Simon(e) Book 2: Chapter 10 of 12 by D.L. Copyright  © 2011 D.L. All Rights Reserved. The flashing blue light catches my attention. I groan as a bright light is shined into my left eye, temporarily blinding me.

The flashing blue light catches my attention. I groan as a bright light is shined into my left eye, temporarily blinding me.

“Jasmine, can you hear me?” an unfamiliar male voice enquires.

“Who?” I reply, my brain still rebooting, “Oh yeah, that’s me isn’t it.”

I feel extremely disorientated, my initial reaction being why I’m being called Jasmine and not Simon. I look around. I am sitting on the ground under a swing. The blue light is from an ambulance parked on the road in front of me and a paramedic in a green uniform is shining a light in my eyes.

I feel a tightness round my arm as a second medic takes my blood pressure. He is reading off numbers and noting them on a clipboard. I finally regain my senses and realise where I am.

“What happened?” I ask. “Why am I sitting on the ground, and where did you come from?”

“What is the last thing you remember?” the paramedic asks.

“I was feeling shaky so I got off my bike and sat on the swing,” I reply, patting the plastic seat that is hanging behind me. “Did I pass out?”

“You have been out of it for about a quarter of an hour,” Mary says. “When you fainted and started to bleed from your nose we were seriously worried so we called 999.”

I notice that Jill and Wendy are missing. Dr Lambert is standing to one side talking with the ambulance driver. I guess one of the girls must have dashed back to the school for assistance.

“Your blood pressure is dangerously high,” explains the paramedic, “we think this may have caused your blackout and nosebleed. Have you passed out before?”

“Yes, and I’ve come close a couple of times while under high stress. My vision goes grey and gloomy. My head is pounding. My blood pressure has been measured as above average several times recently, but never as high as it is now,” I reply.

“Have you been taking any medication recently?” the man enquires.

“I was put on a low-dosage contraceptive pill a week ago,” I reply, “is that likely to be a factor?”

I’m asked for the exact drug and dosage, which I give. Apparently, one of the side effects can be an increase in blood pressure. They therefore decide to take me to the Hospital. As I’m being helped into the ambulance, my parents pull up in the Land Rover. My mother dashes across, and after I verify her identity, she joins us in the back of the ambulance and we head off towards the hospital.

My father is left behind with the vehicle. He will presumably follow us once he has collected the girls and our bikes.

I still feel dizzy and my head keeps pounding as we ride to the hospital with me lying down in the back of the ambulance.

I am wheeled into the casualty department where I’m hooked up to a monitor. Several vials of blood are drawn for analysis. I’m given an injection of sodium nitroprusside, which immediately starts to reduce the pressure. I’m told to lie still and try to relax.

After an hour, I’m moved across from Accident and Emergency into the Emergency Assessment and Discharge Unit for observation.

It is an hour and a half later when Dr Stirzaker comes to the side room in which I’ve been placed. Given my unique medical status and my age, I have been separated from the main bays.

“Jasmine, Mrs Whittaker,” the doctor greets us as he checks the readings on the charts, “I’ve just been reviewing the results of the blood tests. It seems you have been suffering from high blood pressure for a while, but it looks to have shot up. Examining your tests it appears it may be a reaction to the hormone tablets. They can sometimes cause high blood pressure as a side effect, but you have had a stronger than usual reaction.”

“Does this mean I can’t take female hormones at all? Was the initially high pressure due to the herbal tablets I was taking before?” I ask, worried that I may never be able to develop fully as a girl. That would be highly ironic, and not something I really want to consider.

“It’s not the hormone itself, at least not the naturally-produced substance. We have done some allergy tests and it seems you react to specific types of artificial substitutes,” Dr Stirzaker explains. “What I would like to do is change how we administer the treatment. I’m going to give you higher-dose monthly injections combined with a different daily pill that shouldn’t cause an issue. I am going to let your blood pressure settle down over the next couple of hours, then I will give you your first shot while we have you here for observation so that we can make sure there are no nasty side effects this time.”

We agree to his suggestion, and I settle down for a long evening and potentially uncomfortable night in hospital. Trying to sleep on a busy ward is never an easy thing. Luckily, I’m in a side room, which helps to reduce the noise.

My father arrives bringing a nightgown and overnight bag for me with him. On my insistence, I send both of them home in the evening. I don’t see any point in them hanging around. The girls are looking after the farm as best they can while my parents are here with me.

By nine in the evening my blood pressure has stabilised to a more acceptable level, but is still slightly higher than average. At ten, the duty doctor administers the hormone injection. I finally get to sleep somewhere near midnight.

