A Different Convalescence Janet Harris  © 2001

I can remember quite clearly what it was like the first time I woke up as a woman. "Angela, Angela," the nurse was calling, close to my face.

"So that must be my name," I thought and opened my eyes.

I had been aware of my breasts already because I was lying on my side and my arm was squashing them.

Now I could see wisps of long straight brown hair across my face. That seemed perfectly natural as I extracted what turned out to be a slender feminine hand from under the blanket to brush them aside. I felt the bandage around my head, because this was no messy sex-change operation from which I was emerging, but a brain-transplant. I was, in a way, both the donor and recipient because, up till now, I had been a 55-year-old man, terminally ill with lung cancer.

My body-donor was a young lady who had a terminal brain-tumour, but that was all I knew about her, except that her parents did not want to know me, having watched their daughter lapse into a coma and having said their goodbyes at the operating theatre door. I am not that Angela; I am a former man who is extremely grateful to those parents for their wonderful gift of life, but I will have to respect their wishes never to see me, so I remain the orphan I was in my other life.

I was immediately curious as to what I looked like and my eyes explored the hospital room until I found the mirror over the basin. I worked out that my face should line-up with the mirror if I just sat on the side of the bed near its foot and I could probably manage that, drowsy as I was. I knew that I might not be able to coordinate my limbs at first, but already I had found that my new arms worked exactly as I wanted and I was able to get up onto one elbow.

I could feel remarkably little pain, considering the extent of my operation, just a dull headache. The nurse left when she had helped me sip some water. I pretended to doze until she was quite gone, then I swung my frighteningly tiny legs out of the bed and propped myself up until I was sat on the side of the bed with my feet dangling down.

I felt very small and childlike, but my breasts were holding out the hospital gown in front of me and from there it fell straight to my lap, where I knew, without looking or feeling, that more drastic changes had occurred. I must be an adult, surely? When I shuffled sideways down the bed to align with the mirror, I found a serious but childish girl's face staring back at me from under the bandage. I tried a smile and found myself quite pretty; rather a long face, though.

I pulled my hair back to see if that helped, noticing my breasts again as I lifted up my arms, but my face was still too long and my ears seemed to stick out, so I released some hair and imagined it cut off above the shoulders. That was better: I would wear it shorter and with a fringe, I decided. I stared at my unfamiliar reflection for some time, pulling faces. I thought my breasts seemed rather low, but that was because I wasn't wearing a bra. I put up my hands to lift them, expecting to feel the strange new appendages with my hand as saggy bags but instead I first felt my hands pushing against a newly sensitive and steeply downward-facing part of my chest. That was when the first reality of being female struck home.

I really wanted to know my age now to be able to plan my future; I thought I looked quite a young teenager. I was surprised to be left alone for so long at this stage; there should be lots of tests to ensure I had limb and eye control. I could find nothing wrong myself but decided not to try walking just yet. I lay back down and reached into the bedside cabinet where I could see a denim bag. Inside was my hairbrush, or rather Angela's, now mine, and other things, including, to my delight, a driver's licence.

I found that my surname was Tidy and it took me but a few seconds to find my date of birth and work out that I was to be twenty in less that two months. I did not know whether to be pleased that I was old enough to drive and would not have to go back to school, as I had feared only moments before, or disappointed that I had only a few weeks to enjoy being a teenager. I could not see "my" clothes anywhere. I assumed they were in the wardrobe across the room and longed to know what they were. Young girls these days could wear almost anything.

I found some earrings with hooks at the bottom of the bag. I felt the lobe of my ear and sure enough there was a spot which must be the pierced hole. Gingerly I poked the hook at the spot and managed to get it through, with a little more pain that I expected, but I checked my fingers for blood and there was none, so I put the other ear-ring in too. I was starting to read my little address-book, feeling increasingly feminine in my ear-rings, when I was startled by Derek, my surgeon, standing beside me.

"Well, you do seem to be well co-ordinated already!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, it all seems to be working okay." I replied, surprised by the high pitch of my own voice.

"Well, let's make sure by running the tests we planned. Come on, my girl, let's have you lying down properly while I test your reflexes."

