I paid Tina and about then Steffi came out of the bathroom, ready for bed, so pretty in her nightie. The girls hugged and Tina left and I hugged and kissed Steffi goodnight.
I love my niece!

The Beneficiary, by Karin Bishop

Selected entries from the Journal of Donna Everton

Part 7

4/26 (the first half)

I just sat down to write this and saw my last entry. It’s true, it’s true. What a sweetie!

Okay. We got up and showered and ate in our robes, Steffi with her damp hair still wrapped in a towel, and then went to dress. She managed to get a pretty good re-creation of the everyday makeup that Tina had shown her. She decided to wear her hair in the high ponytail because it was a thick, un-styled mane any other way. At least up it was girlish and cute and out of the way. I think she also wanted to show off her new earrings!

On the drive to the doctor’s, I could tell Steffi was nervous; she had no idea how nervous I was, despite Carla’s assurance that the doctor ‘vas knowlech-able’, in her words. This was the first time that Steffi could really see her new surroundings, and reminded me of a puppy in a car, looking every which way at all the new sights. I gave her a running commentary and it took the edge off our nerves.

The doctor’s office was in a newer part of town. A software company had relocated nearby and there had been a spurt of growth. The utilitarian outside was countered by her lovely office, all earth tones and small fountains and a sense of Fung Shui without being overly-Asian or New Age-y. Dr. Elizabeth Hastert turned out to be a white-haired patrician, almost the female half of Marcus Welby, I thought. She had an elegant posture and even before I saw the diplomas in her office I could tell she came from both Money and Ivy League. Johns Hopkins, Harvard, Mass Gen, and Bellevue Psychiatric. That’s some hard-core doctoring, I thought!

She met with both of us and it was just general pleasantries. I think she wanted to size us up a little before proceeding, and show us that she wasn’t the boogieman. Then she buzzed for an assistant to take Steffi away; she was going to give blood and urine, be weighed and measured and all of that. It was also an opportunity for us to talk as adults without Steffi hearing.

Once Steffi was gone, Dr. Hastert gave a grim smile and said, ‘So, what’s the truth of the matter?’ I verified we had doctor-patient confidentiality, and launched into my tale. I’ve been so worried about what to say and what not to, but I knew that I had to tell her pretty much everything except for the CDs. Steffi didn’t know about them; Debbie’s letter–which I’d brought–didn’t mention them specifically, and there didn’t seem to be any brainwashing but rather a …releasing of the girl within Steven. And I hadn’t played the really feminizing CDs, anyway. Also, I didn’t want to mention that it appeared that Debbie was also disguising her child to ‘make a run for it’. That took a little dodging, that I rationalized as ‘not medical’ information. Meanwhile I hopped all around with pronouns …

Condensed, I said, ‘I don’t know all of the dynamics between my sister and Steven; Steffi’s still pretty traumatized about the death of her mother. But there seems to be an inner girl that Debbie wanted to free, or at least get in touch with. I don’t know when, but sometime last year she began giving either androgen blockers or estrogen or both, as vitamins. She didn’t tell Steven or maybe she did; Steffi’s made no reference to it and I’m still tip-toeing around their relationship until she’s stronger. I was shocked that it was going on and had no clue, but since the doctors that patched her up after the accident didn’t seem to find anything wrong, I thought I should continue the dosage her body was used to, while I sorted it out. I probably should have immediately sought medical help but it seemed secondary to her healing, and coming to grips that everything she’d known was now gone.’

I felt I had to go into the truth about Dave a little bit. ‘This is a hard thing to discuss, but I think you have to know this: Debbie’s husband was a professional criminal. Not like a crooked used-car dealer; I mean the real, veteran professional criminal like you see in movies but not so glamorous. I don’t know what he did and I’m not sure Debbie did; she certainly didn’t know anything about it when she married him. It was always ‘Regional Sales’, with some traveling. But he stripped them of virtually everything and disappeared and the police and everyone seems to think he’s dead. But not declared dead, officially, yet. Not legally dead. Anyway, things were screwed up and after the accident I flew back and managed to get some of Debbie’s things for storage, but a lot of stuff was gone and the house was a rental and the owners had sent their possessions to charity. It’s a terrible epitaph for my hardworking sister. When my husband died she tried to be helpful but didn’t have the money to come care for me, and she obviously had her hands full.’

The doctor was neutral and taking notes.

‘So once Steffi healed to the point where she wasn’t just laying in bed in pain, we got to talking about it. She knows she was a boy but says that she’s really a girl and wants to live as a girl. I’m treating her as a girl and that’s pretty much it. I hope I’ve done the right things, and I hope that you can help her.’

