Part 9 of 11

Chapter 14
It took us two days to read all the things I had been given. It looked like being a Court Reporter involved more that pushing buttons on a machine, you had to take stenography and legal vocabulary and quite a few other courses to qualify. For a seventeen year old high school dropout, it looked like a lot to do. I just had to tell myself I was a twenty-one year old A student - just like my transcript said.

I already had a pretty good handle on legal terminology even if it was knowledge gained on the wrong side of the law. Besides, I had Jenny to help. Wendy had a typewriter and still had her old touch-typing book from high school, so I started teaching myself to type during the evenings.

Some of the most interesting information came from the breast cancer stuff. That's where we found out that people actually make real-looking fake breasts for women who lost them to cancer. Not something Vito ever heard of and it was one of those things the girls knew existed but since it didn't apply to them it just wasn't so important.

That's how I came to type a nice, professional letter to a medical supply house inquiring about breast forms. It looked pretty good, so off it went into the postbox.

Meanwhile, I made an appointment with the college and tried to figure out how to be a student there in the fall. I was accepted in the Legal Stenography program, but how to pay. I filled out several forms, nicely typewritten - and don't ask how long it took me to do it - and hoped. Jenny told me that her legal firm offered a grant to a young woman who was interested in some facet of the legal field, so I typed up an application for that one, too.

Then I filled out loan forms and government forms and form after form after form. By the time I get accepted I'm going to be the world's most skilled typist at filling out forms. By early July I was up to forty words a minute without looking at the keyboard. That's the hard part, not looking where your fingers are while you type.

By mid August I was getting near sixty. Jenny was amazed, that's about her usual speed. I told you I was good working with my hands, just ask Patty.

I shouldn't have said that, I was trying to be a professional.
 

One day when I got home there was a big envelope in the mailbox with my name on it. Inside was a bunch of glossy, full-color brochures with big illustrations of prosthetic breasts. Another word that I wouldn't have known before I started studying, but it's a medical word that just means fake.

As soon as I saw them I wanted them. Suddenly my bags of rice just weren't good enough any more. It was still before five o'clock, so I called the first number on the list of local suppliers of breast forms.

"Medical supply, how can I help you?"

"I'm calling because your company was listed as a supplier of breast prostheses."

"That's correct, we carry the full line."

"I have some questions."

"I would be glad to answer them. What can I tell you?"

"Do I need a prescription or something from my doctor?"

"That's not necessary. We can fit you with an appropriate prosthesis that will look much like your natural breast."

"Fit?"

"I'm sure you realize that each woman has breasts that are different. Our prostheses are designed to match your body and the look of your natural breast. That's why we recommend you come in for a fitting and bring the bra you usually wore before you lost your breast. That way we can make you look your best."

"I, uh, I don't have natural breasts."

"Wait, are you one of those men who wants to pretend you are a woman?"

"Why would that matter?"

"We don't sell to perverts!"

She slammed down the phone and I was left holding the receiver."

"Well, that was interesting," I murmured to myself.

"What was interesting, Liza?" asked Jenny.

"This." I handed her the brochure.

"I see. Where did this come from?"

"I ran into some people trying to make sure I had my annual mammogram. I wrote away for information when I found out they make such things."

"I'd like to see you get a mammogram. I hate it when they have to squeeze my titties to do one on me."

"They what?"

"Honey, with these things they have to press them flat between two plates so the x-rays can get all the way through. It's no picnic, I can tell you!"

"Suddenly bags of rice sound much more attractive."

"You're attractive enough, honey. Don't knock it!"

"Thanks, I think."

So what's with the mumbling?"

"I called about trying to get some and the lady got upset when I told her I didn't have natural breasts. She called me a pervert and hung up."

"Great customer service strikes again! There must be other places."

"There are. The letter from the people who make them gave me several numbers.

"Then start spinning that old dial and call the next one before they close."

"I just hope I don't get called a pervert again."

"If they do, Liza, then I'll get my boss to sue the bastards."

I got a much better reception with the next one, and soon had an appointment to see them. The lady (I suppose for this kind of thing it would be a lady selling them) was encouraging, but I didn't say I was flat this time.

So on Wednesday, Patty and I took the bus to the place. Back in 1977 a lot of places closed early on Wednesdays, including the salon. It took a long time for me to find out why, because nobody really knew - it just was the way things were always done.

Eventually an old man in a hardware store told me that most rural businesses closed on Wednesday because that's when the churches had prayer meetings and evening services. The custom was dying out by then, but it still hung on for a few more years.

I was happy that my medical supply people didn't follow the custom. It was a bit unnerving to go in and be surrounded by hospital beds and wheelchairs and walkers and such things. Growing up a healthy kid that sort of thing was foreign to me. I asked if we could speak to Mrs Upshaw and the salesman took us to a door toward the back of the place.

Next to the door were boxes of bedpans and urinals for both men and women. I really don't want to describe the picture of a woman holding it to the appropriate place. I was relieved that there were no pictures of anyone holding the men's version! I was starting to wonder if it was worth all this to not have to change bags of rice every so often when they got damp.

The man knocked on the door and a woman called "Come in!" so we came in.

She looked to be in her thirties, neatly turned out and very accommodating. There were comfortable easy chairs to sit in, not some institutional metal monstrosity. She even offered us tea and coffee.

