALE PUBERTY. God I was going to throw up — I really wasn’t prepared for this.

“So how are you today Jerry?”

“Oh fine, just so you know though; the name will be Jenny — Jennifer Kirsty Holland.”

Julie smiled and immediately scrubbed out my name on the file in front of her and pencilled in my new name. “Jenny it is then, that’s wonderful that you’ve come to terms with your change already.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t be curable with testosterone?” I asked knowledgeably.

“I didn’t, but it’s a pretty rare syndrome and it’s usually pretty cut and dried if you have it, I just didn’t want to give you a zero chance in case you were disappointed and had to stay Jerry.” She smiled and so did I, she had me bang to rights.

“I’m not going to go on much this session, I just need to know if you have any misgivings, or areas where you need some information?”

“Loads, but I’m going to lay low for a few days until I get used to the idea, I only found out for sure yesterday.”

Julie invited mum in and continued. “The endocrinologist has sent me these initial prescriptions. We normally wouldn’t be giving you anything until you are 16 minimum but the result of your tests have proved this to be PAIS which is not like an ordinary transsexual inasmuch as you have no glands producing any regulatory hormones that can be processed, so we’ll have to supply them for your system for the rest of your life.” She looked at me for a reaction, I paled a bit but I was generally ok with it.

“The scrip will bring your female hormones up to normal levels for a girl entering puberty — you won’t see or feel much difference for a few weeks probably but you will get emotional swings so stay where you can be comforted or not get into a panic for a while until you can recognise the swings because they are pretty wild sometimes.

Your body is crying out for these hormones and you’re going to get quite a kick out of them. Now its five weeks til the end of term and summer hols,” she continued quickly. So we’ll be able to get you pretty much on the road to normality by New Autumn Term…” She looked me straight in the eye again. “You know what that means?”

I gulped down my dry tongue and whispered, “Girl’s High School?” she nodded and handed me the scrip. “These are yours, mum will make sure you take them, but it’s your prescription, make sure you do as the scrip tells you. Oh by the way go to the pharmacy over in the next village ‘til you get your name changed. It might be wiser to keep the nosey parkers out of it at least for a while”.

Mum volounteered that she’d get her sister to pick them up and bring them over on a monthly basis as they had a standing meeting at the volley ball club where they could pass them over. Clandestine drug handling — I wonder if the other club members will ask them for some…

It was over, I was set up — now the real ‘fit hits the shan’. The clinic had supplied the initial prescription so I sat cradling the pills all the way home reading all about what to do if I get vaginal bleeding or excessive stomach cramps from them…I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. I laughed. Mum and I stopped on the way home and had a coffee at the local mall and she bought my favourite cake for tea. I took my first pills.

Saturday was as rainy as hell, and it was cold considering we were into June. I sat with mum and we discussed what was next.

Dad was trying to get the lawnmower going and every so often we heard a clatter and loads of smoke issued from the shed…

“John, you’ll suffocate yourself, leave that contraption alone and come inside, I want to discuss something-ing.” I never knew you could get an echo from a brick wall — but mum managed it every time she called John from that tin shed.

He ran across the rain soaked lawn as he wiped his hands on an oily rag (odd how rags are oily even when they’re clean huh?). “Wazzup?” he queried as he shook the rain off his glasses.

“Come in and sit down, we’re working out how we’re going to sort Jenny’s clothes.”

I still shivered every time she used my new name.

Dad perched on the end of the table and said, “colours in one and whites in the other wash, same as always” mum clobbered him with the tea towel , “you know what I mean”.

“You’re asking me for a blank cheque?” he clutched his breast like he was having a heart attack rolling, his eyes back into his head, then put his hand over his wallet pocket. “Will we still have brown bread and butta for us tea?” I was beginning to think things were returning to normal. The air was light with joviality and we were happy again.

“Well how much do we need to spend initially? Can she get away with a few tops and some jeans for a while until we know what sort of growth to expect?”

Suddenly I was in tears, everything was too much. I sobbed like a bereaved widow at a funeral.

