Chapter Seven: A Bump Occurs

The night was beginning just as ideally as Hank promised it would be. As he paraded me into the club and its exquisite interior, I found the maître d’ to be most solicitous, calling me “ms.” I noticed the eyes of many of the men following me, even seeing the scowls of a few of their female companions. Never in my life had I felt to be so universally admired, and it obviously was due to my natural femininity.

“You must be the prettiest woman here tonight,” Hank said in a low voice once we were seated at a table for two.

“Oh posh,” I said, but it was lame attempt at being humble since in my mind I couldn’t resist the vain thought that I truly was a remarkably lovely woman. It was a revealing moment, realizing that as a woman I was truly remarkable, while as a man I was quite pathetic.

Thankfully, the band played at moderate volume, usually performing Big Band era songs that added to the magic of the evening. Maybe because mother had loved music of that period, I enjoyed the tunes as well. While we waited to receive our food Hank dragged me onto the dance floor to dance to a slow, romantic version of an old song, “Stardust.” I protested at first, fearing that I would be clumsy, since I had rarely danced.

But I need not to have feared. Hank proved to be a patient and the very rhythmical steps quickly put the two of us into a warm togetherness. “This is so lovely,” I said as we moved comfortably about the floor, Hank drawing me close to the slow beat of the music.

“I love how radiant you are, Julie,” he said.

I looked up at him, as we began to move with greater ease. I became more and more comfortable dancing with each step, assured by the firm control Hank had in our movements. I loved feeling his strong arms about me and I found it so easy to follow his lead.

The food was marvelous; we both chose a ginger-flavored mahi-mahi fish plate, which was fresh-tasting and flaky, coupled with a leafy salad, topped off with a Black Forest cake that was unusually light and fluffy.

Our “perfect night,” however came to a screeching halt when a young bus boy approached the table to brush off the crumbs and refill our coffee. I paid little attention to him, until the boy said in a hurried voice, “Julie. Is that you, Julie?”

I instantly recognized the voice. It was Randy.

I froze, unable to look at Randy, but could see Hank take a quizzical look at me. There was an awkward moment of silence, and I finally looked up to see the eager, fresh-washed face of the boy I had kissed passionately on those holiday trips to Point Pleasant.

“Hi Randy,” I composed myself.

“How great it is to see you,” he said.

“Randy, this is my boyfriend, Hank, and Hank this is Randy, a boy I met at the beach last summer,” I said, hoping to make the meeting just a casual event. I also hoped that by introducing Hank as my boyfriend would dash any illusions that Randy might have for renewing his relationship with me.

“Oh?” Hank said, obviously bothered by the boy’s presence and my rather lame explanation. He may have also been surprised at my characterization of him as a boyfriend, something I had not previously acknowledged.

Randy seemed to sense the awkwardness of the situation and quickly said: “Yes, it was fun talking with you then. Nice to see you, but I need to get back to work. I live in this town and just work part-time here.”

The boy quickly took his leave to administer to other tables. Hank looked at me strangely, “I didn’t know you had been out as Julie meeting boys like that before and he’s just a kid, for God’s sake.”

I reddened, realizing that the incident may not have looked as innocent as I tried to make it. “I’ll explain later, and I know he’s just a kid. He’s sixteen.”

Hank shook his head, obviously disturbed by the unexpected appearance of the bus boy. I felt just terrible; how could I possibly explain the situation? I broke the silence and began, “Hank, please let me tell you the whole story later and I hope you’ll understand.”

“It better be good, that’s all I have to say,” he responded his tone taking on a sudden meanness that seemed out of character.

Just then, the waitress appeared with our dessert, bringing us both to silence. We ate in silence, finished our coffee, refused an after-dinner drink and waited for the check. “Let’s get out of here,” Hank said, not bothering to practice the gentlemanly manners he had displayed earlier in the evening. What started out as a perfectly romantic, lovely evening ended with both of us in despair.

*****
Hank said nothing as we began the drive back home; in fact, he seemed so angered that I feared he’d decide to stop along the highway and kick me out of the car, leaving me to find my own way home, high heels and all.

“Don’t you want to know the whole story, Hank?” I finally asked, my voice trembling, worried about his response.

“You don’t need to justify yourself, Julie or should I say, Jason? I don’t know who the hell you really are.”

“Please Hank, listen to me,” I said, beginning to sob.

“Oh for Chrissakes, now you’re pulling that fake girl crap on me by crying.”

