The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2229 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Thanks to Jason, the police had gone as had the social worker. He’d buzzed off. I smirked as I considered the awful pun I’d just made, which also contradicted biological norms. Okay, I’ll explain. In crosswords, a social worker is usually a bee or wasp or ant. The biological contradiction–workers are female in the hymenoptera.

Back at home we had to explain what had happened to Danni, the adults were horrified and the girls were delighted–she was now a girl for good. I realised I’d have to speak to them about it all. I also thought I’d have to speak to myself about the new reality, because somehow I still couldn’t reconcile my image of Danni with someone who was the proud possessor of a vagina–it just wouldn’t compute. I kept seeing him as the antsy boy who helped his football team win a trophy, not some girly girl who spent all day trying to decide what to wear.

David had left us a meal which could be warmed up in the microwave. Simon ate his and half of mine. I wasn’t hungry and went for a shower instead. I had a cuppa and a biscuit and it was time to go back to the hospital to see both my daughters. Julie wanted to come with me and so did Trish. I greed they could but tomorrow the others would get a go. That seemed to satisfy everyone. Simon stayed home to help look after the others if he could stay awake–which was unlikely, given how much he’d eaten.

I drove us in and we went to see Danni first. Trish wanted to take her a present, so we bought her a soft toy from a supermarket on the way, we also got one for Sammi.

Danni was still very sleepy and Trish and I did some healing on her while Julie went off to see how Sammi was. I expected her to be a bit dopy as she’d gone down for surgery so late.

I so wanted to be able to talk with Danni about what happened, if not for her sake, then for mine. I was still very uncomfortable about it all. Trish was so pleased to see her and nearly hugged her to death, welcoming her to the female camp. I found it poignant rather than pleasant and hoped I was wrong for Danni’s sake. While Danni was awake, she seemed pleased to be a girl–I still wasn’t convinced and I dreaded the possible scenario that we could end up with someone who was effectively a FtM, wishing that she was a boy or man, but with broad hips and breasts which shout female.

I tried to analyse my doubts. Was I merely feeling jealous–yet another adolescent had gone through the system–albeit by cheating–younger than I had, and I’d been convinced I was a girl from about age two. So was I just jealous of them all? I could be, perhaps I needed to see Anne Thomas again. It had been a long time.

We left Danni to rest and went to see Sammi, who was also sleeping off her anaesthetic, so a bored Julie was sitting there reading the computer magazine she’d got for her and holding the teddy bear.

“She’s out to lunch,” said Julie.

“Don’t be silly, she’s lying in the bed and it’s too late for lunch. Lunch is eaten at lunch time,” protested Trish. I snorted trying not to laugh and Julie just erupted in laughter which got us a glower from the staff nurse in charge of the ward.

“What’s so funny?” asked a very puzzled juvenile.

“You,” said Julie which nearly started World War three. I managed to pour oil on troubled waters and explained that Julie hadn’t been talking literally but had been talking in an allegorical way–her body was there but her consciousness wasn’t because she was asleep. Once she understood it she was fine, so Julie was safe for a few more hours. It amused me that someone who could understand Quantum Mechanics missed out on the more mundane things, which just demonstrates how we all differ in our capacities and capabilities.

Sammi did wake for a short time and thanked Julie for the teddy. I managed to stop Trish from correcting her, because I’d bought it. Sammi said she was so relieved it was done at last and Julie smirked saying the fun bit started once they took the packing out and shoved a dilator in. Trish nodded–she does a bit of dilation with a smaller bullet, compared to the anti-tank ordnance Julie uses. I use Simon, a remotely operated, self warming dilator.

We left the hospital with both our girls on the same ward but some little distance away, Danni in the private room–presumably because of her age and the nature of her aetiology.

Home again, I felt exhausted and after a cup of tea, I fed Lizzie and went to bed. I was asleep long before Simon arrived and didn’t stir when he did. I did wake during the night having strange dreams of Danni crying herself to sleep as a young woman who regretted ever having put on a skirt and wished she’d stayed a football mad boy.

I woke with my face all wet with tears and I prayed to anything out there that might listen, that my dream was wrong and she’d make a happy and healthy girl. Anything else was too awful to contemplate. I went for a wee and had a small drink of water before getting back into bed and trying to sleep once more. Fortunately, I went off quite quickly and if I had any other funny dreams, I didn’t remember them. I woke feeling still tired at seven o’clock with Simon snoring away beside me.

The news continued to be full of Nelson Mandela and his memorial service which every politician who tried to demonstrate credibility tried to attend. Our namesake was there, representing the Bullingdon club. Obama was there, bathing in the reflected glory of having known Mandela. In fact every Tom, Dick or Harry was there. Harry wasn’t there but his dad was, representing his mum, HM the Queen.

I switched off the radio and Simon grumbled he’d been listening to it. I switched it back off and went for a wee and a shower, but not together. He was still ‘listening’ when I emerged swathed in towels, though his snoring did tend to suggest he was listening unconsciously. He woke up as I switched it off again, grumbled but not for long when I told him to get up instead of lying abed.

He sat up and yawned. I then asked him what he thought of what had happened yesterday.

“It was a bit scary, but I knew you’d sort her out.”

“What if I haven’t?”

“She’s not going to die of some awful complication, is she?”

“No, I meant more of what if her swapping genders is a big mistake?”

“She seemed happy enough yesterday.”

“She was still full of anaesthetic yesterday. She wouldn’t have known the difference if you told her you were Justin Bieber.”

“Bieber? Yes she would, Timberlake, maybe not.”

Some days I do wonder what happens in between his ears, but then he’s a man, so probably very little. Mind you he does read Banker’s Weekly (no Spoonerism here) from cover to cover and he absorbs it like blotting paper.