The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2146 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I hoped Danni slept better than I did. I tossed and turned worrying about what was going to happen to her or to him. With Trish and Julie and largely with Sammi, it was pretty well cut and dried. They knew they should have been female and at the first opportunity went for it. Billie, I wasn’t as sure about, though it seems it was ultimately right for her, which I’ve since learned is true. Danni–I’m just not sure about.

Why did it take so long? What was the effect of the assault in France and then hanging out with Pia? Why would a relatively normal boy allow himself to be dressed as a girl by his friend and then offer to do their makeup?

Okay, let’s try and look at this logically if I can, being somewhat involved. If Danny was just a cross dresser, this would be a great fun, being allowed to wear fancy dress for a couple of weeks with very few consequences and the complete support of his family.

If he was gay, why would he need to dress up? All I could think would be to catch a boy like a girl does but it doesn’t feel right. Surely, he could find another gay boy without all that fuss unless he was wanting a boy who wasn’t gay. It still doesn’t feel right, but it’s working if it was the case, he has Richard sniffing round him like a bloodhound.

If he was transsexual, wouldn’t he have known it earlier? He’s thirteen years old, I knew in nursery what I was, so why didn’t he? The psychologists have great fun with us as a group trying to classify and reclassify everything and everyone. I’ve read stuff where they suggest there are primary and secondary transsexuals, the primary are like me, knew from a young age, the secondary being older, perhaps transitioning after a midlife crisis. However, that sort of reasoning doesn’t take individual circumstances into account. What if it wasn’t possible for the individual to do anything until they were thirty or forty or even older? What if they lived in a poor country where subsistence level living made ordinary life hard without trying to tell others you were in the wrong body?

I glanced at the clock, it was after one in the morning and my head was spinning with all sorts of things the bottom line of which was simply, how can I help my child do what is best for them?

Sleep must have occurred because I woke up having a very strange dream.

I was about nine and my parents had removed all my boy clothes replacing them with girl’s stuff. Instead of feeling joyful and rushing to thank them, I was horrified. I looked in the mirror and I still had a boy’s haircut. In girl’s clothing I was going to look stupid and I’d be teased to death in school.

Suddenly things were changed and I became the mother and Danny became the child and he was protesting and I was telling him hard luck.

I woke up in a lather and struggling for breath. It was two o’clock. My chest was on fire and I knew I had another infection. At this rate I was going to end up on intravenous antibiotics and probably in Perth general hospital. Sitting up in bed, my chest was wheezing like a set of ancient bellows and I was struggling.

For a few minutes I wondered if I was going to die, as I couldn’t seem to breathe at all. Initially I felt a surge of panic then gradually I began to calm down. I’d possibly see Billie again and find out if death was the end. The tunnel of light started to develop and part of me thought, here we go–endorphins are kicking in, my brain is dying.

Suddenly, I felt someone shake me. “Mummy, what’s the matter?” it was Danni, “Mummy, wake up.”

I opened my eyes and there beside me stood Danni, resplendent in nightdress and slippers. I sat up, I was bathed in sweat–I’d been dreaming.

“What are you doing here?”

“You called out in your sleep, it woke me up.”

“Did I? I’m sorry sweetheart, I must have had a bad dream.”

“I’m getting cold, Mummy,” she stood there shivering and despite her appearing as female, I didn’t think it was appropriate to have a thirteen year old boy in my bed.

“Okay, go back to bed–and thanks for coming to help me.”

“’s okay,” she shrugged and left me.

I could recall quite a bit of the dream which was weirder than usual and I was quite damp. Changing my nightdress seemed a sensible course of action so that’s what I did, having a quick wipe over with a flannel and a towel before donning the pyjamas I had in my case.

The clock said three o’clock, well in reality it sort of said, ‘tick tick’, but you know what I mean. I wanted a drink so went in search of a cuppa. I was just filling the kettle when a voice behind said, “Lady Cameron, just what are you doing?”

I jumped about a foot in the air and nearly dropped the kettle. Blushing like a naughty schoolgirl who’d been caught midnight snacking, I spun round and there was Mrs Cuddy. “I was thirsty and wanted a cuppa.” How could I feel guilty saying that to an employee–but I did–this was her kitchen.

“Aye well back t’ bed wi’ ye, an’ I’ll bring it through t’ ye.”

“But that’s unfair on you,” I protested.

“Och, it’s nae bother at a’. Awa’ tae yer bed, noo.” So saying she shooed me out of the kitchen and like a dog with its tail between its legs I retreated to my room feeling like I’d been put in my place in my place, if you see what I mean? I’m the lady of the house and I was being ordered about by a servant. Wonderful.

I was still sulking but in bed when she brought me a pot of tea on a tray with milk and sugar, even though she knows I don’t take the latter and plate of toast which smelt absolutely fabulous.

“There ye hae this an’ go back tae sleep, ye need all thae rest ye can get.”

Duly chastened, I thanked her for her kindness and waited until she was out of the room before pouring a cup of tea and taking a big bite from the toast.