A unique allergy?

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

Its now 20 years since my accident. I was 24 at the time and the proud possessor of a 650 cc. motorcycle. It was my pride and joy.

I had done reasonably well at school, enjoying the usual boy's sports, but had not achieved university entrance. So I joined a large local company as trainee and had risen to be a departmental manager. I used the bike for my daily commute which was about 10 miles each way, mostly on rural roads. Although I say it myself, I was a pretty good driver and always careful and conscious of the risks taken by all motorcyclists. However, things can always go wrong. That morning, it had rained heavily and there was a lot of water on the road. I “lost it” as I approached a sharp bend and finished up wrapped around a tree. Fortunately, a following motorist saw what had happened and called the emergency services who arrived quickly.

I woke up in hospital two days later and still have no memory of the actual accident.

There was a doctor and two nurses standing by the bed. “Hello, Johnny. Welcome back. You've been asleep for a long time.” And I just drifted back to sleep. Sometime later, I woke again. This time I was fully conscious and a nurse called the doctor. “Hello, again. Are you able to talk?”

I nodded.

“You're going to be OK. There is nothing life-threatening. You've broken both legs and your pelvis and there are some internal injuries. You spent several hours in the operating theatre while we put in some bits of metal to hold things together and we should have you up and about in a few weeks. There are lots of other cuts and bruises but they will heal quickly. There is one other thing which I'll tell you about later. So just relax for now.” He sounded very re-assuring. I must have been fairly heavily sedated as I don't recall having much pain.

A couple of days later, the doctor was back. “How do you feel?”

“I'm OK. How are things going?”

“Well, as I've already told you, the good news is that you'll soon be able to get up and learn to walk again but you'll need crutches some some time and may finish with a slight limp.”

“That means there's some bad news? You mean my bike is a write-off?”

“Yes. I'm afraid so. But there's more. Your crotch was badly injured and your testicles got crushed. We had to remove what was left of them.”

“You mean I no longer have any balls? So I'm a eunuch?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. I'm afraid so. It means you will gradually lose the ability to get an erection.”

Initially, I made light of the problem. After all, I might have been dead! But gradually I came to realise that I had lost my ability to have sex. I was not a virgin, having had several long term girl friends and I had found sex, not just enjoyable, but a wonderful experience. No girl would want me now. I became very depressed but in spite of that made good progress with my recovery — until the next bomb shell hit me.

It was probably about two weeks later when I started to run a very high temperature and the same doctor came to see me. “You know I told you that you would always have to take testosterone medication to maintain your male characteristics now that you have lost your testicles and can't regulate your own hormones. You've been on it for over two weeks now and we've discovered that you have a very rare allergy to all artificial testosterone. I have never come across it before and we believe it could be unique. Unfortunately there is no alternative medication and without it, you will gradually become visibly feminised.”

He waited for the information to sink in.

“You mean that I am going to look like a woman? And I will grow breasts?”

“Yes. And there will be other changes too. Your weight distribution will change and your skin and hair will soften.”

“How long will it take?”

“Probably a year or two unless it is given a helping hand.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Rather than suffer the embarrassment of gradual change with people wondering whether you're a man or a woman and looking like some sort of freak, you might decide to “come out” as a woman much sooner and we can help with that by giving you large injections of oestrogen and related female hormones. I propose to refer you to our gender clinic. They can be very helpful in leading you to a decision.”

The next morning saw me trundled across the hospital to the clinic in a wheel chair. I spent the morning with a nice lady who was clearly a little baffled by a patient who was not actively seeking a sex change. She read my notes carefully and said “Well, you are an unusual patient. It seems that you are going to look like a woman whether you want to or not. Its a question of when, not if. Is this something which you have ever thought about at all before your accident?”

