My appointment with Dr Brentwell was at 11 o'clock the next morning, and his rooms were a ten minute walk from the hotel. Jenny sensed my nervousness and said it wasn't worth exacerbating it by walking down the street, so we rang for a taxi.

The modern medical centre was a 'one stop shop' of medical services, with doctors covering many specialities, and most of the ancillary services such as radiology, physiotherapy, pathology, etc. We arrived there twenty minutes early, and as is the way with specialists, Dr Brentwell was thirty minutes late in starting my consultation, so we had plenty of time to go through the pile of magazines in the waiting room. I was interested to see that in addition to Vogue and Vanity Fair, there were some car and sports magazines, which struck me as unusual in a clinic specialising in gender reassignment, which I'd already discovered is overwhelmingly male to female. I even wondered if there was a secret camera to see what magazines patients picked up, and was this part of the test, but then decided I was being paranoid.

Eventually a pretty young woman emerged from a door off the waiting room. I guessed she was a patient and decided if I could get to look half as good as her I would be very happy indeed. Then a tall handsome man in a white coat emerged from the room. His hair was greying at the temples, and that only served to make him look distinguished. Why is that so when grey hair on a woman makes her look old? It hardly seems fair.

He picked up a folder and looked over to where Jenny and I were sitting and said “Miss Cobb?” I stood up and followed him into the room, the butterflies in my stomach now dancing a lively fandango. There was a large desk in the room, but also two comfortable armchairs and he sat in one and motioned me to the other.

“Welcome, Miss Cobb. I see you've been referred to me by Dr Carolyn Jenkins, your local GP at (he peered at his notes) Heyward's Crossing which I confess I've never heard of, as a case of gender dysphoria. As this is your first visit I will explain briefly how things work. I will do a comprehensive interview with you first, and if I am satisfied that you are a suitable candidate for reassignment, then we go on to a physical examination, and from there to prescribing hormonal therapy. The final stage is gender reassignment surgery. Essentially, up to the final stage the process is reversible if you should decide after all that this path is not for you.”

“I'm quite convinced in my mind that this is the path I wish to take.” I said.

He smiled “I've never heard anyone say otherwise, but I should tell you there have been a few instances of people who have gone through the entire process and afterwards decided that after all they wished to live as their birth gender. Now whereas we can provide you with a perfectly serviceable vagina, restoring a functioning penis is beyond us, so you can see that we do all we can to avoid such a situation.” I found myself blushing at his words. He saw this and smiled.

“You may think my speech unnecessarily forthright, but I have to tell you that before you achieve your goal you will have to strip naked both physically and mentally, holding nothing back. It's in your interest to do so.”

“I am in your hands, doctor,” I said in a small voice.

“Quite so,” he replied with a smile. “One more thing. I was in general practice for many years before deciding to specialise in Psychiatry, and I have kept up my certificate of general practice. This means that unlike many psychiatrists, I am able to give you a physical examination, take blood tests, check your blood pressure etc. However, if you prefer me to refer you to another GP for these things, I am quite happy to do so. If, or when we reach the stage of hormone therapy, then I will of course refer you to an endocrinologist to assess you and provide the necessary medication. There are two in this building that I work with, but if you prefer to see someone else, then again, that is quite acceptable to me. Some patients find it convenient to deal with various specialists whose rooms are so close together.

He then proceeded to take a really detailed history, starting from when I was very young, including the dress-ups with my cousin Marie; then going on to my arrival in Australia, meeting John, and of course the more recent events which had led me to seeking his help. At each stage he asked me how I felt, and sometimes he nodded and sometimes he seemed to frown, which worried me quite a bit.

“John, your partner, he fully supports you?”

“Oh yes!” I said, perhaps a little too emphatically, at which he smiled.

“And you've had intercourse with him since you started dressing as a woman full-time?”

I hesitated at this question, and he lowered the paper on which he was taking notes and stared earnestly at me.

“Miss Cobb, I know these are intimate questions, but it is essential that you answer them fully and truthfully. You have my word that nothing you say goes beyond the walls of this clinic. The only exception would be to medical colleagues involved with your treatment, but only with your express permission.”

I slowly let out my breath, “Yes, we have had intercourse, but I prefer to think of it as love-making.”