‘Help her to do what?’ Dr. Hastert asked.

‘Either help her to live the life she wants, or …I guess, help her live the life she needs. And heal her as best you can.’

The doctor considered me for a moment and then asked, ‘Mrs. Everton, I understand you had limited contact with your sister’s family over the years, but you did see Steven when he was younger. Would you say that he was a normal, healthy boy?’

‘Normal?’ I frowned. ‘Um …I’m not sure I know what normal means at that age.’

The doctor said, ‘Well, did he roughhouse? Run around? Was he into sports, hang around with other boys?’

I thought for a moment and said, ‘Not really. I mean, he may have been on his best behavior because I was visiting; I don’t know. But those don’t seem like things he was into; Debbie never mentioned them. I kind of remember him reading a lot.’ I tried a grin. ‘I mean, he was no Tom Sawyer but he might have read about him!’

The doctor made a note and said, ‘Can you recall any activities or discussions you may have had? I realize it was a long time ago.’

I said, ‘No …discussions, not with Steven. Debbie mentioned around that time that Dave was getting frustrated with Steven not being, I guess, his idea of a son. I remember Debbie being glad because …’ I paused, and the doctor waited. I had to go on. ‘It was about the time she learned that he wasn’t a salesman, but a crook. A professional thief, mostly. It’s likely that Dave was looking for ‘a chip off the old block’, you know? A son to follow in his father’s footsteps? But he wasn’t getting that from Steven. So if Steven wasn’t growing up like his thief of a father, don’t you think she’d be pleased?’

Her only response to that was to purse her lips as she wrote. ‘Did you have any sort of interaction with Steven when he was younger?’

I had to work at remembering. It was painful to go back to a time when Mark was first showing symptoms of his cancer, and yet my trip to Debbie’s was already planned and he wanted me to go. We thought we had years together …

Getting past that sad memory, I recalled my visit. ‘Steven showed me the books he was reading, you know, children’s books. And he drew a lot, some coloring books ….’ I frowned as a memory surfaced. ‘He showed me his coloring books, too, and as I think about it, they were …you know how boys just go rub-rub-rub with the crayons but girls sometimes outline and then color carefully inside the outline?’ The doctor nodded and I did, too. ‘I just remembered–just flashed on the memory–of the contrasting outlines he used, because of the pretty colors. Hmm …Oh, and he helped Debbie a lot around the house so as we–Debbie and I–were talking, he’d be there. You know, making dinner or doing the laundry, that sort of thing.’

She finished a long set of notes and then looked at me when she asked the next question. ‘In your opinion, back when you visited and met young Steven, as an observer, not as an aunt …would you say he was effeminate?’

I frowned. ‘It’s hard to …filter out now from then, but I’d have to give a qualified ‘sort-of’.’ The doctor remained impassive and I went on to explain. ‘I didn’t really put it all together back then, but looking at it now, and as I’m telling you, I’m thinking like a check list, ‘Hmm …not like his father, spent most of his time with his mother, no other friends known, cooked, did laundry, shared stories from books, did the coloring books …’ I shrugged. ‘And he was small, you know? Not skinny, not scrawny like he was under-nourished. He was just …petite. God, I never thought of him in that way before–with that word–but it fits. He was petite, and he was sort of delicate. I don’t mean he bruised easily; I mean he had, like …little bones. Like his mother. I towered over her when we were growing up.’ Happy memories and the shock of her loss both hit me at once but I gulped and soldiered on. ‘So add all that up and he would seem to fit the category or definition of effeminate, for a boy, I mean. But was he swishy, limp-wristed, pardon-my-word-choice–faggy? No, he was …’

She caught me just as I’d caught myself. ‘He was …what?’

‘Um …I’m not shading this; it’s only coming to me as I talk to you now. I’d …I’d have to say in retrospect …I didn’t think of it at the time, but looking back I’d have to say he was like a girl. Like her daughter. But not an effeminate boy. Look, girls aren’t effeminate. There’s no imitation or affectation involved, no pretense, no acting. Some little girls hunt and fish and ride horses and some are girly-girls and don’t get past My Little Pony. But you wouldn’t call them any of them effeminate. They’re just …girls.’

‘So you’re saying that Steven was girlish?’

‘Not girlish. Not girly, either. Not in the sense of acting like a girl. He was just my sister’s six-year-old, you know? But looking back–even without Steffi being in the other room–with how small and quiet and helpful he was, and doing the cooking and laundry and just spending time with his mom and me, I’d have to say that Steven was more of a typical six-year-old girl than a typical boy of that age. I don’t think I can explain it any better; I’m sorry.’