I remember that I immediately found his patronising manner irritating. I had expressed much more willingness than the other patients to accept a body-donor of the opposite sex, largely out of fascination with how the other gender felt, and I had expected a change of attitude from all around me, but it was still a shock when it came. Of course I no longer looked like the patient who had been talking to Derek when I went under the anaesthetic, but I expected him to realise that I was the same person inside.

I had come to expect jeans, but none were evident in the pile I found in the wardrobe. I carried it over to the bed and rooted through the clothes. A black bra caught my eye first and a scoop-necked black top - certainly more vampish than I had expected - but no tights and mini; instead there were short socks and a long narrow grey skirt in thin T-shirt material. I stepped into the tiny briefs and then the skirt before untying the hospital gown at the back and pulling it off down my arms.

To my surprise, my breasts did not seem so big now they were bare. I knew, from watching my wife, how to do up the bra in front of my waist, turn it around and put my arms through. I was pleased and surprised how comfortable it was to have my breasts held still. Once I'd put it on, the neck of the T-shirt was not so low as it had looked at first and only I would be able to see my cleavage, but I was surprised how it clung into my waist and I blushed at my new shape.

I sat down on a chair to put on the thin ankle socks and flat lace-up shoes. I knew that having a skirt across my lap like this would be the norm now, but it surprised me nonetheless. I had thought the outfit mismatched and incongruous as a pile of clothes, but when I finally put on the long, thick cardigan, a plain but darker grey than the skirt, I felt pretty good as I tried walking up and down the room. I brushed my hair as best I could below and over the bandages, while plucking up the courage to venture out into the hospital corridor.

When ready, I took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped out. Thankfully nobody took much notice of me. On the way to Derek's office, I passed a Gent's toilet and I knew that the figure in trousers would always be a barrier to me now. As I walked on, I realised that one of the many new feelings in my body was a full bladder, so I sought out a sign of a figure in a skirt and entered there for the first time.

Safely locked in a cubicle, I realised with slight disappointment that this particular skirt could not be lifted up, so I pushed it down as I always had my trousers and sat down. I was also disappointed that there was so little difference in the action of pissing itself. As I looked down past my long hair and tits, it seemed perfectly natural for the trickle to be coming out of my low, hairy mound but I was shocked for the second time by the utter reality that I was actually female.

It was over dinner at my old friend Gerard's house, where I would be staying until I found my own flat, that I heard that I could not get any more of Angela's old clothes. Gerard's wife Vanessa said she would at least buy me some clean underwear in the morning but none that she could lend me would fit. I asked her to buy me some jeans, a shorter skirt and tights. She was reluctant to choose for me, but I could not really go shopping until my bandages came off in five days time.

If anything, the second time I woke as a woman was more startling than the first because my mind was not blurred by anaesthetic. I had woken in the night with a sharper headache and taken a pain-killer tablet without thinking about my gender. This time it was early morning and I was in a strange but domestic bed. This time I knew immediately that I was Angela Tidy, aged nineteen and that this was reality, not a dream. I found my little narrow watch on the bedside table and saw that it was almost eight o'clock. I could hear my hosts moving around on the landing so I propped myself up on the pillows, knowing I could not go back to sleep. I stared across the room at the pile of clothes I had left on a chair, especially at the bra on top.

"You'll be putting one of those on every morning now, for the rest of your life, girlie" I told myself.

"Bathroom's free, Angela!" came Gerard's voice, with a knock on the door.
"Thanks" I called, surprised again by the high pitch of my new voice, despite having conversed in it all last evening.

I got out of bed and found that my knickers, drying on the radiator after a hand wash, were not quite dry, since the radiator had only come on again at seven, so I wrapped the big bath-towel around me under my arms and went out to the bathroom in just that. I had only had a quick wash last night, so this morning I took a shower, borrowing Vanessa's shower-cap to keep my bandage dry and luxuriously spreading lather over my smooth new body.

I had explored my new anatomy a little in bed but, being less drowsy now, I began to feel the sweetness of sexual arousal. I heard the front door slam and then absolute silence. Surely they would not leave me alone? I knew that Gerard must have gone to work at eight, just after knocking me up, so that must have been Vanessa leaving. More relaxed, I began to play with myself in earnest and I worked myself up to a brief orgasm, but felt confused trying to turn my attraction away from my own body and imagine making love to a man.