With that I began to cry even more violently. I had thought I had found a kind, caring male friend who enjoyed me as Julie; now I was wondering if he wasn’t a brute all along, just as I had originally thought. I rummaged around in my tiny clutch purse for a tissue to wipe my tears. Soon my sobbing subsided and I tried to move away from him, but the bucket seats in the Mustang failed to give me much wiggle room.

Hank apparently saw my motion and said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hit you. I’ll never hit a woman . . . or even a pathetic man like you.”

What Hank said hurt, but I decided not to respond. I sat quietly for a few minutes, turning away from him to look out the window of the car, watching the storefronts along the suburban street, many showing displays highlighting summertime clothing, garden supplies and other signs of coming warm weather. Even the cheeriness of the setting failed to take me out of my funk.

I made one last attempt to ask Hank to listen to my story; I wanted him to know that I was not a promiscuous crossdresser who flung himself at men for a sexual relationship. In fact, at age twenty-four now I was still a virgin, my sexual experiences involving kisses and caresses with two males, young Randy and the older Hank.

“Please come in the house, Hank, so I can tell you my whole story,” I pleaded, as he dropped me off at my place. It was obvious he was merely stopping in front of my house and that he would not get out, open my door and escort me to the front door, as you’d expect a gentleman to do.

“It’s all over. Get out.”

I wanted to cry, to grab onto to him and hold him tightly, wishing he could understand how I was feeling. He had made me feel like a princess at the restaurant, had treated me with gentlemanly care and had fawned over me. Now, he was figuratively kicking me out of his car.

“I wish you could listen to me, Hank,” I pleaded.

“You want me to come in?”

“Yes, please. We can’t end our friendship on a misunderstanding. Please.”

He followed me up the walk to the house, not attempting to hold my arm as he did in the past. Hank let me fumble for my keys and open the door standing by patiently while I failed after several attempts to find the keyhole with my key. Impatiently, Hank grabbed the keys from me, put the correct key in the lock and, with an angry motion, opened the door.

*****
“Gimme a beer,” he ordered.

I nodded and went to the refrigerator, drawing out two beers, setting them on the kitchen table. He sat down at one of the chairs, drawing one of the bottles to him and twisting off the cap. He left the other bottle unopened on the table. It was obvious I would have to open it myself.

The spring night had grown chilly and I was chilled, the wrap too thin to provide much protection against the coolness. I asked to be excused so that I could put on a robe to warm myself. In the bedroom as I found and put on the robe, I wondered why I hadn’t become angry at Hank’s behavior. He was acting like such a selfish, uncaring, jealous man; yet, I felt he needed to understand me so that he would not hold me in such disdain. I had seen the kindness in the man and for a moment I even wondered if I was in love with him and that he was the man in my future.

Returning to the kitchen, I struggled to twist open the cap, but my soft, weak hands failed to turn the cap. He sat and watched me, forcing me to go to a drawer and pull out an old-fashioned beer bottle opener to snap off the cap.

“Want a glass?” I asked him.

“No.”

I don’t like drinking out of the bottle; perhaps I didn’t think it was lady-like. I found a goblet shaped beer glass and poured my beer into it.

“Let’s hear it. I’m all ears,” he said, sarcastically.

“I’ll begin at the beginning,” I said.

I related how I had first wondered about why I wasn’t born a girl and how my mother soon recognized those feelings and let me express myself as a girl at home. I told how much of a failure I felt as a boy and how out of place I was. The sadness of mother’s death affected me and prompted me to make those two ventures to Point Pleasant as Julie.

“I met Randy by happenstance,” I explain. “He was there without a girlfriend along with his best friend Ryan and his girlfriend. You know Carmen Mendoza? She’s a junior at Farragut.”

“Yes, she’s a good student. She was in my freshman health sciences class I taught for a while,” he said, finding growing interest in my story.

“Randy and his friend sat near me on the train coming out and then saw me all alone on the beach, and suggested I join them, which I did. Well, we had a great time together, laughing and swimming and then having a bite to eat.”

“But there was more, wasn’t there?” he asked.

“Yes, I found myself being kissed and cuddled by him,” I admitted.

“You didn’t stop him?”

I blushed, and nodded in a negative fashion.

“When I realized he was only sixteen, and I was an adult, I immediately put an end to it,” I said. “But Carmen tells me he’s still smitten with me.”

“I sensed that tonight. And Carmen? She knows you’re Julie?”