I wake in the morning feeling exceedingly nauseous, and I run to the on suite bathroom to throw up. I press the buzzer for the nurse and she comes in while I’m retching. The hormone injection is obviously very potent, and it has given me morning sickness. I get a visit from Dr Stirzaker shortly after breakfast, which I manage to eat despite not being very hungry. It seems I am very sensitive to female hormones as my reaction to them is stronger than normal.

The good news is that the injection hasn’t affected my blood pressure, it is still stable but high. I’m prescribed tablets to control this, and take the first dose once they are sent up from the pharmacy.

I spend the morning watching telly while I’m monitored. Daytime TV is dire, but there is nothing else to do, so I find the least atrocious programme to watch to pass the time. I’m discharged from the hospital after lunch with a blood pressure monitor and a course of tablets. I’m instructed on how to monitor the levels, and given instruction on what to do if it rises above a safe point.

My father drives me home in the Jag, and I lie on the couch in the front room watching DVDs. As soon as I’m home, my blood pressure drops by several percent.

I’m not allowed to help and confined to the couch for the evening, with the other girls taking the bulk of the chores so that I can rest.

I have had enough by the evening, when I’m not even allowed to get up to get a snack without everybody insisting they should do it for me.

“Hold you hard,” I angrily shout. “I’m fed up of being mollycoddled. I’m not going to sit here and do nowt. I’m not an invalid and this is getting on my wick, which isn’t going to do my blood pressure any good. If I have to sit through another episode of Jeremy sodding Kyle then I’ll explode. Stop fussing!”

“Okay, don’t put on your parts,” my father replies, “what would you like to do?”

“Get back to my normal routine. I have the monitor and know what to do if I look like I’m getting another hypertension attack,” I answer. “I will go back to school tomorrow morning as normal. I also fully intend to go to the governors’ meeting Thursday evening. I know it will be stressful, but it will be a lot more stressful to sit at home wondering what is being said than being there.”

Reluctantly my parents agree, but I’m to keep to light duties. As I didn’t sleep very well in the hospital, I take an early night.

I’m up slightly later Wednesday morning. Mary sneakily turned the alarm clock off, so neither of us wakes until half past seven, an hour and a half after everybody else. Mary and I are put on packed lunch duty as Jill, Wendy and my parents are already seeing to the animals.

We leave slightly earlier for the cycle to school. I insist on going by bike as normal, but we allow extra time so the ride is at a more leisurely pace.

We arrive at school on time and head to registration. My friends are eager to see me and are glad that I’m all right. They were concerned when they heard I had collapsed spewing blood from my nose. After explaining the problem and reassuring everyone I’m fine, we proceed to lessons.

The day progresses well. I think everybody is being cautious around me again. I had a bit of this when I first came out, but things had returned to somewhat normal. I now have people wondering how to treat me once more. I catch up on notes from missed lessons from Alison, Mary and Josh. Charles gives me a CD containing audio files for the lessons I share with him. Also included is the audio file of Monday’s Geography lesson in case I need it.

The school secretary comes to my classroom shortly before the bell signifying the end of the morning’s lessons, and asks that I come to the office at the start of the lunch period. When the teacher dismisses us, I head as instructed to the reception desk, where I’m directed into Mr Henry’s office.

My father is there waiting for me as I enter the room. I am asked to sit down, and told not to worry. The first thing I’m asked to do is take a blood pressure reading, which I do, and it turns out to be fine.

“We are talking about how to handle the governors’ meeting tomorrow evening,” my father explains. “I know you want to attend, but we are worried about the pressure that may put you under.”

“It will be a lot less stressful being there than sitting at home worrying about what’s being said,” I reply.

“I thought you might say that,” my father observes.

“I have been giving this some consideration,” Mr Henry begins. “We need to maintain your anonymity, but also it would be handy if you were on hand to answer questions should they arise. I was wondering how you would feel about a remote video linkup. Due to the demand to attend, we are setting up a live web broadcast that can be viewed using any of the student, teacher, or parent logins on our website. This will allow a lot more people to virtually attend the meeting and pose questions. It also helps keep control of the situation as we can filter nasty comments and pull the plug if things start to go wrong. Anybody who has a history of hostility, such as some of those who took part in the demonstration, will only be allowed to attend virtually.”

I know that my attendance as a girl is a hot topic and likely to pose a lot of interest. This seems like a sensible suggestion so that anybody who wants to view the proceedings can do so without the school running out of room to fit everybody in. I hope our servers are up to the load that they may be under as a result.

“We will be videoing and broadcasting via the school media suite. If you can be in the control room then you can watch and provide feedback. I will be wearing an earpiece so that you can relay messages if needed,” he adds.

This sounds like a decent plan. If things go pear-shaped then we can lock ourselves in the control room out of harm’s way. I agree to the idea.

