It's strange, I've posted over a hundred episodes of stories elsewhere, all fiction of course, but this is neither fiction nor a story, it's about me.

I'm in the process of sorting something I could have done a year or two ago, that is make my legal status comply with my physical. The UK government were forced by the European court to allow transsexuals to change their legal status to their adopted sex. This included changing birth certificates, so enabling greater privacy and even opportunity to marry and probably more relevant in my case as I'm unlikley to marry again, to retire at 60 years instead of 65. At least I could do more of the things I like such as cycling.

So I filled in the forms, I'd had them about eighteen months, did the statutory declaration before a solicitor that I would remain in this role until death, got my doctor to fill in his bit and sent them off.

Strangely, I felt anxious about the forms and had been uptight about filling them in for weeks before I did. I've lived as female for over twenty years and been post op for nearly sixteen. I practice my profession, I'm in health care, and am employed by the NHS as well as running my own practice. So why was I worried? I had to think about it and decided it was because it brought up stuff from twenty odd years ago; funny how memories can haunt you. Also I dislike dealing with officialdom, they can screw up anything.

The forms came back, not enough info. I had to laugh, how much did they want? I called the caseworker I was given and learned what they wanted. My doctor also had to supply all the gruesome details of the surgery. Of course he didn't but I sent off even more stuff.

It came back again, the doctor's report was incomplete. My GP is a lovely bloke and a fellow cyclist, he's a trifle disorganised, but otherwise great. I am going to see him tomorrow and dictate what he has to put on the form. Then, I shall post the bloody thing off again, third time lucky? I hope so.

I cannot believe that the 'tribunal' who make up the gender panel would reject my application and I qualify for the fast track approach having exceeded the requisite six years by fifteen. Then again, who'd have thought it would take three goes to sort out the forms. So watch this space, I'll let you know the outcome.

Angharad.