She introduced herself and we did the same, so she asks "And which of you is interested in the prosthetics?"

"I'm the one, Mrs Upshaw."

"Very good. I understand this can be a difficult subject to talk about, but let me assure you that nothing we say will go beyond this room and you can have perfect confidence that we will do our best for you. You seem rather young to have lost a breast, Liza."

"Uh, actually, I don't have any breasts of my own. These are bags of rice in old pantyhose."

"Don't be embarrassed, dear. We make do with what we have. Have you seen a doctor about your late development?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. I haven't developed because I was born a boy."

"I see. Please don't worry, you're not the first person I've been able to help with this problem. You can be sure I will do my best to make you look your best."

That sure beats having the phone slammed in your ear!

"I'll have to ask you to remove your blouse so I can measure you properly and I can take a look at your chest. It does make a difference in the type of prostheses that will suit you best."

I suppose my roommates have seen me naked so letting her see my bare chest should be no big deal. I had gotten girly enough that I felt shy about exposing my non-existent breasts, though.

So she measured me and asked "I assume you want to stay with a B cup so your usual bras will still fit you?"

"Yes, please."

She consulted a chart of some kind, then held up a card with lots of colored patches along the edge.

"We try to match the skin tone as closely as we can. A mastectomy can be quite traumatic for a woman, so we try to make the replacement as close as possible to the original. I'll be back in a moment and we can try some forms on you to see what looks best."

She bustled out of the room and Patty says "Wow. She didn't even blink when you said you weren't a natural woman. She's good!"

"I was scared, Patty."

"I don't blame you. This can't be easy for you."

"I just have to keep thinking how nice it would be to have something better than rice. Too bad there isn't a pill to let me grow the real thing. They say modern medicine can do wonders these days."

I didn't hear the door open while I was talking.

"There are such pills, Liza, but they have some serious side effects."

"Oh?"

I don't want to pry, but I assume Patty is your girlfriend?"

"I am," answers Patty."

"I don't want to make assumptions, but those pills would eventually prevent you from having normal intercourse."

"Oh!" we both said.

"I can see that isn't an acceptable option. For now, remove your bags of rice and we will see which of these forms suits you."

She opened a box and handed me a wiggly breast that was sort-of triangle shaped. It didn't feel exactly like Patty's breast, but it sure was closer than a bag of rice. I put it in my bra and wiggled it into place.

"Excellent. Here's the other one."

She opened a cabinet and there was a full length mirror. I took a look and it really did look like they were mine from a distance.

"Patty started clapping and gave me a kiss.

"I take it you both approve."

"You can even see the nipples," enthused Patty.

"Exactly like every other woman has. There is one other style that might suit you."

I removed the forms and she handed me a new pair.

"They call this style a teardrop, for obvious reasons. Once in my bra they looked even better in the mirror.

"It looks like my breasts start higher up, more like Patty's. Oops! Sorry Patty."

"We're all girls here, Liza. It doesn't bother me that you like my breasts."

"I think this is the better style for you. They fill the cups nicely and look quite natural. Are you happy with the look?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Then put your blouse back on and we can talk some more."

Once I had buttoned my buttons, Mrs Upshaw resumed "Now we get to the difficult part, the payment. We will somehow find a way so you can afford your new forms, so let me go over prices and our credit plans.

"We still don't have much money."

"A common problem, I'm afraid, but not insurmountable"

They were expensive, about two weeks of Patty's take-home pay and maybe a month of mine. Fortunately, I still had enough left from my family's gift to pay for most of it and Patty put in what was left. That's a good thing because as a woman in 1977 it was still darned hard to get credit unless a man co-signed the loan. Completely sexist, a term I was fated to get to know far too intimately.

In fact, it was only two years after the courts had ruled that woman couldn't be denied a loan just because she was a woman. I doubt you would be surprised that the bankers found lots of other, supposedly non-sexist, reasons to deny a loan anyway.

Once it had all been sorted out, Mrs Upshaw asked "Liza, have you seen a doctor about your gender dysphoria?"

I guess my blank look was answer enough.

"Gender dysphoria is a relatively new term that the medical and psychiatric community is starting to use to describe men who feel they are women or women who feel they are men. There is a lot of contention, as you might imagine when anything about sex is discussed, but at least it is being discussed.

"I'm rather surprised, most such people have seen a counselor long before they become as obviously feminine as you appear. I won't ask, it's not my business, but I would strongly recommend you talk to someone if you intend to continue living as a woman."

"I don't think we could afford it."

"They are not inexpensive, to be sure. Are you in school?"

"I'm going to be at ECC next fall."

"Then that may be a path you could pursue. You could ask the college if they offer counseling services to students."

"I suppose I could ask."

"Please do. You've chosen a difficult path through life, I hope you can find joy together as you want to live.

"We hope so, too."

"Please wait one more minute, there's something I would like to show you."

"Of course we will, you've been so kind to us."

She was back in a moment.

"This is something called a gaff. It will hold your genitals in place so you can wear tighter fashions. I'm told they are somewhat uncomfortable, but men who want to appear as women swear by them for the proper look. This is my gift to you, there are instructions in the package. I've read them and I sometimes wonder how it can all work, but I suppose it's like prosthetic breasts, it is just one more way to look the way you want to look."

"Thank you. This is more than I had ever hoped for."

"My best to you Liza, Patty. I hope you have a very happy and fulfilling life together."