I judged the climax to be less than many I had enjoyed as a man. Having always believed that women's orgasms were better (it has since been confirmed to me, of course) I was disappointed, but knew that it would improve with practice. On my way back to the spare bedroom, I leaned over the banister and checked for sounds of movement downstairs, but there were none. I dressed quickly in yesterday's outfit and hurried down to the kitchen to find it totally deserted with a note on the table telling me to help myself and make myself at home.

I found I was quite hungry and ate several pieces of toast and honey after my muesli, wondering how much I would have to diet to keep my figure. When I'd washed up and tidied their kitchen, I went and turned on the TV in the lounge and curled up on the sofa. This was what I thought a teenager like me should do. I found my big cardigan and long skirt nice and comfortable to lounge about in. It was now half past nine and I wondered if Vanessa would return with some clothes for me soon or have some work to do first; she is a district nurse.

Within half an hour she was back, showing me the jeans, denim mini-skirt and three different tops she had bought me. I rushed upstairs to try them on, deciding to wear the mini-skirt today, with a sleeveless maroon polo-necked top. After taking off my shoes and socks, I wriggled out of the long skirt and, tearing open the pack of three tights, I stretched a chocolate-brown pair luxuriously over my legs. I noticed that they could do with a shave, but that could wait; I wanted to show Vanessa before she went out again. I was a little disappointed at first to find that the little skirt had a front zip, like trouser flies, but at least it opened to the left, ladies' way. In fact it was a bit awkward for a right-handed girl like me to do up.

I liked my legs in tights. I was staring down at my new body in admiration when Vanessa called that she had to go, so I rushed to the stairs without shoes to show her.

"Very nice", she smiled, and left.

I went back into the bedroom and put my little lace-up shoes back on. I had thought that they would look wrong with tights and miniskirt but I had to adjust my fashion sense from that of a man in his 50's to that of a girl of 19. I wandered into Gerard and Vanessa's room to find a full-length mirror. To my surprise, I found my reflection quite attractive.

I knew that I should be looking at boys with the lust I had started to feel for the girl in the mirror. I knew that I must train my mind in that direction but I had to admit that my shapely legs and lumpy jumper still had an effect on me. I had never given much thought to being attractive as a man; now it seemed less vain somehow to work on my appearance. Alongside the mirror, Vanessa's dressing-table was cluttered with cosmetics. She had promised to teach me how to make up my face. Now I wanted to try it as soon as possible, but I could not touch her stuff.

I remembered seeing an old lipstick in the bottom of my handbag, so I went back to my room to find it. I sat down at my own dressing-table with my little skirt stretched across my lap, the hem not half way to my brown, nylon-clad knees, and opened the lipstick. Was I supposed to see it as phallic? Well I did and there was something quite erotic about running it around my lips. I felt a warm glow in my groin as I enjoyed this sensation. I put most of my increased sexuality down to being over thirty years younger than I had been only yesterday.

I was really pleased that I could be so easily aroused, but I was worried that these new sensations and the consequent desires were so strong. Could I control them? I did not want to become a slut. A cold shower? No, showering of any sort had this morning taken on a new meaning for me. I wandered back to the TV and curled up on the couch again. I watched every young man who appeared on the screen to see if I could fancy him. I still found it hard to turn my desires in that direction but, as soon as a love scene came on, I had no difficulty in identifying with the female character.

I found that I did long to cuddle someone and that that someone should be firm and rough to compliment my smooth softness. My slender arms were now completely bare. I hugged one of the scatter-cushions into my bosom. An exercise session came on, TV aerobics, so I got up and took part. I found my body delightfully supple, but I was still recovering from major surgery and had to take it easy. I decided that walking would be a better introduction to fitness training. If I wore a hat, say a ski-cap, I could hide my bandages. I was scared to venture outside on my own, though, and decided to persuade Vanessa to come with me at first.

After the aerobics, I sat cross-legged on the floor with my hands on my nylon-clad knees, a pose I had been unable to adopt for many years. I played with the hairs which were sticking through my tights, thinking that the old Angela had let her legs go, so must have usually worn long skirts or jeans. I would like to be smarter than her; I would definitely get a neat, shorter haircut, too, but it would have to hide my scars and at present I knew I had a whole band around my head under the bandages which was shaved bald.

