The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1457 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Dr Evans appeared with the nurse, he examined my eyes with his ophthalmoscope thing or whatever they call it. “What happened?” he asked me.

“I shook my head and the shadow seemed to ease and since then the sight has become clearer.”

“You’ve obviously moved something, we’ll try and do another scan tomorrow,” then to the nurse he said, “Let me know immediately if there’s any deterioration. Oh, hi, Sylvie, didn’t see you there.” She was sitting cuddling my baby.

“Hi Miles, I’m having a crafty cuddle of Lady Cameron’s baby.”

“Your baby?” he asked me–he’d obviously read his notes.

“Yes, my baby,” I replied thinking he could go and stick that in his pipe and smoke it.

“Right,” he looked stunned and then nodded to his colleague and left.

Dr Pascoe sniggered, “The look on his face was priceless, he’ll go and read his notes again.”

“I’m used to being a freak so I don’t care one way or the other.”

“We’ll come back,” Stella grabbed Trish, “we’ll go and get a drink.”

“You’re a freak are you?” asked Dr Pascoe.

“Of course I am.”

“But one who’s good with babies?”

“If you believe the word of a child.”

“I don’t see why she’d lie to either of us.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“You’d better take her,” she handed Catherine back to me. She snuggled into me and went back to sleep. “She recognises you alright.”

“I’m not going to argue.”

“You’re not going to accuse a baby of lying are you?”

“Of course not–but she’s tired, she’d have slept in your arms if you’d let her.”

“No she wouldn’t, she recognised I wasn’t her mum possibly by voice, and she wanted to be back with you.”

“If you say so.”

“Look, will you–the evidence is in front of you.”

I felt tears run down my cheeks as I glanced at the sleeping infant in my arms. “This is all a bit of a shock.”

“I suppose it must be. Any more ideas about yourself coming back.”

“No–I wonder if someone has notified my parents and what will they say when they see me?”

“What with a baby? You’re hardly a teenage mum, are you? No I think they’d be delighted to know they have a lovely daughter who’s so kindly given a home to seven children.”

“Would they be pleased–what if they disapproved–of me, I mean?”

“Isn’t that their problem?”

“Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?” In walked Siân.

“Blow me down, Siân, haven’t seen you for ages.”

“Hi Sylvia, Cathy, sorry I didn’t hear about this until this morning. ?h is this your baby–she’s gorgeous.”

“Apparently, you’re Siân aren’t you?” I asked pretty sure she was.

“Of course I am, you were going home from me when you crashed.”

“Was I?”

Siân looked across at Sylvia Pascoe, “She’s got post traumatic amnesia–had a severe concussion, only just got her sight back.”

“Jeez, Cathy, you don’t do things by half do you?”

“Apparently.”

“So what can you remember?”

“Nothing very much–I don’t even remember having this body.”

“You what?”

“She woke up unable to see, unaware that she’d had gender surgery some time ago.”

“You thought you were still Charlie?”

“I wasn’t sure who I was but that name came to mind,” I replied.

“Charlie was one of the prettiest girls, for a boy, I ever met–don’t you remember the Macbeth business?”

“Remind me,” I tried to cover up my loss of memory.

“Oh no, do you or don’t you?”

“Okay, I don’t.”

“What happened?” asked Sylvia Pascoe making notes.

“Cathy was living as a boy but was really more girlish than half the girl’s school. They did the school play of Macbeth, and she was forced to play Lady Macbeth, she was absolutely brilliant and no one believed she was a boy–mind you she had very long hair and we dyed it auburn. They made her dress as a girl for a few weeks to get into role. It was intended to make her feel uncomfortable, but she played it with such gusto that it backfired on her. Her dad didn’t approve of her feminine proclivities at this time and he used to beat her or generally make life difficult. When she changed over he had a stroke and she visited him very regularly and he seemed to change his mind–actually becoming proud of his daughter. When he was dying, he held on for her to say goodbye and died in her arms.”

I felt tears rolling down my face. “My mother’s dead too, isn’t she?”

“Yes, you told me that was just after you’d transitioned, you got to the hospital with Stella just in time to see her and she died.” Siân explained, except I knew that bit.

“She called us angels,” I said still weeping silently.

“You remember?” said Sylvia quietly.

“Just that bit–it was in Bristol Southmead, wasn’t it?” I asked Siân and she nodded.

“I suppose little bits are coming back.”

“But not of your desire from such an early age to be a girl?” asked the shrink.

“Not so far.”

“Geez, Cathy, you were cross dressing in nursery and swapping footballs for dolls,” Siân revealed.

“Was I? So why has it stopped?”

“Who knows?” suggested Sylvia Pascoe, “It may be the concussion or the shock of the accident.”

“But I’m stuck as a woman?”

“I can’t believe this,” Siân gasped, “You’ve spent your whole life wanting to get to where you are now, with your husband and family–you were so happy when you came to my house–and now you’re telling me it was all a mistake?”

“I don’t know–I don’t know anything–I don’t even know myself.” There was an embarrassed silence for a few moments.

“I’m sorry, Cathy, but seeing you there with that baby and she feels secure with her mother–I only wished that you felt as happy as she does with the situation. I think it’s a tragedy, I really do.”

I wiped my face–“I don’t even know what I look like–probably a total mess.”

“That doesn’t sound like a man talking,” Siân commented.

“Well, I’m not one, am I? I’m stuck with this body now aren’t I and all these bloody children.”

“Not to mention a husband,” smirked Siân.

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

Siân produced a mirror from her bag, “I’ve seen you looking much prettier, remember your face is quite bruised and will be for several more days.”

I took it from her, “Do I want to do this or not?”

“Only you can decide that,” suggested Dr Pascoe.

I held up the mirror, “Bloody hell,” even with the bruising all I could see was a woman looking back at me–it looked as if I had no choice except to cope with things as they were. It struck me that I was probably feeling how a female to male transsexual felt, the exact opposite of how I’d apparently been for most of my life. Ironic or what?