“Yes, but she’s promised to keep it a secret and so far she’s been true to her word.”

“Oh my God, if they ever found out about us?”

“I know. We’d both be canned.”

“You’re sure you’re done with this boy?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes, definitely and, Hank, I was never with him to start with,” I said firmly. It was true. I had never wanted to be involved with Randy; yet, I still had these fantasy-filled pangs of infatuation for the boy. After all, it was Randy who offered me my first experience of physical affection as a woman.

“I guess I must accept that, Julie,” Hank said after a moment.

I’m not sure Hank totally was convinced of my claim that the boy no longer mattered to me. He didn’t kiss me good-bye, finishing his beer in a few hurried gulps and leaving with no further words. I sat in stunned silence as he walked out the door. He didn’t slam it, but closed it slowly and deliberately. I desperately wanted to call out to him, to ask him to turn around and come back to hug me. Oh, how badly I needed a hug?

*****
Around noon on Sunday, the next day, I called Jon Edwards, the only person I knew whom I could confide in with confidence. I was anxious to talk to him since I had come to a decision: I was going to begin a new life – as Julie Anne Pearson.

“Are you free today, Jon?” I asked when I called him.

“Huh? Oh, it’s you Jason?” his voice was thick and muddled. It sounded as if I had awakened him.

“I’m sorry. Did I catch you in bed?”

“What time is it?”

“About noon, Jon.”

Then I heard a male voice in the background say also in a thick, throaty rasp, “Who is it, Jon, darling?”

“Just somebody from school,” I heard him respond to his companion.

I apologized for bothering him and suggested that he could return the call later, but Jon insisted that I tell him what my call was about. He said his friend was headed into the bathroom to take a shower, and that he could talk.

“Thanks, Jon,” I said. “You’re the only one I can talk to about this. It’s a decision I must make and I need your advice. Might you be free to meet me sometime today so we could talk?”

“How about Mulligan’s for a drink about four this afternoon?” he suggested.

“Thanks, Jon, but I don’t want you to change any plans for me, since you have a friend there today.”

“Nah, he’ll be going soon, besides I’m tired of him and he’s boring. All he wants is sex,” Jon laughed.

*****
Mulligan’s was a grubby bar located along a strip of diverse taverns that catered to any and all types of patrons ranging from gays and lesbians to horny straight gays and bikers. There were no fancy upholstered booths or lounge areas in Mulligan’s; instead, as you walked into the place you were engulfed in a din of noise. The place was dark with the illumination coming mainly from lights on the backbar and dim, recessed lights in the ceiling, half of which had burned out. The bar occupied one side of the room while a series of darkened, plywood booths lined the other side. There were no barmaids, and drinkers who occupied the booths had to wrestle their way to the bar to get their own drinks.

“Here’s a booth,” Jon said as he led the way through the throng of drinkers to the rear.

I was, of course, dressed as Jason, and to others I’m sure we looked like a gay couple out for a Sunday afternoon drink after a night of wild sex.

“I’ll get the drinks, Jason,” he ordered as I sat down. “You’ll be best to order something to drink directly out of a bottle since I wouldn’t trust the cleanliness of Mulligan’s glassware. I’m getting a Miller Lite.”

“The same,” I said.

When he returned, he crowded in next to me adding to the illusion that we were a gay couple.

“I hope you don’t mind, Jason, but this way we can talk and not be overheard,” he explained.

“Good idea,” I said, moving over to give him more room. I could feel the heat of his body against me.

“Now, what’s this all about?” he said after we toasted each other by touching the beer bottles together.

I came directly to the point and told him I had made a decision that I was planning to transition to becoming a woman as soon as I could work out details with my doctor.

“I expected that, Jason,” he said.

“It doesn’t shock you?”

“No, not at all, you’re just about as feminine as any woman I know.”

“Thanks, Jon. I felt that way as long as I can remember, but there are two reasons I wanted to talk with you about it. First, you’re a friend I can trust to keep a confidence and secondly you’re on the bargaining committee of the teachers’ union and might know of my rights.”

He patted my arm, and said, “Darling, let me say that first of all I am honored to be your friend and to keep your confidence. You know I will.”

“Thanks, you’re a dear.”

“Now as far as your rights,” he began. “Right now you don’t really have any. You’re a temporary employee of the school and that’s like being on probation and it means the union cannot speak for you or defend you in any disciplinary action.”