Dad’s face looked puzzled, mum’s wasn’t, “lo and behold your daughter — her first mood swing caused by being happy, expect this regularly on soap operas, cute bunny adverts and chick flicks. Oh and don’t expect to be watching sports on TV if Jenny is home, she’ll be wanting to watch the cookery progs! !HAHAHA” she started giggling and I suddenly stopped crying like a tap was turned off.

Dad smiled suddenly, “hey! it may be ok, I think this may be covered in my health policy”.

We headed for the mall in the next town and I had made myself look as presentable as possible, hair down and white T-shirt smartest jeans, clean trainers. I wasn’t ready to wear makeup.

We settled for some nice trainers and some flat shoes, a pair of 1  ½ inch heeled court shoes and two pairs of sandals brown and white. My nicer socks could be salvaged my undies were binned. New undies. Now, I was used to briefs and not ‘y’ fronts but since I had to undress in school, I had to wear kinda macho ones. I hated them since they always looked empty — well I wasn’t well rigged was I? I got three tops and two pairs of girls low rise jeans which were a bit loose round the hips but mum assured me they would fit in no time.

We wandered through to the bra section, I suddenly ground to a halt, “do I have to?”

“Well actually yes, you do and you’ll thank me in a couple of weeks, she grabbed a tape measure of the end of the rack and measured me round the chest. Size 12. “Good easy to find 12. We’ll start you off with an AA and that’ll be it. Just the one for now. You don’t need to wear it more than a few hours at a time when you get home from school. You’ll soon tell me when you want to wear it, believe me.”

I looked at her puzzled then realised I was scratching my chest above my left nipple.

I coloured up and mum looked me in the eye, “starting already, isn’t it?”

I nodded the affirmative. I’d been itchy all morning- it had only been five days since I started the pills.

On the way out mum noticed a nice little full circle denim mini and held it up to me, just as the girl from down the street, Wendy walked past with her mum…. “Oh my God mum, she’s seen me”

Mum turned and looked at Wendy and her mum, smiled and said “hi, fancy meeting you here, are you finished shopping or ready for a break? I’m dying to sit down”.

Before we could whistle ‘Dixie’ we were all seated round four coffees. Along with all my shopping — Wendy was eyeing me like I was about to accost her and her mum was looking at me like I had some infection.

“Guess what, we’ve just discovered Jerry was misidentified at birth — she’s just starting her puberty and it’s all of a rush ….”

Mum sat back to let the news settle in, we watched the two goldfish for a minute or two.

“What exactly do you mean?” Wendy’s mum raised one eyebrow suspiciously.

“Denise, how long have we known each other? Nearly all the lives of these two isn’t it? You know Jerry was always a bit of a softy and more like Wendy in temperament and we even mentioned it in conversation a few times”.

Denise nodded and looked like she was a bit embarrassed — nothing unusual there — it seems I’m a gorilla in the kitchen at the moment, no one wants to discuss me or my future once they know things aren’t right.

Mum continued, “Well we have a diagnosis from the doctors that show that Jerry was born with a condition that covered her real gender — physically showing her as a male externally but not her system which we never guessed until her puberty didn’t start.”

“You mean Jerry is really a girl?” Wendy’s eyes lit up like she’d found a ten pound note in her pocket.

“Yes Wendy, she is and always has been,” mum patted the back of Wendy’s hand as I looked carefully from one coffee drinker to the next. Denise looked puzzled and mum looked pleased that there hadn’t been a scene — disaster averted by quick thinking — safe, I hope and pray. Wendy looked ecstatic like she’d been given a life sized Barbie for her birthday — I found out later that was precisely what she’d been thinking…

It meant that Denise would be contacting Carol’s mum as well and I wouldn’t be immediately blacklisted as a deviant who liked to wear girls’ clothes.

My heart resumed normal rhythm and I felt the sweat drying from between my shoulder blades.

We finished our coffee and headed for the car. Our parcels slowing us only a little — hey I was quite looking forward to trying some of this stuff. I thought of all the times I’d wondered about wearing girls’ clothes and to this day I never had.

We made a side track to the chemists and mum bought some bits and pieces for my hair and some decent shampoo and conditioner… even though I looked after my hair better than most chicks already.

