This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

The aftermath of the bombing gave me much food for thought, and it had also demonstrated that I was strong enough to nurse, in both a physical and emotional sense. I still wasn’t sure that I really wanted to do it, but my military training would enable me to do so afterwards if I wanted to. I was feeling happier in myself with myself. My body was becoming increasingly curvy and I began to realise that I was quite attractive to men. However, I wasn’t sure what I felt about them, except that I wasn’t one and had probably never been one.

I spent hours writing long letters to my mother, which sometimes had replies from my dad too, so she must have shown them to him. He remained supportive and encouraging for me to make friends, he said he didn’t care whether I liked boys or girls, or both. All he wanted was for me to be happy.

I didn’t know if I was happy or not. Sometimes I felt very unhappy as if I’d been cheated or robbed of my future. Then I would withdraw into myself. I’d read about the boy who’d been injured as a baby and who had been turned into a girl. Apparently in circumcising him, they had amputated his penis. The thinking seemed to revolve around very primitive ideas of body image, body plus penis = boy; body without penis = girl. It seems that he rebelled against being a girl for many years and eventually he was turned back into a boy, although he had been living as one for some time, whereupon he married and adopted children. So did he live happily ever after. No, it seems he eventually killed himself.

I could see parallels with my own situation in an injury to genitalia making it more convenient to make us female, except that sex, isn’t determined by what hangs or doesn’t hang between one’s legs. Alright, it is in terms of phenotype (see the big words they teach you in nursing), but that could be at odds with the genotype, which is about chromosomes. Then there are psychological influences and environmental and it just gets so complicated it makes my head spin. Being male or female, man or woman is on one level very simple and on so many others so complex it defies black and white statements.

In some senses, I was transsexual, in that I was between the sexes regarding my physical state. Legally, I was female – which I found bemusing, as until 2004 it seems that those people who had had actual sex-change operations, or gender reassignment or correction, or whatever you want to call it did not have official status as male or female. Bizarre!

Anyway back to my musings. I wasn’t suffering from Gender Identity Disorder, well not until the army got involved, of which the transsexual syndrome is one manifestation, so my position was less clear.

Emotionally, where was I? Sometimes I was stuck at age eleven with that stupid cow destroying my future marital prospects with her knee. I had never got around to sexually finding girls attractive. I liked them, felt easy with them but had never thought about sex.

But then boys didn’t feature either. I was disowned by most of them being too small or weak to play boisterous games. I enjoyed my girly stuff with gran, sewing and knitting. I remembered how we had chopped up the green dress Sheila had seen at the cemetery, to make the suit for my teddy. I had hand-sewn some of it myself, not many boys had that for a memory.

My gran had seen my feminine side and accepted it as part of me. I wasn’t aggressive unless someone offended me, I competed in my own way, usually by my schoolwork, which made me a sissy swot. I couldn’t kick a football for toffee or run as fast as some of my contemporaries but they didn’t have straight As at A level or fourteen GCSE passes twelve of which were As and the other two B plus. So I was quite bright, maybe not genius level, but I could probably go to any uni I wanted, once this game of soldiers was over.

Realising that I was as clever if not more so than many of my colleagues gave me some consolation. I never flaunted it because I appreciated we had to help each other, I didn’t want to be teacher’s pet just one of the gang, maybe even one of the girls.

But did I? If I did why did I have these nagging doubts. Fine my body, with one final adjustment, was as female as it was going to get. To become male it would need some extensive change which seemed increasingly unlikely, so I was stuck in this female body. Common sense told me to just make the best of it and stop complaining, it could be worse.

I had done some extensive research and found many stories and pictures which left me feeling very sad for some of the people whose lives I had read about. Some were very successful and did well, some were tragi-comedies where the appearance was unconvincing and their lives must have been very difficult.

Some suffered at the hands of neighbours or hounding by the press and other forms of abuse. Some lost families and children as well as friends. Some lost everything. These were real heroes and heroines, albeit sometimes self-centred, self-absorbed ones. They had taken enormous risks and seen it through.

I’d had none of this. Was I lucky? I suppose that would depend on where you were coming from, but in some ways I was. So why was I unhappy? Because I’d been cheated of some expectation I’d had as a child. ‘So apart from that Mrs Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?’ So many of us have disappointments, what made me special?

Nothing did, I was a self-pitying waste of space, yet somehow, despite occasional bouts of self-loathing my experience in the car park with the dying Lisa, made me decide that ending it all was not an option.

