Summer's End Part 6 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

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This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

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PART VI: Healing

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In some ways, it was just a walk. Push baby stroller to the rally point... stand around for a few minutes listening to speeches... collect candle, then form a line with hundreds of other women... follow the pack more or less single file, along the several kilometre long route back to the staging area. Then go home again. A casual evening stroll... except, well, there *were* all those other women there, and we talked. Sometimes about nothing much... sometimes, all sorts of little things. Plus there were the thoughts roaming through my head, as we did all this.

I am rather glad I went. Even if my shoulder was killing me, by the time I got home...

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Chapter 12:

Mid September, Saturday, 10:15.

"Crystal? Sorry to wake you when I know your shoulder kept you up most of the night, but I've gotta leave in a couple minutes, and..."

"Hmm? Oh, sure. What can I do for you?"

"We haven't really had a chance to talk the last couple days, and I just wanted to let you know that I get to have my kids back for an overnight visit tonight. I am not expecting the social worker to drop them off till around four-ish, but just in case they *do* show up before I get back at around two... could you let them know I had to go into work for a couple hours, and will be back then?"

"Umm, sure, no problem..."

"Thanks, luv."

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Saturday, 10:25.

I think I have mentioned that I am a very light sleeper... but what I may not have mentioned is that I can shift from deeply asleep to wide awake in a split second... and once I am awake, if I have had a least a couple hours sleep... there really is no point in my staying in bed. Well, other than the usual 'wake up in pain from my shoulder, slowly and very carefully shift position to another one that is marginally less uncomfortable, then drift off again' routine that I have lived with since the injury. That sort of thing only brings me partially awake -- just barely enough to be able to consciously control my movements, since letting myself roll over in my sleep is instant agony. But anything else... anything that makes me start thinking... and it is hopeless. So even though I was still tired, I was awake... and I might as well get up.

Chronic depression is an 'old friend' of mine, made much worse by recent events, which makes it all too easy to *want* to just lie there... withdrawn from the world, accomplishing nothing... so that is also something I have to watch for. Am I *really* still tired, or is it just the temptation to hide away, retreating from reality? Which was another reason why staying in bed was not a good idea -- when you are depressed, keeping to a routine and consciously staying active is far better than letting yourself drift.

Not that I don't enjoy lazing around in bed, on the odd occasion... but... not recently. Sitting, or standing, so long as I don't do something stupid, my shoulder usually doesn't bother me too much. Well, the standing part assumes that I can sit, and rest my arm on something, occasionally -- just the weight of my own arm will eventually start my shoulder aching, otherwise. But lying down... which *should* be relaxing, for most people... is a literal pain for me.

I have never been able to sleep on my back, at least, not for more than a few minutes. Something about the shape of my lower spine. Maybe I could, in one of those really fancy, reclining beds that provided superb back support... but not on any mattress I had ever tried, anyway -- and certainly not on the "hard as a board" mattress we had in the shelter. Which meant that I really only had three choices of position: on either side, or on my stomach.

Smile. Now while it is true that my breasts are moderately large, actually, contrary to what I had seen in some fictional stories, I *could* sleep on my stomach. Normally, that is. There is a simple little trick which I learned as a teenager, where you turn your pillow on an angle -- so that the corner of the pillow points down into your cleavage, allowing you to sleep with your upper body weight partially on the pillow rather than completely squashing your "assets". It works fine... unless you happen to have a shoulder problem like mine.

As things were, the pillow trick causes my shoulder to not be properly supported while on my stomach... leaving me with few options. Either sleep that way anyway -- knowing I will be in agony in just a few minutes -- or try to sleep without a pillow tucked under me... which actually *does* get a little uncomfortable for my breasts after a while, although it is not unbearable. Still, I usually want to shift position again soon enough that it just isn't worth it -- trying to roll onto, or off of, my stomach, usually jars my shoulder at least a bit, so unless I am going to stay in that position for a long time, I would rather not do it at all. Which brings us back to sleeping on my sides. Which is not exactly "comfortable", either, since lying injured side down tends to move the damaged joint around as you breath, and injured side up... while actually okay... is something I can only do for part of the night, before my body naturally wants to shift to another position...

All of which is my usual verbose way of saying... sleeping isn't that comfortable for me, these days. Or perhaps, "sleeping is an endurance contest, seeing if I can handle the pain long enough to get enough sleep to function", would be a better way to put it. Not particularly fun...

