Michelle's Mom breaks the news to Michelle's father. Michelle visits her family doctor who is not supportive of her cause. Ouch!  Mike versus Michelle: Part 6 Bad Medicine By Sharon Parsons

I was very troubled after I changed out of my mother's wedding dress and into my regular clothes. The phrase, "For better or worse", flashed through my mind like a neon sign. I'd spilled my guts to my mother. Of course I'd done that before, but I had gone farther this time and the stakes were higher now.

I had asked my mother for permission to smoke and had committed myself to becoming a woman. I was playing for keeps now. Mom had promised to talk to my father about it that night. She was going to tell him about me. What would she say and how would she say it?

I suddenly felt sorry for my father. He was a good man and he didn't deserve the pain my mother was about to heap on him. And what about me? Whether I liked it or not, my life was going to change drastically. Even if I never wore a dress or smoked a cigarette in front of my father for the rest of his life, he'd know the truth about me.

I understood my father's opinion of me would change forever once my mother talked to him. I felt so bad for him because I felt his shame.

And what would become of me after my mother talked to my father? I never questioned my mother's ability to get her way with my father, as she was the ultimate decision maker in our house.

My mother was respectful of my father and his feelings, but I knew she wouldn't let him or anyone else stand in the way of what she thought was best for me. Like it or not, the shit was about to hit the fan and this thing was going to happen.

I wanted it to happen. But I was also afraid for it happen. I was so tempted to slam on the breaks. All I had to do was ask my mother to sit on it. She'd do that for me. Wouldn't she? Maybe that's why she gave me the Ambien, to help me sleep, so that I couldn't get in the way of her doing the right thing for me.

I would have worried about it all night or maybe even done something to stop my mother from talking to my father, if I hadn't fallen asleep. It was the last thing I thought about before I passed out and the first thing I thought about when I woke up the next morning.

I got out of bed and prepared for school, even though I knew in my heart that I probably wouldn't be going that day. After taking my shower, I threw on some clothes and tied my damp hair into a ponytail.

Tony's bus comes earlier than mine, so he was having breakfast with dad, who was noticeably underdressed for work. Mom asked how I'd slept and offered me a cup of coffee.

I told my mom that the Ambien had really worked as I absorbed the tension in the air. Tony of course, was oblivious to it. It was just another school day for him. As far as he was concerned, his family would be the same- unchanged, after he got home from school.

As I took a sip of coffee, I found myself wishing that I could take another Ambien and sleep through the pain that would come once Tony left for for the bus stop.

I knew what was coming. Dad would stay home from work today to see if he could talk some sense into me. He'd ask me why? What would I tell him? How would I answer him? I was scared, even though I knew my mom would be there to protect me.

I had to be careful. He'd be looking for chinks in my armor. I had to be strong like my mother. I couldn't afford to bare my doubts or concerns to either of them.

Doubts and concerns? For lack of better words. I didn't know what to call them. I just knew I wasn't exactly the girl my mother thought I was. But at the same time, I sure as hell wasn't the kind of boy that my father had thought I was before my mother ripped his heart out.

I watched as Tony hugged our mom and shook our father's hand like the little man that he was. I'd always shaken my father's hand in the past. What would I do tomorrow? Kiss him on the cheek? I hated myself for being whatever it was that was, and I hated myself for what I was doing to my father. I wanted an Ambien. I wanted two, or three or maybe even four of them.

Tony waved goodbye to me as the door closed behind him. I was alone with my mother and father.

"We need to talk," said my father.

"I know Dad."

*****

I'll spare you from the blow by blow details. It was a gory emotional battle that lasted more than three hours and ended with my father leaving the house to get some air.

Mom sat on the couch and tried to console me. Dad had done his utmost best to talk me out of becoming a woman. He used all the emotional tools at his disposal. But in the end, I stood my ground beside Mom.

With Mom's help, I had won the battle, but there would be no celebration that day. There was strategizing however.

Mom said that it was important to follow through with the plans we had discussed the day before. She said things would become more difficult and complicated if we put them off for later. She explained the game plan to me.

The only thing I needed to do was to change into a dress and put my make-up on. It was up to her to make medical and counseling appointments for me. She was also going to call my school and arrange for me to be home schooled.