“I suspected that since I’m not yet a member of the union,” I said. “But Mrs. Hammond has indicated to me that they like me and might offer me a contract for next school year. I hate to miss that opportunity.”

“And you’re afraid that if you try to transition you’ll jeopardize your right to teach?”

“Right, but aren’t there some anti-discrimination laws that would protect me?”

“Yes, there are anti-discrimination laws and while they protect people like me – gays and lesbians – from workplace discrimination, they don’t cover transgendered persons. I know there’s a campaign going on to cover transgendered men and women, but who knows when that’ll happen?”

“Oh.” It was all I could say.

Jon said, “I’m sorry but you’ll be on your own basically.”

“Can’t the union help in some way?”

“Oh Jason, I didn’t mean to say we wouldn’t try, but you have few if any legal rights in this. I’ll talk to our representative and have him check out your rights, too, and I know our folks at Farragut would put in a good word for you, but that’s about it.”

“This means I’ll be fighting a lonely fight, then, right?”

I slumped down into the hard plywood of the crude booths, my spirit fading quickly.

“Jason, please, I’ll be with you all the way,” Jon said, putting his arm about me and drawing me close.

I melted into his arms and rested there for a moment, comforted by his friendship. Both he and I knew our embrace was not in any way sexual, but merely an expression of mutual respect. Finally I moved away from his hug and sat upright and announced: “Jon, now I’m more determined than ever. I will become Julie as soon as I can. Nothing will stop me, nothing.”

I was shocked at the words coming from my mouth. Never in my life had I made such a firm commitment to anything, but I was convinced that I would finally, once and for all, become the person I really am.

*****
After getting home that night, I treated myself to a warm, leisurely bubble bath, shampoo and a light meal of a tuna salad and glass of wine. I put on a light, gauzy baby doll nightgown and found my favorite jazz record by Frank Morgan, who plays a lovely, toned sax. I put my hair up and relaxed, content with my decision to live soon as a woman. I sealed that commitment the following morning as I prepared for school. For the first time, I decided to wear panties and black sheer thigh high stockings under my slacks, which a close examination would betray that they were designed for women. Rather than tying my long, light brown hair in a more masculine-style ponytail, I decided to let it flow freely, and it hung down with a slight curl at the end.

My outfit, I felt, still was primarily that of a slender young man to the casual observer, but I felt distinctly female as I boarded the train for my morning trip to Farragut. However, I soon found that I must have appeared more like a young woman, after I bumped into an elderly man while rushing onto the train and he excused himself saying, “Excuse me, miss.” Later the woman sitting next to me on the train commented as the train left its underground tunnel and ascended onto the elevated tracks into the bright morning sun, “What a beautiful day this is. It makes a girl think of flowers and romances, doesn’t it, dear?”

I noticed she wore no wedding ring and I decided to confirm her observation that I was a young woman. “Sometimes finding the flowers is easier than getting the romance, though.”

She smiled and said, “Tell me about it.” I looked at her closely; she was a woman about thirty and wore a dark business suit. I could tell she had pretty features, but she wore only light makeup and her dirty blonde hair hung carelessly. Even with the smile, she appeared careworn.

“Well, the sunny day helps though,” I said in an effort to reassure her.

We said nothing more, though I was tempted to carry on a conversation; she seemed like a nice person and one that could be a good friend. I left her at the next stop and we exchanged wishes that each “have a good day.” As I walked to school, I reflected how sweet it was to be entering into the welcoming embraces of other women. Never before had I – as Jason – talked to a female stranger one-on-one. She would not have said a word to a young man as she did to me that morning.

Realizing that I may have gone overboard in expressing my femininity, I rushed into the teacher’s bathroom and locked the door. I tied my hair back into a ponytail and removed the light applications of eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss that I had applied earlier. I was certain that such girlish accoutrements might raise eyebrows among other teachers and cause undue comments from the students and that I had better try to put on as masculine look as possible.

*****
Carmen Mendoza cornered me at lunch hour again, almost pushing me into a corner alcove that served as the entrance to a janitor’s closet.

“I heard from Randy Sunday,” she announced. Her voice quavered as if she were trying to avoid being angry.

“Oh?” I said, feigning innocence.

“You know he saw Julie Saturday night and I think Julie was with our PE teacher,” she accused me.

“Oh my? Did you . . . ?”

“No, I didn’t tell him who Julie really was, but I should have. Mr. Pearson, you shouldn’t be fooling people like this, and with Coach Duke, too.”