Kate was wonderful, she had trained as a psyche nurse, well a mental nurse as well as a general nurse, to those of you who are pedants. So she was able to spot when I was going into my introversion and help me to restabilise. I was thus able to keep up with my training and socialise with my colleagues as one of the girls, although I wasn’t dating or anything like that.

I was just getting through life when my nightmare began to return. I discovered that Pam Davis had been posted to my hospital. When I saw her name on the list of new postings, I felt myself go very cold and my head began to feel very dizzy. I then apparently collapsed in a heap and woke up on a hospital bed some minutes later. I woke up sweating and trembling, I was also calling out something or other.

I couldn’t remember anything except what I had seen on the notice board and my sense of terror. I just kept thinking that if they thought I was mental, they may send me home before she gets there. I wasn’t worried about terrorists or risks of daily living, but that woman terrified me. I could not and would not stay in the same place as her. Death could be preferable.

Thinking about this I lapsed back into my dreamy state, seeing myself drifting away from my body, which I knew was dead I felt myself floating away and feeling the sense of peace as I gently wafted upwards towards the light. It was lovely.

I was met by my grandmother in some delightful garden and we just walked and talked. She told me how beautiful I was and how pleased she had been for me because she had always known I was more girl than boy, then she waved to someone behind me, it was Lisa.

I turned around and she ran towards me and nearly hugged me to death. Well if I hadn’t already been dead, I would have been so after her hugs. “What are you doing here ?” she asked of me, “It isn’t your time yet.”

“I don’t care.” I responded, “I couldn’t face her again.”

“Of course you can, you have to.”

“But she made me do horrible things and she hurt me physically.” I was crying as I recalled the pain she had caused me. This puzzled me a bit. Here I was dead and feeling pain, there was something not quite right with this. Dead people don’t feel anything, except being dead, which as far as we know means they don’t feel anything at all. Unless of course, this premise was wrong in which case so was most everything else. Was this a quantum moment, when I am born live and die all at the same instant?

If it was, the first two were somewhat lacking in evidence. No, I was dead, but shit scared of the demon woman and feeling pain. Oh bugger, I couldn’t even do dying properly!

Lisa was comforting me, and now I felt like a child to her adult. “You are very pretty for a soldier, Jamie, and you are a good nurse. You have much work to do in the physical world, many people are depending upon you.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to do it. I won’t do it, I won’t see her again. I’d rather stay here with you and Gran.” I sobbed back at her.

“You don’t have a choice, your place is down there helping your fellow men. Lead them by compassion, you have a true vocation, use it.”

I kept shaking my head, I did not want to return, but suddenly I felt so tired that still holding Lisa’s hand I said to her, ”I love you, Lisa, I shall always remember you, but I’m going to sleep now.”

I think I heard her say goodbye and suddenly I felt myself being sucked into this blackness like it was thick tar engulfing me and drawing me deeper and deeper into itself. I couldn’t breathe and began to cough and fight for air. I felt the tar holding me like arms, holding my arms and legs, holding me down. I fought to open my eyelids, which seemed to be stuck together. I was blind and in this blackness and I was terrified. Lisa had gone, my gran had gone, was I now in hell, with demons pulling me apart? I gave an almighty scream and opened my eyes, saw doctors and nurses trying to keep me on the bed, then everything went black.

I was in the fever for a couple of days, I had pneumonia and nearly died. I did die, I know I did I saw Lisa and Gran. I spoke to them, I hugged them, they sent me back to meet my fate whatever that was. It wasn’t delirium, I didn’t imagine it.

I spent two weeks in hospital with my mother and father at my bedside, they were brill as always and took me home with them for a month’s recuperation. A long time later my mother asked me whose daughter it was who kept visiting the ward, she apparently always came to see me and told my mother that,” I would be okay because I had work to do.” When she told me, I went cold and then felt a surge of warmth as I laughed. She looked puzzled as I seemed to have a private joke on her. I asked her to describe the girl, and I knew exactly who it was. “You have Gran’s gift, just like I do.”

“What are you talking about?” she was totally out of synch with me.

“You saw Lisa.” I chuckled back at her.

“Lisa who ?”

“Lisa the little girl who died in the accident. She came to see me and told me it wasn’t my time.”

My mother went white, “Oh my God, she looked so real. I honestly thought she was a real person.”

“She was real, Mum, she just didn’t have a body anymore.” It tickled me that despite her denial, she was psychic and so was I, the family trait had been handed down through the female line and I was the youngest current recipient. Which meant that if it only happened to females, I must be female. It seemed no matter how I tried to avoid my destiny, it just kept reappearing and forcing itself upon me. It sometimes felt as if I was in deep shit, now I knew it was for real, I could almost smell it. But there was no option, no escape I just had to face it. Oh, bugger.