Dr. Hastert actually smiled. ‘You’ve explained it excellently; thank you. They should be done with Steffi; let me check.’ She buzzed somebody and a little later Steffi came back in and sat down. It was my time to leave the room. I gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and a smile and went out. I’d brought some back issues of a restaurant industry magazine that I hadn’t had time to read. I got through them but still the time dragged. Finally I was called back in, going in with the nurse who handed a file to the doctor. I gave Steffi a smile of encouragement as I sat; she leaned over and whispered, ‘I don’t know if I did okay or not,’ and I squeezed her hand. ‘Just what I was gonna say,’ I grinned, and she squeezed back.

The doctor continued to read the file, flipping up pages, and said casually, ‘When did you start letting your hair grow, Steffi?’ and Steffi answered, ‘Almost two years ago. I was …I thought it would make me look like a rocker and maybe the guys would leave me alone.’

The doctor nodded. ‘Did it work?’

And Steffi looked sheepishly at me and said, ‘No, I still got hassled.’

The doctor then said, ‘When you realized the rocker thing wasn’t working, why didn’t you cut it?’

Steffi looked at me again, and said, ‘Because I liked it. It made me feel …’ and she looked at me, frowning, and back to the doctor.

I looked at the doctor but said to Steffi, ‘Steffi, honey …maybe you shouldn’t look at me before answering. Even I think it makes you look coached or something.’

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, her eyes wide. ‘I wasn’t …Doctor, I wasn’t coached! It’s just …this is all so new, to be answering these kinds of questions, and I’m sharing with my aunt …’

‘I understand,’ Dr. Hastert smiled. ‘So you were talking about not cutting your hair, because it made you feel …what?’

‘It made me feel more …me.’

The doctor nodded and made a small note.

Steffi and I looked at each other and shrugged.

She closed the file, sat back and looked at both of us. My stomach was in knots. The first thing she said was that Steffi’s hormone levels were right where they should be. In fact, if Dr. Hastert were to prescribe hormone therapy, she would have prescribed just those hormones at just those dosages. She fully appreciated the research Debbie had done, and said she’d been thorough. She looked at me and then squarely faced Steffi.

‘Your life will be full of hurdles, but there is one major hurdle we have to get over if we are to proceed. This will come as a shock to you, but I will not consider taking you as a patient–no physician will–without you being aware of …certain information.’ Steffi and I looked at each other worriedly, and she said for the doctor to go on.

Dr. Hastert said, ‘As near as I can tell from the information I’ve received, your mother began dosing you with hormones approximately eighteen to twenty months ago. A combination of medications, one that would block any development as a male, and the other to …well, jump-start your development as a female.’ She paused.

Steffi just sat there. My brain was screaming that I wanted hit a Pause button, grab Steffi and run for it.

The doctor said, ‘Your mother ended your chance at a male puberty and detoured you into a female puberty. From what you’ve told me, this was done without your knowledge.’ She looked at me and then back to Steffi. ‘And your aunt has continued the process. I understand that it was your mother’s dying request to her sister, your Aunt Donna, that she continue the procedure. Your aunt was trapped by not knowing about the situation, her respect for her sister’s wishes, and what seemed like your …tendency along those lines.’ She frowned, unhappy with her word choice. Before she could continue, we were both startled by Steffi’s next statement.

‘I know,’ Steffi said, matter-of-factly. While we stared, she went on, as simply as if she was telling us a recipe. ‘Mom didn’t say ‘I’m going to turn you into a girl’ one day. And it wasn’t like the very first pills I took, I wanted to put on a dress. It’s been a long, gradual thing. But Mom and I had been talking–my aunt doesn’t really know this–and she knew I was unhappy. Heck, my grades, the stealing, getting beaten up–who would be happy? But it was more than that. I did tell her one night, after she and Dad had another huge fight, I told Mom that I should have been her daughter.’

We stared. The doctor looked at me and she could tell this was news to me. She said to Steffi, ‘And what happened then?’

She shrugged. ‘A little later I got new ‘vitamins’. But the way Mom watched me I could tell they were something special and I realized what they must be. She was so worried when she looked at me, so finally, I said, ‘Mom, it’s okay. I want this.’

‘Did you want it?’ I asked. ‘Or did you just say that so Debbie–your mom–wouldn’t look so worried?’