I suppose that is why I started keeping a journal, using some of the back pages of my Book of Shadows -- a way to quietly kill time, when sitting awake in the night. And yes, I do know I am not really supposed to use this particular book that way... but hey, as Angela would not go near the thing, (claiming it gave her the 'heebie-jeebies" to even look at it), it was a "safe" way to keep a sort of therapeutic diary. Personally, I think Angela has watched too many episodes of 'Charmed' -- my Grimorie is *just* a book, after all... much like someone's personal Bible might be for a Christian, I suppose... although a wicce actual writes her own BOS, rather than just reading someone else's words. Besides... as I think I have mentioned, Wicca is a highly personalized faith -- if I want to call these scribbles my "ethics and philosophy"... that's my choice. And it's not like I keep a whole lot of other "spells" in that big, leather bound, soft grey book... I occasionally mess around with rituals, but not that often.

 «Soft grey... much like my attitude towards magic... and so many other things in life. Not really 'black', but not completely 'white' either... shades of grey. Real life is complicated... »

Drifting into the living room -- still woefully under-furnished, although we at least now had some pictures up, and some potted flowers in a couple places -- I was soon involved in my somewhat late morning physio session... which was actually getting a bit easier, although some of the simple "exercises" still brought a light beading of cold sweat to my brow...

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Saturday, 17:02.

"Do you know if there are facilities down here, or do you think I need to go back to our apartment?"

Angela glanced up from where she was dealing with changing three year old Sandy... who had mastered going 'pee' by himself, but still occasionally 'messed' himself the other way... and said, "I think there are restrooms down that side path over there."

"Mommy, I hafta go pee too..."

Looking a bit flustered, Angela glanced back to me. "Umm, would you mind taking Lenaya with you? She can dress herself, usually, but you have to take her in the stall with you to give her a little help, still..."

"Err... sure, why not?"

Turning to her four year old daughter, Angela added, "Be good for Auntie Crystal, 'kay? I want you to stay close to her, and do what she says..."

As I think I have mentioned, there is a wooded ravine behind the shelter... sort of parkland, owned by the city. Fairly secluded, there is a bike path down the middle of it, on which we occasionally saw the odd jogger or mountain biker. Not that far away, down in the bottom of the ravine, there is a cleared area... where there are some picnic benches and things. Weather in September can be strange -- sometimes cold, but sometimes we get a last gasp of summer. Today was such a day, and it was so nice out that Angela had wanted to eat down here, rather than keep the children cooped up in the apartment.

I would be lying if I did not say that the thought of wandering around more or less alone, in that wooded area, did not bother me. Fear is something that I had come to live with, in recent months. But...  «Face your fears. You are never going to get over them, unless you do... »

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Saturday, 17:07.

"Aun-tie Crys-tal? I re-al-ly gotta go pee..." She was giving me a wide eyed, earnest look, while tugging on my good arm.

 «Why am I not surprised? » "Okay. We're almost there. Wait for me, though... we have to stay together, yes?"

"'Kay," and she was off.

 «Four year olds are so free. Must be nice, for life to be that simple... »

I was actually surprised when we followed the signs to the public restrooms. Given how few people used this particular park, I had thought that they would be, at most, a simple 'port-a-potty'... but these were in an actual building, with sinks and flush toilets... although only small upper windows for light.  «Maybe it cost less to tap into a nearby sewer line and water, than it did to keep doing maintenance on one of those portable things? Whatever... not important... »

Pushing the heavy outer door open, we were soon inside. While it *was* at least a 'real' restroom... it wasn't much. Steel fixtures, massively embedded in concrete -- no doubt to discourage vandalism. Actually, there was only the one stall, and it was the entire small, bare cinder block room. At first, I was going to try to keep my distance... but quickly realized that wasn't going to work -- the toilet was so huge compared to her tiny body, I ended up sort of balancing Lenay, as she perched on the end of it. She took care of most things herself, but when I asked, she said she needed help with wiping.

As I think I have mentioned, I have not really had a lot to do with children, in previous years. Which, I quickly discovered, meant that there were still a few 'things' that I may not have dealt with, so many years ago. Such as an almost overwhelming "this is wrong" feeling, as I even thought about touching a little girl's genitals. Weird, in hindsight. I mean... I have the same plumbing myself, and have had it for a long time. It's not like I don't *know* every tiny detail of what is down there... and there certainly was not anything sexual about what I was doing. But there it is. Old habits die hard, I guess... or at least, until I consciously think about them.