On receiving my assurances that I had never even considered it, still less wanted it, she then asked very detailed questions about my background. I was an only child. Both my parents had died some years before. I had two female cousins who I hadn't seen in years. Did I enjoy my job? How did I get on with my colleagues? Had I ever had sex? Did I have a current girl friend?….. The questions went on and on. Eventually, she said “I think its time for a break now and you can see my colleague, Dr Watson, after lunch. He can tell you more about the physical changes to expect and advise on timing.”

Dr Watson proved friendly and helped me understand much more about what was likely to happen to me. But it was clear that he assumed that I would live as a female. The possibility that I might want to stay male, even if I looked a freak, never occurred to them. However, I was by now starting to accept that life as a female might be preferable — even desirable - and that it would be better to get the change over as soon as possible. By the time I returned to the ward, my mind was made up. I certainly didn't fancy growing breasts and then having them amputated — and probably still looking odd.

It was arranged that I should stay in the hospital longer than expected and I started on a strong course of hormone injections. Initially, they made me feel quite ill but my injuries were healing well and I found a lot of help and advice available in the clinic. The amount of re-education required seemed never ending. I had to learn all about things girls take for granted. Fashion, make-up, hair styles and lots more. And I would have to try to think female and engage in female chat! And that was quite apart from various formalities to do with changing name on lots of documents.

First and foremost, I needed a new name and chose “Cathy” as I wanted something quite different from “Johnny”. Cathy Cumlately seemed to sound right! The hospital authorities immediately changed the name in my records and I effectively became Cathy from that day on. I became a female patient overnight. The clinic provided breast forms for use until my beasts developed. They were very realistic and attached with a strong adhesive. With “breasts”, I immediately started to feel female, especially as my hair had by then grown quite long. I had not visited the barber for some weeks prior to the accident and a hairdresser working in the clinic was able to create a nicely feminine style. Kim, one of the nurses, kindly went shopping for me on her day off and I was amazed how many things she thought were indispensable. I had lent her my credit card and she returned with a pile of clothes and make-up — and a lot of bills! She helped me try on most it. Kim and I became and remain very close friends

I took my first tentative steps wearing a skirt and blouse, hobbling around the hospital on my crutches. It suddenly hit me that this was no charade. I was now female — permanently! It made me very emotional. To begin with, I felt very self-conscious but soon gained confidence.

I saw Dr Watson several times and on one of my later visits to the clinic, and he asked me if I wanted a proper sex change operation. I still had a penis which seemed a bit incongruous with my new gender. He said that nothing would be done until I had lived as a female for a year as they had strict rules and needed to be 100% certain that it was right for me, so there was no need to make a early decision, but the option would be available. He also offered a minor operation on my Adams' apple which would help to lighten my voice and electrolysis to remove my beard even though it was hardly noticeable under foundation make-up. I gladly accepted both.

Finally, the day came when I left hospital and returned home to my flat. It had been a bachelor pad but now needed to become a home for a single girl. I gave a lot of thought to how its should be re-decorated.

Before leaving hospital, I had written several letters applying for jobs in the hope that I would not have to return to my previous work and had two interviews lined up. I was quite open about my sex change, and, to my amazement, both made an offer. I accepted the one which seemed to be more interesting and arranged to start the next week.

And so Cathy began her new life.

I found my new job helped enormously. My colleagues were aware of my situation and very understanding. I made new (female) friends and started to have a better social life than before.

I soon found that the time could not go quickly enough for my operation. I wanted shot of my now diminutive penis and found the idea of having an artificial vagina fascinating. My breasts had developed nicely to a B cup and I was happy with my more womanly figure. After the op I might even try a bikini!

The operation is now a well documented procedure which I need not describe. It was successful and there were no complications.

There is little else to tell. Here I am, 20 years later and 20 years older. I am a happy and active spinster. I still have a slight limp and my regret is that I can't wear heels more than two inches. And do I ever wish I was still a man? Never. But then I don't have womens' problems either!

Kim is married and has a young family. I am delighted that they call me “Auntie Cath”.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately (or should it be Cathy?)

July 2012

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