The month I spent at home was much needed. My parents had to work but were both able to do bits of their work from home, so I got to spend time with both of them individually. While my relationship with my mum was special, mother-daughter ones always are. The one with my dad was extra special.

I had never appreciated my father fully. I hadn’t had much need to, he was always there, reliable, clever, wise, sophisticated and much bigger than I. I had not quite realised just how much bigger he was until I was putting my suitcase back on top of the wardrobe, when he saw me, rushed in and snatched it from me then reached up and placed it on top. I was struggling, he could reach without stretching. I was struggling from a strength point of view, he lifted it like it was a balloon. “You aren’t supposed to overdo it, remember what the doctor said.”

“Yes, Daddy, I know. I just thought I could manage it.” He loved it when I called him daddy, perhaps I did too. I could see his chest swell out and he’d put his arm around me and hug me. He felt big and strong and powerful, in comparison, I felt weak and vulnerable but protected. It was a strange position to be in, but we both seemed to be slipping nicely into stereotypical roles.

I had a small understanding of Oedipal and Elektra complexes, but was I fancying my dad? Initially, my response was ughhh, don’t be stupid. But when I thought about it, it didn’t seem quite so disgusting. It would never be anything more than fantasy because it would be illegal and abhorrent, not to mention hurtful to my mother. But it made me wonder.

I had this thought come back to me several times during my period at home. I saw him stripped to just a pair of shorts while he did some job in the garden and he was in pretty good shape for a man approaching his late forties. He didn’t have a beer gut or much extra fat anywhere, and his body while not muscular was in a reasonable tone.

He was repairing a fence panel and in wielding a heavy hammer, he showed muscles I knew I didn’t have. He was swinging this sledge-hammer thing with modest ease, I carried it back to the garage for him and found it heavy to lift, let alone swing above my head.

I know, I know I was a woman, or on my way to being one and hadn’t developed properly as anything more than a boy, so my muscle mass wasn’t much, and I was quite a bit smaller than him in stature generally. But he was just so much more powerful than I was. If it came to it, he had the strength to force me to do anything he wanted me to. That was frightening because it also meant that it probably applied to most men. Here I was an average-sized woman and until my recent illness reasonably fit, but much less strong than the average bloke. I hadn’t thought of it like that before.

I continued my reverie as I lay on my bed that night, seeing my father stripped and sweating in the garden, feeling frightened by the male power I was witnessing but also feeling something else, a strange and exciting feeling. A feeling that both disturbed me and fascinated me, I fancied my dad and part of me wanted him to make me do things I shouldn’t do.

As I explored this fantasy the face of my father faded into that of one or two of the male staff at the hospital. I was beginning to see them as something I had never noticed before, as men and pretty dishy ones at that!

An hour after being locked into this fantasy, I began to realise that I was becoming a normal heterosexual female, well given my shortcomings ( no pun intended), I was as much as I could. I recognised too, that I needed to do something about it, I would need to see a surgeon and get my final correction done assuming they could find the original arrangement in all that superglue and skin.

What was unknown to me was whether I would ever be able to enjoy sexual contact and penetration beyond a psychological level, into a physical one. I knew I’d not manage the legendary multiple orgasms of the natural female, but then I suspected neither did many of them.

I recalled seeing a tape of a Ben Elton show that my parents liked, where he was suggesting that most men thought ‘Clitoris’ was a Greek island. It tended to mean that most men had little idea of female sexuality and perhaps from what I had heard from the girls in work it was quite true. However, I wasn’t sure if some of the girls weren’t almost as ignorant of sex generally.

There was a constant stream of them to the MOs office after weekend leaves when they wanted the morning after pill. Hearing the doctors and senior nurses talking about the ignorance and stupidity of these young people regarding sex was worrying. Unprotected sex was on the increase as were venereal diseases and HIV, not to mention hepatitis. The next time I went near the shops I bought some condoms. I don’t know why, I had nothing to make love with, but I was terrified of getting some awful disease like AIDS.

I hardly drank anything anyway, but I wasn’t going to risk my health on a whim or sexual impulse of mine or someone whom I fancied. Goodness, this was a real Pandora’s box to open and I wasn’t sure if I regretted it or not. I didn’t really fancy my father, rather, I felt proud of him for keeping in shape at the same time became aware that there were nascent sexual feelings inside me and they seemed to be oriented towards men. This felt straightforward and confusing, but when I thought it through and dumped the irrelevance of the past to the new situation, it felt a bit easier and less sinful.