After taking care of the necessities... and picking her up, so that she could reach the water to wash her hands... I discovered that I wasn't quite through with embarrassing moments for today. The sounds of her going to the bathroom had stirred my own need into high intensity... and the running water sounds from the tap were just the icing on the cake. Before she had finished drying her hands, I was practically dancing... which the little monster noticed, right away.

"Yew hafta go pee too?" She asked, all wide-eyed and innocent. Like it was perfectly normal... which I suppose it is. Thinking back, I have been in restrooms many times when mothers came in with children -- and took them into a stall with them, with both of them taking turns using that toilet. Likewise, I had seen similar behaviour many times when using the change-rooms and communal showers at public swimming pools...

On those earlier occasions in change-rooms, though... I had never really *had* to pay attention closely to the naked women and children around me. 'Nudity is something often encountered, but never seen.' An old Japanese saying, that I had always used as my guide when in situations like that. With Julie, at the beach earlier this summer, she had been old enough that she just needed an escort -- I had not really had to do anything, nor had I disrobed around her. Not like this time...

But... the way Angela had phrased things earlier implied she knew that exactly _this_ was going to happen...

Taking my lead from that thought, I asked, "Does your Mommy go to the bathroom while you are with her, sometimes?"

She just nodded... with a vaguely confused look, as if to say, "Of course."

Funny, really. The thought of pulling my jeans down in front of her just seemed seriously WRONG... although I was utterly certain that Angela would not have hesitated for a moment, had she been babysitting someone else's very young daughter. Actually, I suspect that even guys -- that had children themselves, at least -- wouldn't have hesitated to do something like this, when it was "appropriate" and "necessary". But... I really did not know what I was doing, babysitting children... and I tend to get very conventional when I am off-balance. More hang-ups, from bygone days... but this one, I was having much more trouble overcoming.

"Umm, do you want to play outside, while I finish in here?"

She gave me another confused look. "Mommy said ta stay close ta yew..."

"Um, right. O-kay then. Can you go stand by the corner, please?"

Well, it half worked. She moved back a little... but she turned around and stood there innocently watching me.  «Oh, well. Just get it over with, girl. »

For all that worrying, it really was anticlimactic. She didn't seem to pay any real attention, casually continuing to chatter away in her barely intelligible English... which I suppose makes sense, since she had probably been doing this all her short life. Over the years, I have managed to 'fill in' a lot of the 'missing memories' of the childhood that I *should* have had... but... there *are* still a few things that have gotten missed. Such as this little silliness. Something a 'natal' woman, having childhood memories of being in Lenaya's position, probably won't have given a second thought to... but for me, a big deal. At least, this first time.

Although I think the crowning moment was when Lenaya noticed that my bladder was being 'shy' as I sat there. She very solemnly informed me, with all the massive wisdom of a four year old who has just recently learned to do this herself, "Ya hafta *push*, to go pee..."

I could not help it: I burst into laughter. Real, deep felt laughter... for what seemed like the first time in way too long...

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Saturday, 17:21.

Call it a guilty conscience, or whatever... but after re-joining Angela, I felt a need to 'confess' what I had done. Which pretty much had the result I expected from her -- she just looked at me like I had a hole in my head.

"Well, of course you did. Why would you think I would want to know something like that?"

Oh well. There are advantages to being a natural blue-eyed blonde -- even if it is, technically, a strawberry-blonde. People sort of expect you to do massively dumb things, on occasion...

Have I mentioned lately that there is a world of difference between just having a high IQ, and actually being wise?

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Chapter 13:

Mid September, Sunday, 11:23.

Pausing on the way to the basement laundry room, I noticed Michelle sitting in the common recreation room... looking rather bleak, and lost in thought.

"Hey, Michelle, what's up?"

"Oh hey, Crystal. Nothing much...", she said... although her tone of voice and body language said otherwise.

Dropping my laundry basket onto one of the chairs, I eased myself onto the couch beside her. My hand lightly on her forearm, I softly said, "Are you sure about that, love? Seriously... what's wrong?"