When we got home dad was just finishing screwing a lock to the bathroom door. I coloured up a little — looks like my days of walking in on Nige and vicky verka were over. Then I thought of the underwear in my bags and coloured up even more.

I threw the bags on the bed and mum jettisoned her cargo by the closet.

“Um, I think now is a good time to throw out anything that resembles worn or damaged clothing, anything that is too small and ALL your Led Zeppelin Tshirts..”

“I’ve only got one”, I answered, pouting slightly.

“My God it must be rank by now, it’s never off your back.”

“I hand wash it nearly every day mum, leave it out, I hate to smell like I do.”

“Er, haven’t you noticed chicky?”

“No, what?”

“Take your T shirt off and smell it”

I did as she bid and realised five days after I started HRT, I no longer smelt like Jerry, I already had a softer more gentle smell. I sat on the bed as the tears welled and looked up at mum, “a-already?”

“Already Jenny, you’re already on your way”

I sat there for an age, staring into space.I could feel the distance between my mind and my body, I struggled to bring them together. Mum gave me a little hug and said she was going to make some tea, “pop on your new jeans and a top and come down. Remember I bought some bee sting as a treat”.

I smiled and nodded as I zoned back in.

Ten minutes later I hit the bottom of the stairs as Nigel opened the front door. “Jeeezus, what do you look like?” he shook his head derisively

“NIGEL! In here this minute!” Mum was not amused.

He walked in ahead of me with a sneer that would make a nazi shudder. “My faggot of a brother looks like that and I get the ear pounding?”

“SIT, and don’t say another word.”

I had backed off to the wall and was shuddering. I was trying to gnaw off my knuckles in total anxiety. My family were fighting and it was all my fault.

“Jenny come over here petal and sit at the table, I want Nigel to see who you really are.”

I looked at her puzzled, and walked as if I was heading for a cliff edge. I sat at the table.

“Right sunshine,” mum looked at Nigel and continued, “now tell me what you see as so odd about the girl sat in front of you?”

“Well it’s my brother for a start, and “she’s” as flat chested as”… he stopped, “my God he isn’t flat chested, I can see her nipp-“ he stopped again. “his face, hell what have you done to him?”

“When was the last time you looked at your brother?” Mum questioned quietly but insistently.

“I never looked at him, not really,” his voice had changed to a strange quiet like he’d never seen who I was. “I just thought he was a nerdy little oxygen thief who needed a big brother to keep him from getting beaten up cos he was so wimpy.”

I’m sitting looking at him by now with my eyes as wide as a Guernsey cow, the tracks of my tears showing on my skin as they ran past the corner of my mouth.

“Give your sister a hug Nigel, I want to see you accept your sister properly.”

I looked over at mum with a stunned mullet impression. Sister….

Nigel got up trying to look pained but I could sense a sort of fear in his eyes as he approached me. I stood to let him wrap his arms round me, which surprisingly he did.

He spoke softly to me, “I’m sorry Jenny, I had no idea,” suddenly he stepped back releasing me, then stepped forward again smelling my neck, “are you wearing perfume? No you’re not are you? What’s that smell?” His eyes went as round as mine and I saw mum wink as she sat smiling and stirring her tea slowly.

“That Nigel, is your sister’s own personal smell, get used to it, it’s going to be in the bathroom and all round this house,”

Nigel looked in wonder at me, “You ARE a girl, Christ you even smell like one, you’re actually quite nice looking too. Why didn’t I notice that before?” he smiled then softly, “This might not be so bad after all. I can get used to this.” Looking at his watch. “Can I go get changed mum, I’m meeting Graham and Peter to hang out and I’m gonna be late if I don’t shift?”

Mum nodded and smiled at him, “don’t be late home and don’t slam the doo-” BANG!

Too late…

I spent the rest of the weekend clearing out my room, stopping now and then to shed a few tears. Did I want to destroy my past? No I didn’t. I was still me and I had a right to my memories as Jerry. But I did throw out my footy boots — and strip — I smiled at that — it was two years old and looked brand new. I also threw out my models which seemed a bit childish to have now — I wondered why I bothered.