I ask about the likely outcome of the meeting, and Mr Henry explains that he doesn’t think there will be a problem. He has spoken to several of the governors, and he knows that he at least has some support. He also has a few tricks up his sleeve, but refuses to say what they are. All attendees will be asked to submit their main questions in advance, and one of my more vocal adversaries, Mrs Baxter, will be acting as spokesperson for the counterargument.

I smile and chuckle as I hear who is going to be doing the speaking. This puzzles the two adults so I explain, “Mrs Baxter is one of the Tennis Club officials I met on Saturday. She happened to come into the changing rooms to hand her niece a towel while I was drying myself from the shower. She then took us all to lunch. At no point did she seem to twig that I’m transgender, even when she commented on my hair. I would suggest that you steer clear of my wearing a wig, as that may cause her to put two and two together.”

Mr Henry invites me to make a statement. This gives me an idea and I ask if it could take the form of a distorted sound recording played back over the speakers. He doesn’t seem to think that would be a problem, and that he will speak to Mr Page, the IT teacher, about the idea.

We discuss the arrangements for the following evening before I head off to lunch with the other girls, who are eager to find out why I had to go to the office.

The rest of the day goes well, and after meeting up with my foster sisters, we set off for the ride back to the farm.

As we are about to cycle up from the main road and into the farmyard, I notice a strange car parked outside the house. Not knowing who might be calling, I swiftly do a one-eighty and head back towards the road. I shout to the other girls that I will be back shortly in neutral mode. Wendy decides to join me, worried about my blood pressure, figuring that this may be stressful.

I decide to play safe and change out of girl mode. Rather than going to full boy mode, I will instead dress in a completely androgynous fashion so that it won’t matter if whoever is waiting is expecting a girl or a boy.

I swiftly cycle to the bunker and change into the jeans, baggy shirt, and fleece that I have left for emergencies. Hiding the uniform in my school bag, we cycle back towards the farm. I am wearing a dark blue headscarf and I have covered my earrings with tape. I put the bike in the barn and cautiously walk over to the house.

My mother is sitting in the kitchen drinking tea when I enter. I see a smile on my mother’s face when she sees how I’m dressed.

“Take the headscarf off Jasmine, you don’t need it,” she says. “Mrs Monroe from Social Services is here, and she already knows about your change of gender from speaking with the school.”

I have met Mrs Monroe before, as Simon, when she visited me after the incident with Mike. She interviewed me to see if I needed to be placed on an ‘at risk’ register after my father whacked Mike.

“She is interviewing Jill and Mary at the moment, and has already inspected the bedrooms, as we discussed,” she says, meaning that as far as Mrs Monroe is concerned Wendy is just visiting, Jill is alone in Mike’s room and Mary is in the guest room. Luckily, we have hung some of Mary’s clothes in that room, as there is limited storage space in mine.

“We have had a stroke of luck. It seems Jill’s mother received the messages left on her phone and has actually faxed us a letter giving us power of attorney over the girls. It’s crude and badly written, but Mrs Monroe has accepted it as genuine,” my mother states but is interrupted by the opening of the door to the front room. The sisters emerge followed by the social worker.

“Ah, I see you have arrived home,” Mrs Monroe states on seeing me. “As I have the opportunity I would like to interview you as well.”

I follow her back into the front room and she closes the door behind her. I am slightly nervous as to what she may ask.

“I was wondering where you had got to when you didn’t arrive home with the other girls,” Mrs Monroe declares.

“I did arrive at the same time, but I was in full girl mode,” I explain. “I saw your car parked outside, and not recognising it, decided to err on the side of caution. I took a detour to change clothing. Not everybody knows about my lifestyle and I know some people might not approve, therefore I decided to appear in neutral mode until I knew who I was dealing with.”

Mrs Monroe nods, then after checking her notes says, “I understand that you have changed names since our last meeting, Simone?”

“Jasmine,” I reply, “I’ve changed my name by deed poll from Simon J Whittaker to Jasmine Simone Whittaker.”

“Dr Lambert has given me some notes on your case, I was quite surprised when I found out you were living as a girl,” she states, “although I always suspected that you were hiding something in our previous meetings, and I thought perhaps you were gay.”

“I suppose that I would have to class myself as bisexual, but I do lean heavily in one direction,” I openly declare, “I’m a lot more attracted to boys than girls, so depending on how you classify me I’m either a heterosexual female or homosexual male. I prefer the former classification.”

Mrs Monroe nods and jots down some notes on her pad before asking, “How are things here at home? I understand that you were attending as a girl, without your parent’s knowledge, and were frightened about their reaction. Do you still feel threatened?”

“No,” I answer, “It turns out most of my fears were unjustified. They have accepted me for what I am, and although things are still tense as we all adjust, everything is going well. I was working under the assumption that as they didn’t except one son as being homosexual, they would have greater issue in the other being transgender. However, their attitude has changed somewhat since the incident with Mike. My parents have done a lot of reflecting and are no longer as hostile to alternative lifestyles.”