"It's nothing, really. I just... I mean... I was watching one of the other women, visiting with her boyfriend out in the parking lot, and..."

"And what, dear?"

"I hate looking like this. You know. Being obviously a dude in at dress. What with Kristine being away right now, I have been alone a lot, lately... and sometimes, well, I just feel like... who would ever want to be with someone like me? Am I always going to be alone, for the rest of my life?"

"Oh, Michelle... don't give up, honey. I know it is awkward, being at your early stage of transition... but really, w-a-y more people like yourself find that they actually *can* pass, six or seven years done the line, than ever dreamed that they could do so, early on. It's not just how you look, although I will grant you that you do have some genuine challenges there. It's the little things... thousands of little things, about how you act, and interact with others. Being a woman is not just about the clothes, or the makeup... or even how you feel, inside you..."

I paused for a moment, collecting my thoughts. "Yes, you can be *sure*, inside, that you are a woman... but I think you are realizing that there is more to it, than that. Humans are social animals, and while it is all very well to idealistically proclaim that 'the opinions of others don't matter to me', the reality is... it *does* matter, what others think of you. It *hurts*, somewhere deep inside, no matter how brave a face you put on for the outside world, when people completely fail to see you as the person you feel you are..."

With a slight shrug, I added, "I know that there is no such thing as a 'one true path'. That everyone transitions differently, and that what might be right for me is *not* necessarily right for others. And I know that, for you, being 'out and proud' is something that you *want* to be... that you probably think I am strange, to even want to be stealth. But... even for those who walk the 'out' path, *some* degree of 'blending in' is appropriate. If you just want to 'do your own thing', and proclaim 'I am a woman, so however I act is appropriate for a woman'... well, that's your choice, but... as you have noticed, it can be a very *lonely* choice."

Michelle looked at me rather sceptically. "I dunno. I did enough *acting* when I was growing up. I swore that I wasn't gonna do that anymore, ya know? That I would be 'true' to myself."

I looked straight into her eyes. "So? I may have way more 'book learning' than you do... but it was *you* that I came to for wisdom, when I needed to know about life on the streets. You have a brain, girl, and I know you learn from watching other people. So... *you* tell *me*. How do you see other people treating those that they perceive as 'different'? I mean, *anyone* that is perceived as different... not just gender stuff..."

She broke her eyes away from mine. "At the school, most of my group are former prostitutes. Even the genetic ones get ignored... isolated... most of the time, when they try to talk with the women from the other programs..."

I tipped my head in a nod, acknowledging her point. "It's not nice... not *fair*... but it *is* reality. Most of the world divides people into two groups: 'us', and 'them'. It's all very well to talk about not wanting to live in a new closet... but... while I am *not* saying everyone _has_ to go stealth -- I know several TS who *could* go stealth, but are quite happy *not* doing so -- you *do* at least have to _try_ to blend in a bit. Be at least a bit like the other women. Just 'doing your own thing' is all very well... but it makes other people uncomfortable -- and when people are made to feel uncomfortable, they tend to avoid whatever is making them feel that way.

"Like the women in the school... most of whom have come way too close to having to become sex trade workers themselves, and don't want to be reminded of it -- so they avoid those who *do* remind them of that possibility. Not deliberately trying to hurt the other women in your program... but just because it is something they do *not* want to even think about. Simple human nature... and something that is not likely to change anytime soon, so it is something you just have to work with."

There was more to that conversation. Much more. Things about continuing to learn, even as far along as I was... such as that thing with how I ran. About her being a former prostitute -- "damaged goods", in her words. The effects of how physically passable one is on all of this. How 'blending in' impacted dating. Lots of stuff, that I suppose would make boring reading if you weren't there. But in the end, she at least seemed a bit more cheerful... although I suspect that might have been an act for my benefit.

One thing I did notice during that long conversation, though, was the little padlock on a choker about her neck. I may not even be close to as "street wise" as Michelle is... but I *do* know what that means. Which reminded me of someone else I had known, several years earlier, who wore similar BDSM items... and, coincidentally, had also once been a sex trade worker... before transitioning to become a man. A rather lonely, but very nice man, as I recalled... and one whom I had thought quite highly of, despite his unusual lifestyle...

 «Hmm. I wonder... . I think I still have his phone number, somewhere... »

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Monday, 10:20.