There were a few model cars I kept, a Jag mark 10 and a Porsche Carrera. I still loved luxury and power — things I could use even as a girl!

Monday back at school was weird. Nigel went with me to my first class and told me as I went in that he would see me at break. I felt like I suddenly had a protector. I told him not to bother, but he looked concerned and whispered to me, “what if someone smells you?”

I looked at him incredulously, “when was the last time anyone went round smelling other boys?” He looked like he’d turned into beetroot.

I saw him at break but he was over the other side of the quad — trying to look nonchalant but keeping his eye on me. I felt very loved at that moment. Even when my nemesis, Stanley, thought he’d come over and give me some lip I didn’t turn a hair.

I just looked from him to my brother and he followed my eyes and saw the gaggle of prefects with my brother near enough to grab him before he even got a chance to draw breath.

When I headed home that night Nigel saw me onto the bus before he went into town with his mates. Sometimes it’s nice having a big brother.

When I got home I headed for the shower and to inspect my growth — which seemed to change on a daily basis. I was sore and it was just coming up to a week since I started my pills. But there didn’t seem to be much growth just a sort of lump at the back of my nipples and an itch like a rash above my left breast.

My face did seem softer but I think that was because I no longer seemed angry all the time. My skin felt odd, but I doubt there was any changes in that.

The rest of the week was strange, I felt like I was in limbo, waiting for something to happen that might signal my new status. Mum and dad kept it quiet and I allowed myself to relax.

That Friday afternoon as I got off the bus, Wendy and Carol were there waiting for someone. I glanced in their direction and they waved at someone near me… no - it was at ME!

They came over and said hello as the bus pulled away, the guys on the bus ogled my friends — I was sure to catch some flak later.

As the other passengers dispersed, I realised they intended to walk with me — they did, one each side.

“I’m so sorry,” Wendy started, “I told Carol about your changes, why are you still dressed like that?” she scrunched up her nose in distaste.

“I expected you’d tell Carol, I don’t mind, it’s who I am now, which answers your other question.” I indicated my uniform. “I have four weeks to go until we break for hols, there’s no way I can stop the ball rolling now — we have exams in a week and I need to get good grades if I’m to get into High School in a good stream when I change over after summer.”

Both girls squealed like a car on a tight corner, “You’re really coming to High School?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m going to be more girl than boy after Hols, what’s the fuss?”

As I said that I suddenly burst into tears. I wasn’t sure if it was joy or anxiety, or even just release I just stood there as the two girls hugged me gently to them, “It’s Ok Jenny, we understand.” I think they did too.

When my fit had subsided, we continued on our way and when we reached my house I stopped, “You want to come in and see my etchings? Or just share some coke and a few bikkies?”

“You couldn’t stop us if you wanted to.” We went in.

Mum was home and to my surprise dad was too. In the hall was a kidney shaped dresser done in enamel — I realised it was for my room — things were on the move.

Dad had his painting gear on… I suddenly looked at him and said “Not PINK?”

“No, it wouldn’t match the carpet and I’m not buying you new carpet, I’m doing it pastel green — which is a lot better than the gross purple colour at the moment.”

The girls looked a bit sick when Dad mentioned purple and we headed for the kitchen.

We chatted for a while, bonding I suppose you’d call it and they left asking if I was going to the mall over the weekend — I declined — I had exams next week and I really did want to get into High School with good grades.

I spent the weekend in the dining room with books everywhere trying to concentrate on making my life as easy as possible — mum told me I was doing the best thing possible — not dwelling on my situation too much, just making the best of it and looking forward.

I had to stop on Sunday afternoon to allow my fact swollen brain to recover. I found my concentration skills were a lot better than they had been previously — I wonder if the HRT helped there?.

Exams …. Hell on Earth …. Well not really, but I needed to study for them so I wasn’t as cluey as I could be — my IQ was reasonable but study is what counted in my life. Nigel had it worse — he had the real things to do — his university entrance was dependant on him making the best grades possible — he wanted to be an architect — good luck to him — I think he would be good at that.