She stood before me, her face flushed and her eyes flashing. I sensed that she wanted to punch me in anger for continuing what in her mind was a charade that was causing her friend Randy pain and may be in some remote way harming other students. I said nothing for a moment, seeking to gather my thoughts. I felt Carmen was a young woman of high principle as well as common sense – qualities that were rare among girls of her age. Nonetheless, I knew that what I was doing was pushing the limits of her levels of tolerance.

“Carmen,” I began finally, slowing moving a bit to the side in an effort to remove myself from being trapped against the back of the alcove. “I need a few more days of your discretion in which to set matters right, and I promise to do just that.”

“This is serious, Mr. Pearson,” the girl replied, her anger level seemingly dropping.

“I know that very well and whether I was with Coach Duke or some other man is no one else’s business but my own.”

“But, sir . . .”

“Now I must get back to my classroom, Carmen, and I truly appreciate your understanding on this.”

I pushed passed her to leave the alcove, but the girl held onto my sleeve, and I stopped: “Just remember what I said, Mr. Pearson. I’ll give you ‘til Thursday to set this straight; otherwise on Friday, I’m going to Mrs. Hammond.”

She let go of my sleeve and I escaped into the throng of students and hurried back to my classroom, and locked the door. I sat down at my desk and held my head in my hands and sobbed. I had about twenty minutes until the students would begin to arrive for class. I worried that some students or teachers might look through the window at the top of the classroom door and see my crying and decided to lay my head down on the desk on my forearms, as if I were taking a short nap.

After several minutes, I heard the door rattle and then a light knocking. I looked up to see Hank motioning me to open up.

I wiped my face quickly and let him in, leaving the door open. “Come in.”

“Were you crying?” he asked.

“A little, but I’m over it now, Hank. I have to tell you something.”

I motioned him to sit down at a chair I reserve for students when they come to my desk for a one-on-one talk. I sat down at my desk.

“Randy, the busboy from Saturday night, called Carmen Mendoza to say he saw me – that is, Julie – and that Julie was there with a man. The sight apparently angered him, because I know he’s still infatuated with Julie.”

“As am I,” Hank interjected.

I smiled and continued. “Hank this is serious, ‘cause after Randy described the man Carmen guessed it might have been you.”

Hank frowned.

“But while I admitted being out with a man I told her the identity of the man was basically none of her business.”

“Did she accept that?”

“I don’t think so, but I told her I would set the matter straight by Thursday and that everything would be OK.”

“And if you don’t?”

“She’ll go to Mrs. Hammond with her information.”

Hank sat stunned for a moment. “I was foolish to ask you out. This could cost me my career.”

“I know and it is my intention not to involve you in any way,” I said. I was sincere in my desire to hold Hank harmless.

“How will you resolve this, Jason?” he asked.

“Hank, I have a plan that should end this honestly and without harming anyone, except perhaps myself,” I said.

“What will you do?”

“It’s best you not know, Hank, but I promise you what I’m doing is for the best of all of us.”

“In the meantime, we better not be to seen together, right?” he asked.

“Agreed, though I know Julie will miss you.”

Hank got up from the chair, smiled at me and said: “I’ll miss Julie as well. Let’s hope someday that Julie and I can re-unite.”

*****
There was no question in my mind that I was a woman and my worry was that Doctor Pamela Wojcziehowski would not see it as clearly and might delay my start on hormones, the first step to permanent transition. I had been able to set up an appointment at five o’clock that afternoon, thanks to a cancellation the gender specialist had; I had called her during my lunch break since I was determined to move forward.

When I got to the doctor’s office that afternoon, I learned that Dr. Wojcziehowski was tied up with another patient. I sat for nearly half an hour before she could see me. I fidgeted, framing my words in my mind as I sat there, pretending to read an ancient copy of Vogue, failing even to see the strikingly beautiful clothes portrayed on its glossy pages as my mind raced.

“Doctor Pam, I need to begin my transition now,” I said, those being the first words out of my mouth when I entered her office.

“Whoa,” the doctor said, having risen from her chair to greet me.

“Doctor, I’m serious. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve never been more convinced that I’m a woman, a real live woman.”

“Sit down, Jason,” she said firmly, leading me to the lounge area she used for consultation and directing me to the love seat.

“I’m Julie,” I protested.