"Thanks again, Michelle. I really appreciate your driving me out here, today. I know I cleared my taking today off with the program last week, but.. are you *sure* you aren't going to have problems, skipping today?"

She shrugged, still sitting behind the wheel of my car... which I was letting her use today for some errands, in exchange for her taking me to and from my surgical repair. "The program I'm in is a bit different than the one you're in, even if it is at the same school. You guys can only miss at most five days, without losing your funding... but for women in my program, well, they expect us to occasionally 'back-slide', and disappear. So long as we're there *most* of the time, they just want us to keep trying..."

"Okay. Umm... can you be back here to pick me up around four-ish? My doctor said this would only take a couple hours, even with recovery time... normally... but I asked for a spinal rather than general anaesthetic, so it will take longer before that wears off..."

I shrugged. "Plus the usual things about how they won't let someone go home from surgery alone, even if my legs did work well enough by then to drive -- which is something they don't even want me to _attempt_ to do, today..."

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Monday, 21:35.

Angela had to work tonight, so I was alone... which no doubt would not have thrilled my doctor, had she known. Technically, I was supposed to have someone with me for the first twenty-four hours after surgery... but that was in an ideal world, which has little in common with the very practical world of life in a shelter. Someone called in sick, her boss called, and she had to go... however concerned she might have been about me. Just the facts of life, which we both accepted.

Actually, I wasn't really supposed to be going to school tomorrow, either... but I had already missed one day, and the rules are crystal clear about missing time from that program. It was a chance to learn things I really needed to know... deal with issues I *had* to deal with -- there was no way I was going to jeopardize that, regardless of any doctor's orders. Silly, I know... with my training, I should know better than to do things like that. But then again, while I may follow the *Path* of Wisdom... I never claimed to be wise, myself.

Regardless of all that, right this moment I had a little problem. Although the repair had gone well, and my doctor was confident that she had fixed the fistula... she wanted to help the repair site heal by not putting pressure on it for ten days or so. And since the 'repair site' was partly in my vagina, but mostly in my urethra... well, there is only one way *not* to be constantly putting pressure on *that*, every time I went to the bathroom. Yup, you guessed it... my old friend the 'Foley catheter'. Yuck.

As you may have deduced from the way I said that, this was not the first time I had been catheterized... nor, probably, would it be the last. One of the joys of being a woman, with internal plumbing... right up there on the list of thrills with UTI's and yeast infections. Yuck, again. Not everyday experiences... and some really fortunate women never have to deal with any of these... but a fact of life for many of us. Still, this was going to be a bit different than the other times I had been catheterized... since I was going to be wearing this infernal device for almost two weeks, this time.

For those who haven't had a 'long term' catheter in, I suppose I should mention that the 'collection bag' attached is a lot smaller than what you would have, when lying in a hospital bed, for example. Just a tiny half-litre pouch, designed such that it could be 'descreetly' strapped to one of your legs, under your clothes. So you actually *can* get up and walk around with one of these attached, easy enough... but that isn't the same thing as saying they are exactly 'comfortable'...

And the flip side of that small 'convenience' size, is that the thing needs to be emptied occasionally. Actually, since they tend to pump you full of saline fluid through your I.V. tube during surgery, it needs to be emptied *often*, that first day. And hence, I was getting up a lot, despite my being alone... and not being particularly steady on my feet.

 «At least I *can* walk. I may not have been able to even think about letting them 'put me under' with general anaesthetic, after my recent experiences... but, I must admit that all the disclaimer forms talking about possible paralysis as a potential risk of a spinal, *almost* made me change my mind. And waking up before the spinal wore off... with my legs still completely 'not there'... *really* didn't help... »

 «Hmm. I wonder how I am going to rig this, for tomorrow? I don't really want to wear a skirt, the way I did today, since almost no one does to class... but, that catheter tube *does* come straight out of me, before it curves downwards to the collection bag. Interesting. I wonder if that is what it is like, having a penis attached to you? Sticking out, like that? »

I burst into giggles, as the incongruity of my own thoughts dawned on me. Yes, I do intellectually *know* that I once had something like that... but... that was a long time ago, and while I can sort of visualize what it must have looked like, in an abstract, medical textbook sort of way... I honestly can't remember what it was really like.  «How soon we forget... »

It's funny, really. I casually use the term 'when I was a little girl', in conversations... and even in my own mind. Some might assume I am lying to say that... but I'm not, really. The human mind is not a video recorder -- it's more holographic in nature, with bits and pieces all intermingled. If you remember a car accident, for example, you may have really paid attention to some details -- which your mind will store faithfully -- but other things, in the background? You may have vaguely noticed a 'truck' go by... but it wasn't important to you at the time, so your mind just 'links' that part of your memory to a generic image of a 'truck', rather than bothering to store all of the unnecessary details about it.