He smiled gently, “And that's exactly what it is. So if things are good, why not leave them the way they are?”

“I suppose it's because I do not feel fully a woman at this point in my life, and this I want above all else, both for myself and John. I know physical intimacy is only part of a relationship, but John is a widower, and I want there to come a time when we make love in the traditional way between a man and woman. There are other things too. We live on an isolated cattle station, which I suppose is an argument of keeping things as they are, but I want us to be able to go places together as man and wife, in fact, even if it cannot be legally. If we did that, I could not bear the thought of him being humiliated if someone realised that I was not all I claimed to be.”

“And what about your humiliation?” he said.

“That I could cope with, but not John's. I love him far too much to risk that.”

The consultation continued for some time more until eventually Dr Brentwell put his notepad down and leaned back in his chair looking at me.

“You've come a long way, and not just in the literal sense travelling from the outback. The path you wish to take is long and arduous, and at times you may feel discouraged, but I believe you can achieve your goal. Normally at this stage I would conclude the consultation and arrange to see you again in a month, but since you have come so far, and will need to do so many times in the future, if you are willing, I will give you a medical examination today and take blood for tests, so that we are that far ahead when I next see you. One thing I must stress is that this is not a guarantee that you will progress to hormone therapy any sooner. Is that understood?”

“Of course, doctor,” I said “And yes, please go ahead with the examination and the blood tests.”

“I see you have a companion waiting for you?”

“Yes, she's a dear friend who has agreed to come to Brisbane with me when I have appointments.”

“I'm very pleased to hear that.” he said “I'm sure she will be a great support.”

He led me into an adjoining room which contained a narrow examination bed, a couple of chairs and a portable screen.

“Please get undressed, put on a gown and lie on the bed,” he said as he left me to prepare.

The examination which followed was thorough, and while it involved close examination of my more intimate areas, I found that I was already more relaxed and less embarrassed. 'There'll be a lot more of this sort of thing, so you'd better get used to it.' I said to myself. It occurred to me that if I had been a genetic female, he would have asked a female member of staff to be present while he examined me, but since I wasn't, apparently this was not necessary.

Dr Brentwell then wheeled a small trolley to the bedside and proceeded to extract a large syringe of blood from my arm and put the contents into a number of plastic tubes with brightly coloured caps.

“So many tubes.” I murmured.

“So many tests,” he replied “The initial treatment involves powerful hormones, and we have to be sure that your body is in a fit state to deal with them. You are young and there's little chance of a problem, but we must be sure. The results of these tests will go to an endocrinologist, as well as to me. Are you happy for me to select one that I already work with?”

“Yes, please do, doctor,” I replied. “It will certainly be more convenient than running all over Brisbane, and in any case, I don't know any medical specialists here.”

After that I was told to get dressed, and when I came back into the consulting room and sat down, Dr Brentwell spoke again.

“There's one further thing I suggest you address right away. At present you are filling your bra cups with material as a temporary measure, but I think it would be good for you to acquire some silicone breast forms to use until such time as your own breasts begin to grow — that's assuming all is well and we can start you on hormones. The breast forms can be left in place for weeks at a time and they will not only look much better and make you feel better psychologically, but they apparently feel and react much like the real thing to the wearer. In this building there is a company that sells breast forms, primarily to women who have undergone mastectomy for breast cancer, but I have referred my patients there too, and without exception they have found them to be an ideal temporary solution. Would you like me to write you a note so that you can go there today to get fitted?

“Yes please, doctor,” I said enthusiastically. This was something I hadn't thought of and I embraced the idea at once.

He concluded the session by telling me to arrange with his secretary for another appointment in about a month. I walked out of the consulting room feeling like I was walking on air. As I walked towards the secretary's desk, I saw Dr Brentwell's next patient waiting there. She had a terrified 'rabbit in the headlights' look about her. It was obviously her first appointment too, but she was on her own, and without thinking I paused and said quietly.

“Don't worry. He's such a nice man, and so understanding.”

From somewhere she managed the ghost of a smile.

In consultation with Jenny, I arranged a mutually suitable time for my next appointment, and then paid the account, the size of which rather shocked me. Thank goodness I didn't have financial concerns.