It was quite fortunate that I didn’t have any exams on Tuesday — as I had to go back to see my shrink, June the 1st had arrived.

“Hello Jenny, nice to see you again.

“Now where were we last time? Ah yes, you’d made the decision and you felt in control and happy to be who you thought you were?

How are the hormones affecting you?” she looked at me scratching my chest above my left nipple — why is it only there that itches?

“I cry a lot, I itch a lot and I seem to be going to the loo a lot.”

“So you’re feeling emotional? What does that mean to you?”

“I suppose it means the HRT is working and that things are happening the way they should”

“How does that make you feel?” She looked intensely interested so I put her out of her misery.

“Actually, I feel great, my folks are being really good — I got a load of new clothes and two new girlfriends and my brother no longer treats me like a leper, just more like a potential dating agency”

“Two new Girlfriends?” She frowned slightly.

“Oh I’ve known them for years, even used to play with them when I was younger. We’ve just re-met now that my future lies more in line with theirs”.

“So they know you’re transitioning?” smiling now.

“Yes I met one of them, Wendy, in the mall when I was shopping for girls clothes with mum. So the cat was out of the bag so to speak- I didn’t mind, I’m comfortable with what’s happening.”

Julie invited Mum in, “Hello again Beth, quite a change going on eh?”

Mum nodded and was about to speak, Julie interrupted. “I’d like to say that Jenny has got to be the most level headed girl we have had in this situation, she’s really doing so well, it’s a real credit to you.”

Mum smiled and looked at me with that gooey sort of doting mum thing that would have made me sick about a month ago but I felt warm in the glow of it now.

“She’s been a little angel, I am so proud of her” I felt dizzy, mum seldom got gooey, but she was lost for all money now.

More to the point was all the pronouns flying round were making me dizzier still. She this, her that, I thought the gooey was bad enough.

We suddenly got the impression Julie was about to rain on my parade.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss that puts us a step closer to the mark. It’s called a bilateral orchidectomy.” Julie looked at the two vacant faces in front of her.

“Oh, I see that’s something that hasn’t been discussed,”

I turned pinkish I guess because I could feel the heat radiating from my face, “um -actually I do know what it is, but I thought I wouldn’t need it and the realisation was a bit of a shock, hence the suspension of sentient thought and movement”….

Julie smiled at me, “I think I can understand what’s going through your mind; bricks and camels and not getting your thumbs caught?”

I nodded and gulped — I felt the heat draining from my face.

“Well there’s two reasons that we need to do this, one is the fact that sitting where they are is dangerous to your health, it is quite easy for them to become cancerous if they can’t get the cooling needed from being outside your body. The other reason is that they interfere somewhat with the new hormones circulating your body and you may end up with hair where you don’t want it — even if you are androgen insensitive.”

She looked at the notepad in front of her, she’d obviously been charting this line of attack; I tried to see what she’d written but without actually going over and grabbing the pad, I couldn’t see the top sheet.

“The operation itself is a day surgery and should be relatively painfree.”

I looked askance knowing full well that getting kicked there was not “painfree”, far from it, and removal of said redundant machinery was likely to be no less painful than a kick.

“I have noted from your x ray that the situation is not going to be awkward and the size of the testes will make it simpler and less traumatic.” I was feeling sick by this time and Julie could tell I’d reached the limit of my imagination.

“Well I’ll let you discuss it with your family if you like, but I think that once your exams are over and before the summer holidays start, would be a good time, sometime after next week — between Tuesday 7th and 10th, which is a Friday of course can be scheduled then a couple of days off for the weekend and you’re ok to attend the end of term stuff at the Grammar school. How does that sound?”

“Rushed,” was my last word. But I knew I was doomed — it was common sense.

“Oh by the way, before we finish, all your medical records have been removed from the school already and your GP has them — stops the gossip.” She affirmed.