Of course, if it later turns out that those details *are* important... your mind will try to 're-construct' that missing image. Re-build it, from bits and pieces of adjacent memories stored elsewhere -- sometimes successfully, sometimes not. If it can't, it will often fabricate a new image from various 'generic' data floating around in your head... which you will 'remember' as 'real' -- even though in fact it is not.

That is the reason eyewitness testimony at trials can sometimes be so contradictory. Each person is genuinely *trying* to remember accurately... and may *think* they are actually doing so... but sometimes, what they remember is just a trick of their own subconscious.

So what has that got to do with my remembering myself as a girl? Well, my own body image is own of those 'background' details, in most of my memories. Occasionally, exactly how I looked was important to me at the time... and those particular moments, I can remember accurately -- if I *really* try. But normal, everyday sorts of memories? My self image was just a link to a generic 'me' body image... and that generic image has changed, over the years.

I have had female plumbing, and a distinctly female body, for so long... that my current reality has sort of retroactively 'over-written' my earlier self images... so what I remember is 'me', an actual girl, in those early memories. Not something I consciously tell myself... a 'lie'... but simply what I actually remember... despite my knowing, intellectually, both that there is 'something wrong' with those memories, and exactly how they ended up 'distorted'...

Giving my head a shake to focus on what I was doing, I decided to do some experimenting... dispite how sore I was at the moment.  «Better to figure this out while I can move slowly, with lots of time to spare, than to be messing around with this while rushed in the morning. »

It is a *very* peculiar sensation, to try bending the plastic tubing from a catheter, so that it exits at a bit of an angle and follows the curve of your body. And as that catheter tubing is the 'plug' to your bladder, what with the tubing holding your splincters open... that sort of experimentation can be messy, too. As I discovered the hard way. Don't ask.

 «A good thing they sent a bag of some surgical table pads to put on my bed, and gloves, home with me. You would almost think they *knew* this was gonna happen... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 07:51.

Walking to the bus stop -- I still didn't feel up to driving -- felt... really ackward... this morning. Not precisely painful... but while I *had* managed to arranged things under my jeans so that it didn't show... the slight movements of the fabric as I walked were doing "interesting" things to that tubing that ran up inside me...

 «I know that the autumnal equinox 'Mabon' ceremony is coming up in the next few days... but I sure don't think I am going to be in any shape to celibrate it, this year. I guess I will just skip it... it's not like my 'personal harvests' this year are really anything I *want* to celebrate, anyway... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 14:35.

Class today was rather different than normal. Not a 'closed' group session... but a 'general information' sort of thing, that I suppose I can talk about. We had done the DiSC personality graphing last week, and were finishing up this part of the course with 'True Colors' profiling, today. They had brought in some outside consultants to teach this particular segment, so rather than learning it in just our one group, we were in a much larger part of the school, in a joint class made up of many groups. Not *all* the women in the school... but maybe somewhere around a hundred women -- although I did not attempt to count them.

Originating way back with some early ideas by Hippocrates, and added to by more recent works by Carl Jung, then Briggs-Meyer, and later yet, Keirsey... and probably a few others, whose names I missed... eventually this particular philosophy of thought was formalized by Don Lowry in a book... although we didn't really explore all that back theory. What we *did* do, was the practical testing, then spend a lot of time talking about what it all meant for us.

In a nutshell, the basic idea is that there are four different types of people. In the True Colors metaphor, those groups are assigned a Color (with the colour being more or less arbitrary, from what I could tell), and usually described by a simple phrase or word for convenience. I gather that different instructors use different phrases, but the particular ones we heard were as follows. 'Compassionate Blue' were a group of people who are calm, value harmony, loyalty... feelings and sensitivity. All that sort of thing. 'Rational Gold' are people who really value stability, organization and dependability. 'Impulsive Orange' is about energy, strength, a focus on the present with little consideration of consequences. 'Inquiring Green' is about intellect, persistence, information... "the grounding of theory and data in its practical applications and creative constructs" -- pretty much the opposite of Orange.