I went upstairs again to get my pain-killers. My head hurt surprisingly little, considering the whole top had been cut off and then fixed back on with steel staples! My scalp was beginning to itch, which I knew was a good sign it was healing well. I also had to take anti-rejection pills. The thought of this made me feel a little unwelcome in this new body. It might even set out to kill me off, even though that would obviously kill it too. I shuddered as I thought that, followed by a girlish giggle as I realised that I was doing the shuddering and giggling - we were one and the same.

I would now be addressed formally as Miss Tidy or, hopefully someday, as Mrs. Angela Something-else. I would start a new career and would need a new bank account as the old Angela had left me nothing like that. I got out my driving licence again and looked at the signature. I had a chewed ball-pen in my handbag too, so I found a discarded envelope and practised. It was quite easy to copy. It didn't look exactly the same but it didn't need to be if I could get consistent in its new form. Signing my new name "Angela Tidy" made me feel rather more established in it.

All the time, I was very conscious of being dressed in a miniskirt and tights. I didn't need to put a hand into my crotch to know what equipment I had there, too. The novelty of having these lumps on my chest and having to wear straps over my shoulders to keep them still seemed as if it would never wear off. I looked forward to going outside and facing the world as a woman. The thought made me self-conscious of my legs and that they needed a shave. I couldn't borrow one of my hosts' razors without asking, so I decided to change into my new jeans.

When I'd taken off my skirt, I decided to keep my tights on because the weather was getting colder outside and it would feel nice and feminine to be dressed like that. I pulled up the jeans to find that Vanessa had got my size dead right. I delighted in running the zip up over my smooth round pubis. My hips seemed awfully wide now and my thighs tapered dramatically to my slender knees. I had thought that I could forget most of the novelty of being female when I wore jeans but if anything I felt even more self-conscious of my new shape.

As I turned around in front of a full-length mirror, admiring the shape of my bum in the jeans, I heard the front door slam shut downstairs. I thought it might be Gerard and rushed nervously out of their bedroom to find Vanessa coming up the stairs with more shopping-bags. She took me into my room and emptied a whole load of lingerie onto my bed. I stared open-mouthed at all the bras, panties, cammies and nylons, hardly wanting to accept them as mine. My eyes fixed on some boxes of tampons and pads and I squirmed at the thought of periods.

"Oh yes!" cried Vanessa, who I found had been watching my reaction, "you hadn't forgotten you'd need those, had you?"

"No, well yes, but I found a 'P' every four weeks in her (I mean my) diary. I think I'm due only next week."

"Well your op may affect it - don't worry if it's irregular for a bit."

I was a bit annoyed that she alternated between slight scorn of me as an ex-man and mothering me as a new daughter. At least she had started a bit of the latter, which I found I needed, since Gerard was just keeping his distance. I missed him as a friend and colleague and now I needed a father-figure too.
Vanessa was home for her lunch-break, so we went down to the kitchen together to make and eat some sandwiches. It was strange, but very nice, to be able to chat about personal things with a fellow-female. She agreed to come out for a walk with me in the evening, provided I wore a hat - she had a nice ski-cap I could borrow.

When she left to go back to work, I felt a full bladder again and headed for the bathroom. Being in a hurry and, I suppose, because I was wearing jeans, I marched up to the bowl and unzipped my flies, only to be confronted with the smooth curve of white panties visible through brown tights.

However, I felt no disappointment in my loss (or castration) and just giggled at my mistake, saying out loud, "Some male bastard's left the seat up again!"

I turned around, pulled down my jeans, tights and panties all together and sat down. This time the feel of piss just trickling from my fanny was not so new, but when I started to shit as well I was amazed that I could bend down and actually watch the turds emerging, with nothing to block the view. Of course I deny being fascinated by this!

Gerard was home first in the evening. I blushed more because I found myself pleased with his admiring looks at my new clothes than because he stared at me. He was surprised to find me not only up and about but actually starting to cook dinner for us all. I asked him to sit down while I brought him a drink but he insisted on helping me in the kitchen and I welcomed the chance of a one-to-one with him. I made a conscious effort not to flirt with him, though I was sure he was trying to flirt with me.

I had planned, with Vanessa, a stew which could cook on its own, while we went out for the walk I wanted. She came home before long and fetched a ski-cap for me. With it on, I felt much more normal, as it held my hair smooth and straight as it fell onto my shoulders. As we stepped outside I loved the feel of it blowing in the wind. I started to zip up my new pink waterproof jacket, but stopped half way when I realised that it would emphasise my bust like that.