When my father and brother got back home, they'd see me in a dress with make-up on my face.

My mother told me that she wanted me to look nice. As a matter of fact, she said it was very important for me to look nice while Dad and Tony were getting used to the situation.

It's important to note that my mother gave me the opportunity to back out. She never forced me to do anything against my will.

I said my mother had a game plan but there was nothing game-like about it. She made certain that I understood the serious nature of what I was about to do.

"There are some things you can't take back once you do them," she said. And then we talked about those things.

We talked about the female hormones and what they'd do to my body. We talked about how my decision to get a G.E.D. instead of a high school diploma would affect my future. We talked about what people would think and say about me as I transitioned into a woman. We talked about how it would affect my future relationships with men and women once I started dating.

"Are you sure you want to do this," she asked?

I knew what I wanted even if I wasn't sure that I wanted it for the right reasons. I didn't tell her that because as I said earlier, I couldn't afford to show any doubts or concerns.

"I want to be a woman Mom. I want to be like you."

She hugged me and told me how proud she was of me. If she was proud, why was I so ashamed? I went upstairs to change while she made the phone calls.

*****

I was sitting on my bed all dressed up with no place to go when my mother told me she had called the school and had made an appointment with our family doctor for that morning.

She looked around my room and said it didn't look like a girl lived there. I agreed with her, the sports trophies and posters looked very out of place for Michelle's room, but they suited Mike just fine.

"We can't do everything at once, but we'll work on it," said my mother.

She sat down on my bed and we discussed some ideas for "Michelle's" new room. As far as life changes are concerned, room decor is rather trivial, but my mother explained the symbolic importance of it.

"Every thing is important from now on," she said. "You have to walk the walk and talk the talk. Being a woman, especially in your case, is a state of mind."

I thought about what my mother said about womanhood being a state of mind and accepted it with great ease, because that's how I'd always felt about my femininity. It was never physical for me. It had always been a state of mind. I had been chasing that state of mind ever since I was a little boy and had snuck into my parent's room to play with my mother's clothes.

****

Dr. Limpke had been my doctor since I was a toddler. He wasn't a pediatrician so he didn't have a bubbly personality, but he was a straight shooter and didn't pull any punches. A boy in a dress is an easy target for a man like him. He pummeled me with his words and looks.

I didn't like him then and I don't like him now, but I am thankful to him for prescribing the hormones and blockers for me.

The son of a bitch was holier and than thou. He looked at me as if I was a piece of perverted trash while my mother explained the reason for our visit. I hated the way he shook his head as he listened. He might as well have been shaking his finger at me.

I listened as Dr. Limpke told my mother about an estrogen pill called Estrace and an anti-androgen called Aldactone. He said that after six weeks I'd begin to see female development in my breasts and after two months, the damage to my reproductive abilities would be irreversible.

He called me Mike instead of Michelle and told me that I'd never be able to father children if I took the medication. His tone of voice was more demeaning than informative and caring. It was like my mother had said, a person's perception of me had changed.

Dr. Limpke explained the possible side effects that are associated with Estrace. My mother's expression changed when she heard him say that smoking might contribute to blood clots.

My heart fell as my mother pressed Dr. Limpke to go into more detail about the dangers of smoking and blood clots.

He said he'd never had a patient who had experienced any major problems from it but to stay on the safe side, he always prescribed a lower dosage to his patients that smoked.

Knowing my mother was a smoker, he assumed she must have asked the question because she was considering taking the medication her self for menopause. I know this because he asked her if she was getting hot flashes.

Mom told him that she was fine and wasn't having any problems, but she had asked about the smoking because she was concerned about me.

Dr. Limpke looked at me as if I was a complete idiot. And then he called me Mike and asked me if I smoked.

The condemnation in his voice made me shrink. I couldn't answer him and I hated myself for not being strong like my mother. The shame was just too much for me to bare.

My mother answered for me, but she didn't come to my rescue. "Michelle doesn't smoke Dr. Limpke, but she's talked about wanting to start."

Dr. Limpke took that as his cue to lecture me for the next ten minutes. He asked me questions about did I know this or that about what smoking does. He showed me pictures of diseased lungs that turned my stomach.

I listened to every thing he said while my mother nodded knowingly from her chair in the corner.