There is some overlap in these colour groups, some values that in common between similar colours... such as Blue and Gold both highly valuing loyalty... but there are also some polar opposites. Most people, according to this theory, are mostly one of these aspects -- their 'primary color' -- but most people also have a fairly high score in a 'secondary color'. It is not uncommon for someone whose primary colour is 'Blue', for example, to often score high in 'Gold'.

Me? Top of the scale in 'Inquiring Green', with nearly tied, mid-range secondary values for 'Compassionate Blue' and 'Rational Gold'. 'Impulsive Orange', for me, is a very low score...

Just before lunch, we had broken up into groups by our primary colour, with the idea being that each group would discuss among themselves exactly what the defining characteristics of their group was, then make a presentation to the whole class after lunch. While such a distribution might not be very 'normal' for the general population... perhaps not surprisingly given the nature of the women at this school, there was a *huge* group of 'Oranges' there. Also a somewhat smaller group of 'Blues'... a fair sized group of 'Golds'... and then, there was the Green table.

A table at which I sat. Alone.

For someone who likes to 'blend in'... that was not a happy situation...

Not wanting to look like a complete idiot in my presentation after lunch, and lacking anyone like myself to talk to (other than, perhaps, the instuctor of the course -- who had mentioned she was also a Green), I spent most of lunch online, using the computers in the library. Researching what the characteristics of a 'Green' are, so that I would have my facts straight for my part in the afternoon. It seemed like just the 'proper' thing to do, to me...

Which brings us back to the present, after my presentation... when I mentioned my online research.

The instructor said, "That doesn't surprise me, actually. That sort of thing is entirely consistent with the sort of person a Green is... someone who *needs* to know that they have got all their facts absolutely accurate, before they share them. Whereas if it had been an Orange, for example, who had been in Crystal's solitary position... I really doubt it would have even occurred to them to go research things. Most likely, their first impulse would have been to just 'wing it', when their turn to present things came up. Just speaking off the top of their head about their emotions, rather than thinking things through carefully..."

A bit later, in response to another question, she added, "To use another analogy... both an Orange and a Green might end up working in law enforcement, just as an example. But if they did, their *reasons* for doing so would be rather different, and exactly which *part* of law enforcement appealed to them would most likely also differ. An Orange might like the idea of being a street cop -- and find the whole idea of car chases, gun battles with bad guys, all that 'excitement', very appealing. A green in law enforcement, though, would more likely be drawn to investigative work... more like one of the women in 'CSI', on TV..."

The looks I received from many women in the large class after that were... interesting. Respectful, almost. How strange. I never asked any of them, but I came away with the peculiar certainty that a lot of them really looked up to the actresses that portrayed those roles on TV -- even if they wouldn't actually want to do that, themselves.

A silly moment, feeling all those eyes on me, looking at me in that particular way... and in some ways, not that important. And yet, in the larger picture... that respect meant a lot to me. My own self-respect had taken a *huge* beating, in recent months... and while this moment was a little thing, it really touched something inside of me. Another big step, on the path to healing...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 21:42.

I was tired, but there was one final thing I wanted to do tonight, before calling it an evening. It had been ten full days, plus a little bit... and I *really* wanted that horrible *thing* out of me.

I have had catheters removed by nurses before... usually female, although I have one funny memory of a male student nurse who was given the task of pulling my catheter once -- much to his bright red embarrassment, since the job involves *very* intimate contact with the patient. Grin. But while it isn't *usually* much fun having that done... trying to take one out of *yourself*, I was rapidly discovering, is *far* less fun.

 «Okay. The instructions said to cut that part, and drain the fluid that is inflating the bulb holding this thing inside me... and that is done. So why isn't it coming out? »

Belatedly it occured to me that the little balloon inside me had been 'stretched out', inflated, for ten days now... and might not shrink back completely, even after being drained. Which is why I slowly, carefully, pulled that thing out... doing my best to ignore the resistance.

What an utterly horrid sensation...

Messy, too. Which I suppose is not surprising, given the nature of the body part it is inside of. Another reason for giving me those gloves and those absorbant, plastic backed pads, I guess.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 08:55.