The walk was really my first prolonged public appearance. There were quite a few other people around and I found myself staring too much to see if they noticed me. Of course they didn't - I looked a perfectly normal teenage girl. I certainly noticed all the young men. I was finding it quite easy to fancy them now, in fact it worried me that I was too randy - it could get me into trouble!

I spent most of the next two days getting bored in front of the TV. I had time to plan my new career which I wanted to be in computers as my earlier one had been. I couldn't wait till the bandages came off to buy myself a laptop and some smart office clothes. I went through the one thin file of documents I had been left several times. "I" had left school at seventeen and only had a couple of good references as a nanny and then a waitress. My exam results had not been very good for a career as a systems analyst, but now I had vast prior knowledge and, in student terms, vast funds, I could surely turn my fortune around quickly.

My fourth day as a woman was Saturday and I felt confident enough to persuade Vanessa to take me shopping, bandages or no bandages. After all I, Angela, had really truly just had a brain tumour removed and there was no need to pretend anything else; just omit the fact that my whole brain was new. So off we went with me in the ski-cap, which I never actually needed to remove, even when trying on my new business skirt-suit. We even went to look for a car, though I decided to make myself wait until I had a job for that. When I took a little runabout out for a test-drive, I was pleased that it was easy for me to drive and that I no longer wanted size and power so much.

I got myself onto a computer systems administration course at the local college. I had to lie that Gerard had taught me all my computing skills at home (I had taught him originally!) because none of my school reports gave any credit for ICT. When the course got under way, I thought I might have to hide my prior knowledge and act dumb, but I was more rusty than I thought and it was quite hard work keeping up with the assignments. It started only three weeks after my op but my hair was growing well over the scar. Vanessa got her hairdresser to come to the house and she cut me into a lovely bob-and-fringe. My head felt much lighter - I seemed to have had long hair for years.

Although I was now completely relaxed in the female role on my own or at home with my foster-parents, I still felt a bit awkward and embarrassed in social gatherings with my classmates. The boys scared me a bit when they flirted or teased me. I wasn't sure how to handle this, feeling severely short of experience, so stuck close to the other girls and watched what they did. There were two boys in the class who attracted me. James was really dishy and it was an effort not to stare at him. Greg was fun to talk to and he was happy just to chat with us girls. It had been so many years since I had been a single before that I might as well have been fresh into puberty - it was awfully frightening, but nice and exciting too.

The main boon to my op is being delightfully young again, 35 years after the first time. That would be joyous whichever gender I had chosen. I am fit now and play badminton and tennis. I rollerblade and ice-skate too. Vanessa has teased me that I choose sports needing miniskirts. She's got a point - I do enjoy showing off my legs. My favourite item of clothing is still that denim mini which was the first skirt of my very own, bought with my own money.

I've started skimming over the days now because, to be honest, the novelty of being female was already wearing off. It seemed perfectly normal already to put on a bra every morning, sit down to pee and to have to wipe it out of my pubic hair afterwards. I did find all that novelty very exciting at first, which is why I am writing it down now for your enjoyment. I get excited about all sorts of other things now but I will never again fantasise about trans-gender experiences in the way that you men do. I obviously have no hankering to change back, I had fifty years of being male and that was enough.

I could go on and tell you about my first date (with the neat little dress I wore for it) and first sex (which, I have to confess, was on the same night) but by then there was really no novelty at all. I'd had my twentieth birthday party at my foster-home with six of my classmates, four girls (of whom Jenny is my special friend), James and Greg. I'm afraid I flirted with James all evening to no avail, upsetting Greg too. Next day Greg's friend John asked me out and I agreed. It was a one-night-stand which I enjoyed and don't regret.

So here I am, well settled into my new female life. I settled much more quickly than any of the secret group studying me expected. There is still too much danger of an ignorant backlash for the brain-transplant procedure to be made public yet, so all the names here have been changed. I am unlikely to give myself away because now I rarely think of my other life as a man, indeed I often imagine that I remember bits of my childhood as a little girl - perhaps I do, from residual bits of brain-stem.

It was when I chanced to wander into my old TG haunts on the www that it occurred to me to write this down for you poor old dreamers!

I hope you enjoyed it.