As we left the consulting rooms, Jenny said “That was a really nice thing you did, speaking to that poor girl.”

“I really felt for her,” I replied. “She's a trainee girl too, and she was on her own. I am so lucky to have you with me.”

“Well now,” Jenny said, determined to brighten my mood. “How about some lunch, and then some retail therapy?”

“Oh yes,” I said, “but first I'm going to see about getting a pair of breasts!”

The building we were in was a medical specialists centre, so it made sense that all the ancillary services should also be located there. We travelled two floors down to the company that supplied prostheses of various types. I presented the note from Dr Brentwell to a woman in a white uniform seated behind a desk. She in turn summoned another young woman, also clad in white who took me into a room for fitting. I asked Jenny to come in too to provide advice and moral support. I was asked to strip to the waist, so that I could be assessed for a suitable size which looked natural for my height and build. A number of samples were brought out and held against my chest and the nurse and Jenny looked at them critically to see the effect. They varied in size, shape and colour, I must say they looked rather strange on their own, but I was assured that once in place they would look very natural.

Eventually a pair was decided upon, and I left the decision in the hands of the two women who had far more experience in that area than I did! I lay down on one of those narrow examination couches which always induce in me a fear of falling off. First the nurse cleansed my skin with alcoholic wipes to remove any perspiration or skin grease, and then she drew a fine line on my skin around the edge of each breast form in turn to ensure correct placement. Next, she attached several strips of double-sided tape to my skin. She applied some special adhesive just inside where the edges of the forms would sit, and also on the forms themselves. The outer cover of the adhesive tape was removed and she carefully placed the breast form in position with some steady and gentle pressure. The whole process was repeated for the second breast form.

I was then asked to sit up, and told to hold both forms in place for a minute or two to allow the adhesive set. The nurse carefully removed all traces of the guidelines and then disguised where the forms met my skin with some flesh coloured foundation. I was still holding my new 'breasts' in my hands as she did this, and they felt remarkably heavy. It was when she told me to let go of them, which I did very gingerly, that I saw their effect as they pulled my own skin into a cleavage. I finally got to see myself in a mirror and was almost speechless at the result. Now they were attached to me they looked so real, and matched my own skin so well it was hard to see where my skin ended and the breast form began.

The final act was to put on my bra once more, which I did with the help of Jenny and the nurse. Fortunately it was the right cup size for my new 'additions', and once they were safely ensconced, I felt more comfortable. Well, to be honest I felt wonderful. One thing I had not anticipated, since they were heavier than the material I previously used to fill the cups was that they shifted my centre of gravity which took a little getting use to. Once I settled the account and we left the building, I felt so elated I almost wanted to shout from the rooftops 'Look everyone, I've got breasts!'

We found a nice little café nearby and even a secluded table despite the lunchtime crush. There were too many people in earshot for me to tell Jenny all about my interview, so I confined my remarks to saying it went very well and I'd tell her about it later. Lunch over, we started down the street and visited a number of clothing stores, trying on skirts, dresses and tops amongst many giggles. I ended up buying quite a few of them, glad to have some modern clothes of my own. I also bought a couple of pairs of pants, but they were pants like I'd never worn before, and also two pairs of jeans. I probably spent too much, buying items that caught my eye, although John had given me a generous allowance and said before the trip “Have fun.” I could see that Jenny had fallen in love with a gorgeous dress, but when I said to her 'Buy it.” she demurred, saying it cost at least twice as much as she could afford. I was acutely aware that thanks to John I had access to far more money than she did. I was tempted to offer to buy it for her, but feared this would only emphasise the disparity, but I saw her looking longingly at it, and decided to take a risk.

“Why don't we go halves on that dress, and then I can borrow it sometimes?” I said “or isn't that the sort of thing girls do?”

Jenny laughed “I can see you weren't a teenage girl growing up with a sister! We borrowed each other's clothes all the time.”

“So it's a deal then?”

She wavered and then said “It's a deal.”