"If I can have your attention for a moment, ladies, I just thought I would give you a run-down on what we will be doing today. As this will be another 'short day' with the afternoon off, I thought it might be a good time to schedule an activity we like to include somewhere in the course... usually later on, but there are a number of groups, so someone has to go first...

"Anyway, when you leave this program most of you will be looking for work -- which requires having at least one 'nice' outfit, to use for interviews. For many of you, that isn't really a problem... but we do know that some others had to run with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Still others may have clothing, but not necessarily 'appropriate' clothing. Which is what this morning will be about... we have a room upstairs where we keep a large wardrobe of donated 'nice', 'interview suitable' clothing... and we will be going up there, in small groups of six or less, to select an outfit for each of you. Everything is used... but in good condition, and was professionally and thoroughly cleaned before being added to the room."

One of the women asked, "Are there accessories as well? I mean, I don't have a lot to spend on the right shoes to go with something, or whatever..."

"Yes. It isn't like a real department store... the selection is limited to what we have received in donations. But there are belts, shoes, coats, and other things up there -- and if you can find something that fits and goes with your main outfit, you can take those too."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 09:23.

There are times when the women in my group completely forget about me. And other times, when someone remembers... and their behaviour gets picked up by others. It is almost like a visible ripple of awareness, sometimes, passing through the group. Such an occasion happened now, as one of the women started to try something on -- then froze, glancing at me. Sigh.

 «There are times I really regret outing myself... »

Glancing around, mostly using the corners of my eyes so as not to be too obvious about it, I noticed that what had been a small group joking around while 'shopping', had turned into an awkward scene of women looking uncomfortable... glancing at each other uneasily. While I *had* changed with some of the women in the group before, the ones that jogged at lunch time... none of those were in this particular sub-group.

With a shrug and a half smile, I found myself thinking,  «Time for an 'ice-breaker'. This top probably doesn't suit my complexion... but maybe I should try it on, right now, anyway... »

Trying to look casual about it, and ignoring the stab of pain from my shoulder that changing clothes usually brings, I slipped off my sweater and removed the top I was wearing... turning half away from the others, as women commonly do in a change-room... but aware that they could none-the-less see my (bra-less) breasts and upper torso, without much difficulty. For a moment, I felt a bit of a sinking sensation... wondering if it had worked, or if they would still feel hesitant to be seen by me.

Then April, a twenty-something, spectacularly gorgeous single mom -- who used to be a stripper on the side as a way to pay for her kids' food -- shrugged, glanced at the other two, much more 'conservative' women present... and followed my lead. Actually, from the faint smile I could see hovering around her lips, I suspect she knew exactly why I was currently topless... and was doing exactly the same thing, for much the same reasons.

It worked, this time.

 «Usually, it is *her* that has the problem... with many of the others being a bit uncomfortable with her having been an exotic dancer. I suppose that this tells me where known TS fit in the heirarchy, though... somewhere down at the bottom, below sex trade workers... »

"Thank you," I silently mouthed towards April, with a faint smile, a few minutes later when no one else was watching.

She just smiled, with a tiny, momentary flicker of a wink in one eye...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 13:28.

Not having classes this afternoon, rather than transfer directly from one bus to another on my way home, I had decided to check out a store I had noticed on other days. A second hand store... which someone in the shelter had mentioned as occasionally having things like inexpensive, useful household items... as well as clothing, and some new things. Not that I could really afford to do much shopping... but... sometimes it is fun just to look...

 «Okay, that looks cute. Brand new, and eighty percent off, too! Halloween isn't for another month yet, but... how can I resist that particular costume, when it is so deeply discounted right now? I mean... it's only five bucks... which I know I should keep for something more practical. But... I am *so* tired of this dreary 'being practical' every minute of every day routine -- *live* just a tiny bit, girl! »

 «Besides, there is just something... deliciously appropriate... about me wearing a 'renaissance witch' costume, don't ya think? ».

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Saturday, 22:35.

Opening my eyes, I glanced around the bedroom for my cell phone... before noticing the distinctive ring-tone of my 'other' cell phone. The one whose number Michelle had...

"Hello?"

"Hi Crystal. Sorry if I woke you up... but Kristine and I are over at the nearest hospital, and we need help. Kristine is bleeding bad... and the doctor's here are refusing to treat her. Can you come get us in your car?"

~ ~ 0 ~ ~