Where had the latter come from? It seemed I had retained teachings from my infants and junior schools which were church schools. Raised nominally as an Anglican Christian, I shared some of those values but had gone on to refute religion as ‘opium of the masses’ or people-controlling superstition. I was a liberal socialist, brought up by two thoughtful, caring parents. They had encouraged me to establish my own values but to respect those of others at the same time. It was common sense, however, in the current climate of religious intolerance shown and felt by so many, was anything but common.

So was sex sinful? I didn’t know. Unprotected sex was stupid rather than sinful. Then I realised in some ways it was all academic, I had no orifice for sex, none that I was contemplating using at any rate, so until I got my plumbing sorted permanently, it would all remain academic.

In the month that I was home, I kept up the academic element of my training via the internet. That was easy, I was streets ahead of most of my colleagues anyway, and with little else to occupy myself, I did what I do best – swotted. When I wasn’t sleeping or swotting, I tried to exercise. I did lots of walking and some cycling. I used to love my bike and rode for miles when I was a kid. Now it was an effort to do a couple of miles.

Pneumonia is an infection of the lungs, and it sometimes leaves permanent damage. In my case it was unlikely, but I was told not to overdo things for several months. So heavy exercise was out of the question, and when I forgot, a bout of coughing usually reminded me of my limitations.

However, at the back of my mind was that wretched woman. The cow who started all this, Pam bloody Davis. Just thinking about her left me feeling weak, yet I was going to have to face her, and I had to do this myself.

I had managed to keep this confrontation from my parents and also my superiors back at the base, so as not to make it any bigger than it need be. But at times I would feel myself trembling at the thought of her name. I knew that I had to grasp this nettle, and until I did, it would continue to haunt me.

The last weekend of my stay at home came round all too quickly. I felt very sad about going back, and about dealing with you know who made things worse. I was leaving a place of total safety, a place run by trusted people who loved me and returning to somewhere I hadn’t intended being in the first place, let alone in a role which seemed increasingly out of my control. It felt at times as if I was driven by destiny rather than desire. My only choice being as Jung put it, “To accept my fate willingly.”

To mark my last evening dad took us out for a meal. As before I spent the day with my mother getting something to wear. She seemed to enjoy this so much, who was I to deny her, especially after we had agreed on some ground rules, from the previous episode.

I had brought Gran’s jewellery with me, the gold and sapphire set, which I loved and enjoyed wearing. So it was probable that I would go for blue again, well I do have blue eyes. But when we were looking around ‘Monsoon’ (the dress shop, not the rainstorm), I saw a two-piece outfit I just had to have. So without any hesitation, I found one in my size and whisked it off to the changing room.

Once there I stripped off to my bra and pants, but before I donned the new outfit, I wanted to savour the lovely material. It was a multicoloured but delicate pattern on a background of cream. The pattern was abstract in blues and pinks and greens, but was roughly flower-shaped, like a stereotype of a rose. The material was fine silk, the top had a scoop neck, the skirt was straight and came to the knee. It was just so beautiful,

I savoured the moment of just holding this fine silk, real silk. Then two minutes later it was adorning my body, and it felt as good on as it looked.

I had doffed my trainers and socks, along with my jeans and top, so I walked out barefoot to show my mother. She was busy looking at something and had her back to me, she was also laden with her own bag and my rather large backpack type bag.

“Well, Mum, what d’ya think?”

Turning she smiled as she said,” Jamie, that is absolutely beautiful, it fits you to a tee. Your dad is going to be totally knocked out by it.” She hugged me and I broke the embrace before I began to sniff.

Laughing, I responded, “If he’s paying for it, the price will knock him over.”

“No dear this one’s from me, and I don’t care how much it is.” I hugged her again and kissed her to say thanks. The outfit was nearly two hundred pounds, which with shoes and bag, became nearer three hundred. I felt embarrassed by this, but Mum seemed to enjoy spending the money. To alleviate my conscience I suggested it could be an early birthday present, but Mum was having none of it.

We had a light lunch and came home, rested for half an hour then round to my mum’s hairdresser for a quick do. While Mum rested, I had a shower, after all, I wasn’t going to get my hair wet after having it done, and all I’d have to do then was change and put on a bit of slap, and I’d be ready for the off.

We got to Doreen’s salon about four in the afternoon. I had met her before but she hadn’t ever done my hair. My hair as I have said before is blonde, and now shoulder length. It is thick and strong and pretty straight though it does get a bit of a wave in it when it gets wet. Doreen did Mum’s hair and while she was under the drier, it was my turn.