We left the store carrying numerous bags and giggling like schoolgirls. The next port of call was a lingerie store. Thanks to Mary, I had enough luxury lingerie to last me a lifetime, but I did need some basic cotton bras and pants, and I was nervous about going into such a shop on my own, especially to try on items in case they 'read' me and thought I was some sort of pervert. With Jenny by my side I felt much more secure. She came into the change rooms with me as I tried on several bras, confirming that they were suitable for my new breasts. You may wonder at my caution, but Brisbane in those days was a very conservative town in a very conservative State, and I wasn't prepared to take risks.

The train back to Rockhampton didn't leave for another five hours. Jenny's two teenage children were at boarding school there, so I had suggested we stop overnight, if she could arrange to see them during term time. The last train journey could be completed the following afternoon. She leapt at this chance of course, and in a couple of phone calls had arranged everything.

“You know, by the time the holidays finish I tell myself I'm glad to get some peace from them, but when they're gone and Tom's at work, the house is so quiet and empty,” she said with a quaver in her voice.

We were almost staggering along the footpath under the weight of our bags, and soon hailed a taxi to take us back to the hotel where our suitcases were stored. I had brought quite a large suitcase which was half empty, and proceeded to fill it up with all our purchases, gaining praise from Jenny for such forward thinking. We then set out again much more comfortably with the wheeled suitcases. I was feeling more confident as each hour passed without incident, and when Jenny stopped, and asked me with that amazing female intuition if there was anything else I wanted to do? I had something on my mind but was a little frightened to suggest it, but finally I did.

“Well, I would really like to get my eyebrows shaped and nails done, but I don't think it's possible this trip.”

“Why ever not?” said Jenny “We've still got four hours to fill in, and in fact we passed a beauty parlour a couple of minutes ago.” Did she think I hadn't noticed?

“Yes, but would they be willing for me to go in there?” I demurred.

“We can only ask. Come on,” she said, and suddenly it seemed a wish was turning into reality before I had a chance to change my mind. Jenny entered the shop while I waited nervously outside. I could see her talking to a young girl assistant, and once they both turned at looked at me. Then she came out again.

“They'd be happy to do your eyebrows and nails, and any other thing you want,” she said. “There's just one thing. You can either have them done in the salon, or they have a curtained off area which is more discreet if you wish.”

I promised myself I would remember things as they happened 'warts and all' as they say, for if I lie to myself, what hope is there for me? I blush to this day at my response, and I can't imagine why I said it. Perhaps I was just so hyped up with all that had happened that day.

“Is that so I don't embarrass them and their customers?” I snapped. I had never seen Jenny angry before, but she was angry now.

“Lesley!” she said “They were only thinking of you, as indeed you obviously are yourself.”

I was instantly contrite. In fact, I felt thoroughly humiliated. Blushing hotly, I said in a small voice “I'm so sorry Jenny. What must you think of me? I was only thinking of myself. I think I've been doing far too much of that lately. Please forgive me for being a boor.”

She softened immediately. “I think you've just proved you are human, and you have had a stressful day, so I'll forgive you. Come on, let's see what they can do for you.” She walked back into the salon, with me trailing behind feeling like a naughty schoolgirl who has just been scolded by her mother.

In the Australian Aboriginal culture there are certain ceremonies restricted to participation by one sex only. The female ones are often referred to as 'secret women's business'. I can't help thinking that a hair and beauty salon is the 'whitefella's' equivalent. I was entering a world of all things feminine. The staff couldn't have been kinder or more helpful. When Jenny asked them to do whatever they could for me in the three hours we now had to spare, they immediately took up the challenge with happy smiles, after acceding to my mumbled request for the curtained off area 'this time'.

In that time, they washed and trimmed my hair, shaped my eyebrows, waxed away those pesky beard hairs I didn't like to think about, and performed magic on my nails. They offered me nail extensions too but I felt these might be difficult to manage with the sort of work I was doing. When they finally showed me the result in the mirror, tears sprang into my eyes, I was so happy. I had never looked so feminine before. Jenny looked pleased too, as I had persuaded her that she should get her nails and eyebrows done at the same time.

“That's one small step for Lesley,” she said.

“One giant leap for womankind!” I finished. I paid the bill and added a generous tip, saying that as I had to come to Brisbane many more times, they would certainly be seeing me again. By now the events of the day were catching up with me so we took a taxi to the station, and I slept all the way to Rockhampton in the train.

To be continued