The Choice

by Buggie

There are moments that life can take one of two directions based completely on a single choice. A classic "The Lady or The Tiger" theme.

It was one of those times where life waited on a choice. A choice between two options, both of them mixed with desirable and undesirable results. Neither choice was all that great for various reasons, but he knew the choice he had to make. He looked at the two slips of paper sitting on the shelf nearby. So tantalizingly close to going to the pharmacy in a few days when he could drive a car once again. They sang a sweet siren call, beckoning to him. Bitterness swelled within him and he realized that it would take some time to get used to the new path. The two prescriptions, one for estrodiol and the other provera, would begin what many had called the “roller coaster ride”.

Only seven months previous he had made a fateful choice that took him to this new juncture. His wife, his partner for nineteen years, still didn't fully understand him, but she supported him in many ways. For the last few years he suffered from depression, unrelated to the reason for seeking a therapist. It was a family trait carried from one or both of the genetic lines, a chemical imbalance causing that depression. For this he finally broke down and told his doctor of his problem, admitting that he needed some sort of help. The first doctor ignored him, stating that everyone was down now and then. That was the end of that conversation with him. Next year a new doctor was found and this time the depression was worse then before. It had been growing in strength for the last few years. This time the doctor listened. This time he also wasn't going to be pushed aside. The thought of suicide was stronger then the year before and even though he didn't feel like he was in danger of doing something like that, it was dangerous to let it go unchecked. He knew well enough that such thoughts could find a way of seeming “right” at a weak moment.

So it was that he began with a prescription that helped him get out of bed and face the world. That helped him not cry at the end of the day. To engage the world around him. Life was much better. The next year a stronger drug was prescribed. The year after, another stronger still. But now it wasn't just the chemical imbalance that he was fighting against, it was other things: stress from work, stress from a relationship, grief about not being able to have more children or to even get chosen to adopt a child, an inability to perform sexually because of the drugs he was prescribed, and that old familiar feeling that had never left him. He felt himself left out of a world, looking in from the outside and desiring to be whole. And it was this that was driving him to drink more, to fall further from the world around him. It was this that which, while he mowed the yard one Saturday, caused him to cry as he held back the sobs that threatened to consume his body. It was this way that his wife found him, concerned because he just wasn't himself anymore. And within her arms he told her he must get help because life was far too important to be existing and wishing for death. She knew too, the things that were in him and she wanted the best for him too.

So it was that he finally “put on his big girl panties” and wrote to a therapist he found after weeks of looking on the Internet. Her reply stated that certainly she could see him. It was with some shyness he arrived for his first appointment, but the weight that pushed him forward would tolerate no more delays in finding help. It was that first appointment that she asked him a question about how painful it was to exist in the two worlds, not being a member of either one and he surprised himself by faltering in his answer, overcome with grief that was far too long bottled up.

One appointment led to the next, questions being asked about various things in his life and how he felt about them. He answered honestly, saying that the reason he took so long to come forward was that he couldn't figure out if he was a transsexual or not. The definitions that he had read twenty five years ago didn't fit him. He didn't hate his genitals. He didn't love them, but he didn't hate them. And most of the time, he was okay with just being himself, but that he had ways of coping with things. Looking at himself not as a man or as a woman, but as a person who could be both or either when needed. The pain he felt was real, the lack and loss inescapable except for short retreats. It wasn't the clothes that he was interested in, and he didn't really wear anything of a feminine nature except hidden underneath to help him get through the worst days. Days that were growing far too frequent.

So he talked, not really learning anything about himself that he didn't already know. The most important thing he learned was that definitions of twenty five years ago weren't the same any more. He told his wife what was going on, keeping the more worrisome aspects of the therapy from her knowing that he had to go slow with her. And even after the first time he told her that he felt like a woman on the inside, she didn't run away at all. She stayed by him, hugged him and told him she was in it with him. It was something he felt was really too good to be true. All this time of her accepting him, but her not really wanting to be a part of his world didn't match up to what he was seeing now, but he believed her knowing that each step of the way was dangerous. That at any moment she might suddenly change her stance. Still, it gave him hope. Even talking with the support group leaders he felt slightly offended that they would insist that it would never work. He knew it was a rough road, but that she hadn't fell away from him yet. Others had happy relationships through the changes, not many, but some. He wanted that to be their relationship too.

Quietly he celebrated the day that his therapist presented a letter to him, three months earlier then she said she would ever consider doing so. The letter didn't state his true position, but as a transsexual who wanted to live life as a woman and that "she" was ready to begin hormone treatments to achieve that. But this letter would get him the hormones that might well calm his soul which is what the psychiatrist was intending it to do. It was risky. He knew very well how easy it could be to find yourself swept up in things and to go much further then originally intended. He could tell that already as he was fighting desires to pierce his ears or to do other things to become more womanly. His hair was approaching his shoulders at that time and he loved the feeling it gave him. It was his current solace and after his first endocrinologist appointment it would be secondary to the new feelings he would have. His mind reeled with possibilities, maybe having days or nights or even personal vacations to live as the woman he was inside on top of being his wife's husband.