I did know this and I did know that. I'd heard it all before, but I listened to every word he said while I prayed for his tirade to end. I wasn't strong enough to tell him why I wanted to smoke. How would that have sounded to a man like Dr. Limpke?

But Dr. Limpke! Don't you understand? I'm a little sissy boy and I want to smoke like a woman.

I couldn't tell him that so I just sat there and absorbed his verbal beating while my mom sat by and watched.

Dr. Limpke scribbled out a prescription for my mother and wrote the name of a gender therapist on another of paper, which he handed to her.

He stood up and looked down at me disapprovingly as he wished me luck.

Knowing that I was about to break down and cry, I told my mom that I was going to wait in the car while she paid the bill. She told me she'd hurry.

I was sobbing as she got into the car.

The first thing she said when she got into the car was that she was sorry Dr. Limpke was so hard on me. She said this while lighting a cigarette for her self.

At the time, I thought she was the biggest hypocrite in the world for smoking a cigarette so soon after my emotional castration. But now I know she did it because she is an addict. However, this is now and that was then, and back then I wasn't in an understanding or forgiving mood. I felt as if though she had betrayed me by taking me to that bastard and unleashing him on me.

She apologized for Dr. Limpke, but she didn't apologize for her self. My mother had her reasons for leading me to slaughter and she explained them as we drove to the drug store to get my prescription filled.

"I know he was rude but he was right to be hard on you Michelle. You're only fourteen and you're dealing with two of the most important decisions that you'll ever have to make in your life. I just want to be sure you put some thought into them. And just so you know, your father feels the same way that I do."

I could have agreed with her or I could have argued with her. I could have thanked her or I could have told her to go to hell. Instead of doing any of those things, I told her that I was almost 15. As if a month made any difference! I knew how stupid it sounded when I said it. I looked out the window and stared at the side of the road.

Mom told me to fix my make-up because I'd messed it up by crying. After everything Dr. Limpke had said to me, I felt stupid and worthless as I used the mirror in the sun visor to repair the damage, but I couldn't fix it. I looked like total shit and that made me even more angry and upset.

I told my mother that I didn't want to go to the drug store. I told her that I just wanted to go home.

My mother didn't argue with me. She just said okay and drove.

As soon as we got home, I ran up the stairs to my room and slammed the door shut. I fell down on my bed and cried in my pillow.

***

About an hour or so after I laid down, I heard my mother knock on the door, only it wasn't my mother. It was my father. He asked if he could come in.

I didn't want to talk to him, at least not then, but at the same time I couldn't say no. I told him to come in as I sat up on the bed and wiped the ruined mascara from my eyes.

He sat down beside me on the bed.

"I talked to your mother so I know the two of you are going through a spat. She says you're pretty mad at her right now because of the way Dr. Limpke talked to you. I don't want to get between you and your mother, but just so you know, she really went to bat for you last night on the cigarettes. She tried to explain it but it sounded like a woman thing to me. And judging from what she said downstairs, I take it that Dr. Limpke gave you quite a lecture about the dangers."

"He thinks I'm stupid".

"He doesn't think you're stupid. He just thinks your making a mistake."

"Is that what you think too."

"Not at all, but to tell you the truth, this whole thing is beyond me because I'm not a woman and I'm not a smoker, so I can't pretend to understand what you're going through. But your mother can. That's why she wants you to think hard before you make the same mistake she did."

"Did she tell you to say that to me?"

"No. I'm just saying it because I think the two of you need each other more than ever right now. Your mother is a wonderful person and I can't think of a better role model for you. I'd be very proud if you turned out to be just like her."

"Even if I started smoking like her?"

"Are you absolutely positive that you want to start?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my whole life Dad."

"In that case, I'd be disappointed if you didn't follow your heart."

I hugged him, which was kind of unusual, because up until then we'd always shook hands. The other unusual thing that I did, but seemed right, was to call him Daddy when I thanked him.

Dad broke our embrace and asked if I wanted to get cleaned up.

"For what," I asked?

"For Tony. Don't you want to fix your make-up before he gets home from school?"

"Thanks Daddy. I'll do that."

Dad stood up from the bed and nodded. "That's good, and then afterwards, maybe you should come downstairs and talk to your mother. She's really worried about you."