“Now, Jasmine, how do you feel about effectively gaining two sisters?” she enquires.

“I don’t mind in the least. Mary is one of my best friends, and Jill has been nothing but nice to me since we met. Admittedly we have only gotten to know each other since school began, but I have no problem with either of them,” I reply.

“Last time we talked I got the impression you were a bit of a loner, has that changed? Are you making more friends now?” she queries.

“Yes. Most of the troublemakers for me are going to Lakeside instead of Brahms. I’m getting a lot less agro since starting high school. I now have several close friends, including Mary. Except for a few negative incidents, I have actually been surprised at the support and friendship I have been receiving from my fellow classmates,” I say with a smile. “I was always trying to hide my true nature, and that made me introverted and shy. Since outwardly presenting as a girl, I’ve become a lot more open and relaxed, and that has helped me form friends, rather than pushing them away.”

Mrs Monroe makes some more notes before closing her notebook declaring that I’m officially not at risk, and no longer need to be on her case files. We proceed to the kitchen where the others are waiting to hear her findings.

“I think the arrangements here are perfectly acceptable,” she announces, “I see no reason why Jill and Mary can’t continue to live here. Mrs Green has effectively arranged private foster care for her daughters, although somewhat belatedly. I find her behaviour deplorable and I can fully understand your wishes to have no further contact with your mother. I will liaise with the benefits office to make sure that any entitlements are paid directly to Mr and Mrs Whittaker.”

A sigh of relief goes round the room. The authorities could have insisted on rehoming the girls, possibly separately if a place could not be found for both of them. Our past involvement with Social Services, investigating if I was at risk after the fight between my parents and my brother, could have been a sticking point that prevented us being a suitable family. I think the change in attitude following my transition has done a lot to dispel any negatives in that matter.

Mrs Monroe bids us farewell and we wave as she disappears down the track to the road and away from the farm.

I decide to take the opportunity to change into something more comfortable. I head up to my room and put on a summer dress, which helps me relax and lowers my blood pressure, which had risen a fraction while speaking with Mrs Monroe. I get out a pad and pen, descend back down to our front room, and start to jot down some notes for the idea I had for the meeting tomorrow.

I am lying on the couch when the phone rings. My mother gets up and answers it.

“Oh, hi, Susan,” my mother responds to the person on the other end. She listens for a few minutes before answering, “Thanks for the offer, but we’ll actually be there at the school. Simon has volunteered to help out with refreshments, so will be there anyway. We thought we might as well attend and give him a lift at the same time.”

The is a pause as Susan talks again before my mother speaks, “From what the girls were telling me, they have only banned parents who have already been openly hostile and they fear may cause trouble, basically anyone on the demo. As we weren’t there, we haven’t been asked not to go.”

The conversation continues for a few minutes, with my mother saying that we will see Susan Friday, before hanging up.

“Susan is inviting all the consortium members to her house to watch the web broadcast,” my mother explains. “You heard my response. Susan isn’t exactly pleased that we get to go, but it’s her own fault she was banned. Therefore I’m representing the views of our friends, or at least that’s what they believe.”

“What’s this about Friday?” my father asks.

“It’s a post-meeting get-together to either celebrate success, or plan the next course of action,” my mother replies. “Grace is going to host it.”

“I think it may be an idea to have it here instead,” I say. “It’s time to finally introduce the terrible trio to the new me.”

“Are you sure?” my father asks.

I nod, “We can’t go on double-crossing them like this. The longer we leave it the worse it will become. If the board goes the way we think it will, then they will have run out of arguments. The final revelation may finally shut them up for good.”

My mother agrees and says she will make the arrangements tomorrow.

I’m once again relegated to sandwich duty on Thursday morning before school while everybody else deals with the farm work. Having made sure that everybody has their packed lunch, I join the other girls cycling to school.

The day progresses as normal, without incident. I measure my blood pressure at regular intervals. When it comes to P.E., I give the teacher a note explaining my condition. I have been told I can exercise as normal, as long as I keep my blood pressure monitored. If it starts to climb then I need to stop. I take things easy, and don’t have any problems. It would appear the change in medication has done its job.

On arriving home, my sisters change out of their uniforms and attend to chores. As I’m returning for the meeting, I remain in my school clothes. Instead, I don an apron and attend to the evening meal. We make sure to eat early so that we have plenty of time and don’t need to rush.

My parents change into their best clothes, and we leave the farm in the capable hands of Wendy, Jill and Mary as we climb into the Jaguar for the short ride back into town. I’m slightly apprehensive, and hope that my final test of acceptance at school goes according to plan.