For her part, his lack of sexual interest was destroying her. It really was the medication he was taking for depression that killed his sex drive. He couldn't keep it up or ejaculate on his own without a lot of effort and when they were together it was impossible because he couldn't focus on himself. He wanted her to be happy and he did what he could to pleasure her. Still it wasn't enough. She wanted him physically inside her again and much more often, something that ended many years ago. Tentatively he told her that he was now able to see a doctor about getting the hormones like they had talked about two months before and to his delight, she was excited for him. She wanted it for him too. She knew how much it meant and it was something she wanted him to do too. Something to bring peace to his soul. She trusted him and believed in him.

The only hell was waiting for the appointment. The endocrinologists were booked for many months in advance so it would be almost three months before he could see one. In the meantime he began a few other medical treatments to help him. Sleep apnea tests showed that he needed a CPAP machine to help him sleep through the night. Instantly he felt himself sleeping far better then he had for years. A shoulder suffering from bone spurs for the last seven years was examined and just before an MRI, he heard and felt the pop as something broke within it. Quickly he was scheduled for surgery and afterwards his shoulder was repaired and would now be on the mend. Things were looking very good.

But because of his shoulder he couldn't drive a car. His wife was unable to take him to his first endo appointment and after searching, she found one of the church elders who was willing to do so. For him, warning bells started to go off. Things didn't feel quite as right as they should be. She had gotten more distant from the original supportive stance he had originally felt, but he figured it had to do with her being nervous about the treatment. He offered to reschedule the appointment and brought it up for conversation again, but she told him that it was far too important for him to wait another few months. For him, he simply told the church elder who took him in that it was for his prostate and that was that. The nurses again echoed the old nasty statements that women wouldn't stay married to someone going through hormone treatments. They saw him as a transsexual, but he wasn't intending to change his genitals, only the chemical nature of his body so that he would feel better about being alive. If it worked, then that was all that would be needed. If it didn't, then he would have to see if he needed to take the next step or a different direction all together.

So it was that he returned home that afternoon with his two prescriptions: estrodiol and provera. He was going to take the slow train for the HRT. It was still good. He told her that he needed to get the prescriptions filled, but with him being out of commission because of his shoulder she was far too busy taking care of the house and family and couldn't go to the pharmacy that night which he understood completely. For the next few days he gazed at his two prescriptions now and then. For him it was a thrill. He had what he needed to fight his depression once and for all. It was a dream come true. A few days later she still hadn't been able to go to the pharmacy and he didn't blame her. She was far too exhausted to do more then what she was already doing to keep the house and family running on her own while he recuperated. It was something he was going to have to do on his own. In a few days he'd have to drive whether she liked it or not, as he had to start going to therapy and she couldn't take him due to other commitments.

More joy came as he realized that his insurance had covered the endocrinologist and by using the online pharmacy application, he found out his medications would also be covered and very cheap. Things were really looking up. He felt that they would be covered, but he waited to see it to believe it. That took a worry from him, about how much this would cost. With his shoulder surgery money was going to be tight for the next few months.

After his exercises for the day, she came in and crashed on the bed to rest for a few minutes before making supper. They talked about the things going on for the day and he pointed out that he was going to have to drive the car tomorrow to start going to his therapy appointments. She wasn't eager about it, but she realized that it would have to be that way. He brought up his prescriptions and how he joked about how the doctor suggested intramuscular injections, but that with his shoulder and arm in a sling he couldn't do it. Plus he didn't relish the idea of giving her something to stab him with. She had suffered daily injections herself from his hand when they pursued fertility treatments and might be a little vindictive in her administration. The one thing he was concerned about, their multi-year attempt to adopt children might well come to a close the following year if during the physical they discovered him taking hormones.

You could almost hear the brakes being applied...

He had miscalculated. Even though they had been chasing this dream for seven plus years now and it was time to end it because they were too old to be chosen, she still hadn't given up on that dream. He wanted it too, but for him the dream was done. There was no way they could be chosen because they were approaching their middle forties. But for her this was something that her life revolved around. She wasn't ready to end it.

Then they talked a little more about the hormones themselves and what he wanted out of them. He was honest with her. He just wanted to go the next step and hopefully they would help him reconcile within himself.

“And if they don't work, would you want a sex change?” she asked.

He paused before answering. “No, honestly it isn't something I want...”

“But you do. I can tell you do because of how you answered.”

“I can't say it doesn't hold a little fascination with me, but I really don't want to go that far.”

But it was over. She laid it out for him clearly. She loved him and would continue to love him no matter the choice he was to make, but it was something he had to choose.

Would he take the hormones and thus begin the end of their marriage officially or would he forgo the hormones and work on growing the family and finding another way to his internal peace?

He could tell that the other way was more of a “bury it again so I don't have to deal with it” statement. Perhaps over time he could ease her fears, something he knew he could do, but it would take time.

Did he have that time or was he too committed to ending the pain in his life? Could he reconcile her fears so that he could make the next step?

Would he fill the prescriptions or not?