‘I don’t know,’ Steffi said. ‘Or, I didn’t know at the time, not in so many words. But, I’m not stupid. I knew what was happening to me, what we were doing–together–and I thought about it at night, when I began to notice things changing, my body, I mean. And I didn’t just like it; I wanted it. I remember one night saying to myself, ‘Bring it on!’ and thinking about the cheerleader movie, you know? The same name? And being a cheerleader and just …’ She shrugged. ‘Bring it on. I was kind of worried the doctors would notice, you know, after the crash? And try to make me be a boy. I was worried that they might have done something to me. And when Aunt Donna gave me the same pills, I knew that …you know, whew! I was going to be able to continue.’

‘Continue?’ Dr. Hastert asked.

Steffi nodded. ‘Continue on to becoming Stephanie.’ She looked at me. ‘I’m so lucky to have Andonna–Aunt Donna–who understands. Or even if she didn’t understand, she followed Mom’s wishes. Because they were both of our wishes.’ She finished and looked complacently at us.

Dr. Hastert stared at her, stared at me staring at Steffi, and then bent to make more notes. ‘Mrs. Everton, do you have a sufficient quantity of those pills to continue?’ I said yes, for a time, without going into details. ‘I’d like you to bring me two or three of each at your convenience. Then I’ll prescribe the same, possibly alter the dosage depending on how Steffi’s doing.’ She smiled at Steffi. ‘That is, if you two will accept me as her doctor.’

I said, ‘You mean you want her for a patient?’ and she nodded and smiled. ‘You two have already done most of the heavy lifting, so to speak. You’ve leapfrogged over what usually takes years. Steffi is very close to the developmental norm for girls her age. She’s a little on the low-ish side of the curve but that will work out in time. As for the formalities, Bridget in my office will handle all the paperwork; she’ll have a packet of things for you at her desk. Now, then, you two …’ She steepled her fingers. ‘Time for a couple of questions that may be easy to answer or may be hard or impossible to answer at this point. In our one-on-one talks, you’ve both given me answers but it’s important that you both make your feelings known, to me and to each other.’

‘We’re ready, doctor,’ I said.

Steffi added, ‘And thank you, Dr. Hastert.’

‘My pleasure, Steffi,’ Dr. Hastert smiled. ‘Okay, Tough Question Number One. Steffi, do you want to fully, completely become a girl, living as a girl and as a woman for the rest of your life?’

‘Absolutely,’ my pretty niece answered confidently.

‘Mrs. Everton, are you prepared for that?’

‘Absolutely, doctor,’ I smiled.

‘Tough Question Number Two: Steffi, what about the status of your penis?’

Steffi grinned. ‘That’s one of the easy ones! I want it off. I told Andonna this; it doesn’t belong there. I don’t really feel like it belongs to me. It’s just something I pee through but …I want it removed. I know you’re talking about ‘the surgery’,’ she crooked her fingers in air-quotes, ‘and yes, as soon as possible. I want a vagina. I want my vagina. I want the vagina I was cheated out of at birth.’

I’d never thought of it that way before, and marveled at her succinctly phrasing–and the daily torment she must be in.

Dr. Hastert nodded. ‘This question may be premature at this point, but I might as well ask it. Tough Question Number Three: Steffi, what about boys?’

Steffi frowned slightly. ‘I don’t have any experience there, yet, but I’m pretty sure I’m attracted to them. That got to be …sort of a problem at school,’ she blushed. ‘Almost got killed because of it. But I wasn’t gay; I mean, I didn’t want to be a boy with them; I wanted them to want me as a girl. One boy, especially …I wanted to be his girl. And it was all so …’ She shuddered and in a quiet voice, ‘…awful.’

‘Oh, sweetie,’ I said without thinking. ‘I never knew!’ I reached over and squeezed her hand again.

Dr. Hastert said, ‘Steffi, last step. Not a question, but a statement from you. I need you to tell me–and your aunt, and yourself by saying it out loud–exactly what you want. Out of me, out of life, whatever.’

Steffi nodded, bowed her head for a moment, thinking, and then raised it and in a clear voice said, ‘I want to become a girl indistinguishable from any other, naturally-born girl. I want my breasts and my vagina and all the good and the bad that being a woman in the world means. I want to live everyday for the rest of my life as a female with no reminder or thought of being male. I want to fall in love with a wonderful man …like my Uncle Mark, and marry him and have his babies. Well, adopt, I guess. And I want to die an old, happy woman.’

I had a lump in my throat at her declaration and nearly lost it when she mentioned Mark. I stifled the sob and dabbed my eyes as she continued. It was a lovely, lovely statement. It seemed to move Dr. Hastert, who for once didn’t write anything down, but sat smiling and nodding. Then her smile grew bigger.

‘Then let’s make it happen,’ she said calmly.

End of Part 7