Beth, get back to me when you’ve reached a decision and we’ll confirm things, and Jenny,” she looked at me with genuine concern, which reminded me of the adage ‘the condemned man ate a hearty meal’, “It’s your decision and yours alone, we’re trying to recommend what we feel is the best action and we’ve got your best interests at heart to be able to get on and for you to transition over this summer. It is going to be far easier if we can organise it that way — the less other people know, the better it is — education in this area is limited and people think all sorts of things when they get gossip. You do understand don’t you?”

I plonked myself back into the chair, I had already risen preparing to leave. “I know this sounds weird simply because it does to me as well. I’d like to get it over with as soon as possible as well, it’s just such a sudden thing. When I think of all the times I thought about being a girl and how I wished and wished for it, now I’m baulking because you want to make it happen, albeit by losing something that last month I thought would be producing heirs; now they’re a risk factor.” I took a huge gulp and watched as the sparkles in front of my eyes dissipated. “If I come in next Thursday, can you do it then?” There, I’d said it.

Mum looked shocked and I saw Julie shake her head slightly as if to say ‘don’t say anything.’

I looked at Julie, she looked sombre as she took out her diary and phoned the clinic.

“Hello, yes it’s me, about Jenny Holland, how does next Thursday fit?” she listened for a minute and continued, “Right 10.30am, no food or drink after you go to bed on Wednesday night — be in the clinic by 10am.” My fate was sealed.

I had my last exam on Tuesday morning — so I got to fool around that afternoon and the next day. Then Chop…

Everyone would be wagging school anyway and no one would miss me… not that it mattered, I wasn’t going to be there next term… Good riddance, I hated that school anyway….

Tears flooded my eyes as I got angry — I wiped them on my sleeve, furious that I’d let myself go again. Being a girl wasn’t easy with the taps so easy to turn on.

Julie closed her diary, “shall we say the 21st for another chat?”

Mum nodded and rose from the chair, and grabbed me for a hug — I could see the tears in her eyes and the gritted teeth. She was feeling it too. I can’t imagine what dad would say or think when we told him about this one.

“You’re a brave girl Jenny, I want you to know that I wouldn’t normally have recommended such speedy action if you weren’t up to it. I have to say you’re a spunky kid.” She reached out to shake my hand, I reciprocated, then she pulled me to her and gave me a hug for good measure.

I left feeling like I’d been given a reprieve and a painful kick at the same time. Mum looked like she just got the kick.

We didn’t speak until the kettle was on back home. I treated myself to a Mars bar from the fridge. I needed the sugar boost.

“I have to go soon mum, I have my Geography exam this arvo — 1.30 to 3.30.”

Mum sat stirring her tea a bit vacantly — looked at the clock and told me she’d take me and not to rush. It was only midday.

My Geography exam was easy, but I’m not sure I got a good grade, my mind wasn’t on it and when I looked at my scribble pad it was covered with spiky doodles. I handed the exam paper in on the bell and caught the bus. I threw the doodles away. Nigel sat with me.

“How’s it going kiddo?”

“Ok I guess, I had to go to the shrink this morning.”

“What did she say, that you’re too flaky to be a girl?”

“No, just that I had to have my balls removed next Thursday,” I looked at him for a reaction and he went a sort of grey colour and started shallow panting, “You’re kidding right?” I shook my head, “no, I’m serious, 10.30 at the clinic.”

I’ve never seen someone go into shock, but I think Nigel just had, he’d screwed up into a ball and looked like he was about to vomit, his eyes were watering but wide open, I suddenly realised it was a sympathetic reaction to my upcoming operation.

It took him two stops to recover, by which time he was sat there blinking rapidly and staring into space.

“You ok?” I asked.

He looked at me with a sort of wonder, “how can you sit there and tell me you’re going to be castrated and not be screaming?”

“Because to me, that’s actually not relevant, they’re not doing anything except making me ill and could be cancerous if not removed.” I tried to be logical.

Nigel went against two thousand years of family tradition and put his arm round my shoulder. “You’re one brave chick, you know that?” He smiled at me like he really admired me. I think in all honesty, he really did love his new sister and was getting used to it. Suddenly I realised he was looking down my cleavage (haha — yeah I know, two weeks worth) then blushed when he realised what he’d done. He looked away then removed his arm from my shoulder after giving my hair a rub.