“For now, you’re Jason,” she said. “Now, I’m going to go get something to drink and leave you here to settle down. What would you like?”

I asked for tea, black with no sweetener, and she turned to her desk, turning off a desk light as she left, leaving the room in illuminated from the window that looked north upon the city and dim overhead recessed lights. It was meant, I was sure, to set a soothing mood, although in my anxiety I was having trouble calming down. I must have sat in the semi-darkness for ten minutes, and when the doctor arrived carrying a silver tray with a tea pot, sugar, creamer and two cups I did indeed feel more relaxed.

“Sorry this took so long,” she said. I watched patiently while she poured the tea into the two cups, handing me one, before she sat down.

I wanted to tell her that I didn’t think she was sorry at all, since I suspected her delay was contrived to merely force me to calm down. I didn’t say anything, because I had learned to respect her and also because her scheme seemed to have worked.

“Now, Jason, I’ve never seen you so determined before. What brought this on?”

She was right; I felt that I had the failing of being indecisive, tentative and frightened to make a decision. It seems like I’ve always been afraid in my life, afraid of letting people to get to know me, afraid that I’d say something wrong and afraid that I didn’t fit in with the crowd.

“Doctor Pam,” I began, my words coming out slowly and with a measured precision. “This week I learned many truths about myself and the basic one is that I am female.”

“What happened this week?” she probed.

I told her about my liaisons with Hank Duke, about the short, but revealing encounter I had with a young woman on the train that very morning and about the meeting with Randy in the restaurant. I had told her earlier about my trips to Point Pleasant and about meeting Randy; previously I had indicated our meetings were casual, but this time I related the passion I felt as a young woman in the arms of the boy. I told her also about Jon Edwards’ observations about my femininity.

“That’s quite a litany,” she said when I finished.

“It’s all true, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the full story about Randy before, but I felt so ashamed since he was so young and that you might be required to report me to the authorities,” I said.

She smiled.

“Technically – and if what you say is true – you didn’t commit statutory rape,” she said. “He’s sixteen and that means it’s no longer statutory rape. In this state statutory rape occurs only when an adult has a sexual encounter with a youth under sixteen. It could bring a rape charge, but the state has to prove you were the aggressor, and that doesn’t seem to be the case here. Let’s forget that for a moment, but it does explain your comfort in being treated like a young woman and helps build your case.”

“And doctor,” I said. “It’s urgent since I want to tell the school of my plans to transition this week.”

“Why the rush?” she asked.

I told her that I was afraid my life as Julie would be exposed by Carmen or others if I didn’t take steps to set things right. I knew I was under pressure to inform Randy of my gender in the next few days, and who knew what he would do when he found out.

“I want to tell the principal in the next couple of days about my plans, which will mean I may have to quit, but I’m prepared for that,” I said. “I can still go back to my old nursing home job if I have to and mom did leave me some backup money.”

It was after six o’clock when we finished and Dr. Wojcziehowski gave me a referral to an endocrinologist and told me to get a physical from my own doctor, after which she expected I could begin hormones.

Just before we left, Doctor Wojcziehowski took a few minutes to write out a note; she handed it to me and said, “I hope this will help with your school.”

I took the paper from her and read the note, written in a precise hand (unlike the way most doctors scribble) on a prescription blank with the doctor’s letterhead.

“To whom it may concern:

“This is to confirm that Jason Pearson has been under my psychiatric care for the last seven months and that I have concluded after careful consideration that for his own long-term mental health he should be recommended to begin gender reassignment treatment as soon as possible. It is my further recommendation that, pending the results of several other medical examinations, that he should begin living as a woman no later than July 1 of this year.

“Pamela Wojcziehowski, M.D., Ph. D.”

I took a moment to read it and then looked up to Doctor Pam. “Thank you,” I said.

“That’s just the first step, Jason. If your physical tests pan out and your doctor agrees, which I expect they will, you’ll likely be on hormone therapy by the start of next school year. But for now, once you begin living fulltime as a woman – which you should start once school ends in June – we’ll see how you adjust.”

“I’ll adjust just fine, doctor,” I said, totally convinced that nothing could stop me now.

“Let’s just wait and see how it goes in those first few months,” Doctor Pam said. “This will be a real test to see if you’re totally serious, before we do the physical changes such as breast enhancement, some possible facial surgery and sexual reassignment surgery. That’s several years down the road, most likely.”

“I’m ready now doctor.”

“We’ll see,” she said dismissing me.