As we traipsed up the garden path I caught sight of Wendy on her bike and gave her a wave, she called out that she’d see me later — I gave her another wave in confirmation.

Mum had seen our approach and opened the door before I could get my key out.

Wendy didn’t call round, but she did phone me and I related to her the doings of the week leaving out the procedure I was to undergo next week — she was more interested in how my exams were going and how I was feeling. She was really looking forward to showing me the ropes at the Girls’ High School. She was in the top stream and I was hoping that I would be too. Being 15 and a girl, I was told, was the best thing in the world and the worst at the same time. She took almost an hour to tell me.

In the meantime Dad had come in and I gave him a wave as he passed me in the hall.

When I went back into the sitting room, I realised that mum or Nigel must have broken the news, my father was sitting with his hands over his eyes and I could see his hands were wet. He couldn’t hide his feelings, he felt like Nigel — that the loss of manhood was a terrible thing. But if you never had it, it wasn’t even point one on the Richter scale.

I went over and sat next to him and he wrapped himself round me like a protective coating. He was close to sobbing, which I started to do in sympathy. I felt him draw a huge breath and he stiffened up like a good Englishman.

“Right, I think we’ll all need to go and cheer ourselves up — we’ll go out and get pasta at Giorgio’s” — a new Italian place that had just opened up down the road. I even got to sample a glass of Lambrusco.

We felt less morbid after a glass or two I must admit.

Exams finished and I thought I had acquitted myself ably so I wasn’t phased by the post mortems’ that would be the curriculum for the next week — some of the results were already coming out for the exams we took the week previous but we didn’t get any details — we’d get those on the notice board the week after — and a week before breaking up.

The class looked a lot emptier on the Wednesday — I managed to stay in touch with reality — though it was becoming difficult.

I was seeing the guys in class as a different breed almost, it was now a month since I had started taking hormone treatment and I had the beginnings of breasts and an emotional rollercoaster for a constant companion.

I had managed to stay normal seeming at school and I hadn’t been hit on by anyone for being ‘odd’.

I was conscious of my changing status and my new ‘aroma’; boys smelt rancid if they’d been at all energetic and by the end of the day I would say they smelt evil.

Though I had noticed that some smelt less evil than others. I wondered a little if this was the beginnings of female orientation in my head. I dreaded the day I looked at a guys behind and drooled… oh yuck.

The next day, I would no longer be in any way associated with masculinity except by default — since my name would still legally be Jerry.

I wasn’t sure I was pleased or profoundly sad. I had basically learned how to be a guy all my life and though I wasn’t good at it, I was at least average at being a nobody.

As a female, I had no experience whatsoever and no idea how I would fit in and I had hardly even tried on any girls clothes and certainly not a dress or skirt — though I had worn my little bra a couple of times when my nipples had become seriously sore from my shirt rubbing on them. Mum had laughed when she realised I was wearing it — in a ‘told you so’ fashion. She had warned me and she had been right. What had made me squirm was the fact that I pretty much filled the AA cup bra already. My nipples had two miniature cones behind them which mum called my ‘buds’ and they distended my nipples into hard little pyramids — thank God for school jackets and singlets.

I hadn’t had to do any sport since my awareness of my new status and had thrown out my strip in any case. That was a huge plus as far as I was concerned — mum did warn me that hockey was going to be the next thing I would be playing on a field. But I guessed the strip would be a bit different.

Overall I was excited at being able to change over to being a girl — it was something that felt less strange than trying to be a guy. Being a guy was all competition and being ‘upfront’ and I was never that — Male privilege was supposed to be something that allowed you to be whomever you were — I had never felt or embraced that privilege. I had more or less had it removed by being the underdog in a purely male society. The runt of the litter for my class and year at least.

I felt during the wash-ups from the exams that my stream in High School was assured and that I hadn’t fluffed any exam in a major way.

So when I went home on Wednesday afternoon, it was with the resignation that comes from having done what was possible with the sword of Damocles hanging over my head.

I got treated to a favourite supper of veal parmigiana and noodles and a real apple pie made by mum’s fair hand. The custard was delicious.