“How are you, Jamie? It is Jamie isn’t it?” The middle-aged, slightly overweight woman smiled at me.

“I’m fine thanks, and yes it is Jamie.”

“Your mum tells me you’re in the army.”

“Medical corps, training to be a nurse. National Service.”

“Well I’ll get Natasha to do a shampoo and conditioner and then we can decide how you want me to do it.”

The junior escorted me to the washbasin, helped me into a brown robe and after sitting me at the washbasin began to wash my hair. “Did you say you were in the army?”

“Medical corps, nursing, yes I did. I’m doing my National Service.”

“I wonder if you know my sister, Pam.” As she said this, I felt an awful dread approaching. “Pam Smith, she’s a nurse too.”

My blood pressure returned to normal and I controlled myself quite well, so I thought.

“Is the water okay, only you went a funny colour for a moment.”

“I’m fine. Where’s your sister based?”

“Somewhere in Scotland, near Perth I think.”

“I’m at Barbury.”

“So you won’t have met then.”

“I doubt it, sorry.”

“I’m sixteen and hope they stop the National Service before I get to it, last thing I want to do is be dragged off to the blessed army.”

“That’s what I thought, but they may give you a civvy job, you never know.”

“Not with my luck.” We both laughed at this, and she told me I was done, wrapped a towel around my dripping hair and escorted me to Doreen who was checking my mother.

We agreed my hair was in good condition and she would do a minimal trim, but turn it under on the ends. She did exactly that, applying mousse and hairspray as necessary. She seemed quite old, similar age to my mum, but she knew her business and with seemingly nimble fingers and agile hands I was finished. So was Mum, and she paid the bill. I did try to at least pay my share, but Mum was having none of it. Feeling guilty, I went over to Natasha and slipped her a few pounds as a tip.

After getting home and settling down with a cuppa just to get rid of the hustle and bustle, my mother smiled at me and said,” Jamie, it’s been really lovely having you here. Today has been super, I’ve really enjoyed it.”

I walked over to her and kissed her cheek, “I’ve enjoyed it too, Mum. I could get used to this spoiling although I suspect the bank manager may not be so keen.” We laughed.

“I just wish we had known about all this sooner, maybe you would have had more options. I still feel guilty.”

“Mum please, we have discussed this before. I do not want you to feel guilty, it wasn’t your fault, it isn’t your fault, it will never be your fault. I have had a lovely day, in fact, a lovely month, please don’t spoil it with one of your guilt trips. You know it can’t change anything, and it makes me feel as if you regret what I am now.”

“Darling, I don’t regret anything about you. You make me so proud to be your mother, you are every bit the daughter I could have wanted…..”

Feeling a but coming, I plunged in,” Well then we’re all happy aren’t we?” She stopped and smiled at me nodding in agreement. I didn’t know if it was guilt or some other issue which caused this sadness in her, maybe it was just coping with my change and the adjustment on a deeper level. I didn’t know, but I didn’t need to visit it again. I had enough of my own issues not to need hers as well. So I went up to my room to change.

Just after I went upstairs I heard my father come in. He shouted a greeting, at least he seemed in high spirits.

I spent an hour getting myself ready. I carefully slipped the top over my hair and put my arms in the short sleeves. The push-up bra I had on was going to pop some eyeballs tonight. Then the skirt, which fitted like a glove. I was a perfect size twelve. The cream sandals with a three-inch heel, then my jewellery which seemed to bring out the blue in the material. Finally, after my makeup which was a little more dramatic than usual, I squirted a bit of Opium on my neck and wrists and I was ready.

I’d heard my parents go down, before, my dad had asked me how much longer I’d be. So I was ready for my entrance. Unlike the last time we’d done this, I was much more sure of myself, well a bit more but let’s not confuse the issue.

I opened the door and strode in confidently, “Will I do?”

“My God, will you do? Bloody hell, girl if you weren’t my daughter I’d be asking you out myself, as it is I shall spend all night keeping the blokes off you.”

“So I look okay then?” I was revelling in the attention.

“You look fabulous kitten.” With that, he hugged me and I kissed him on the cheek.

“Doesn’t she look fabulous, darling.” he said to my mum.

“Yes dear,” she replied to him, then to me, “You are certainly getting to know your style, you look beautiful, but then I knew you would.” She hugged me and we air-kissed each other on the cheek.

It’s a wonderful feeling to know that the image you have set out to create is received as intended. I was feeling increasingly confident, and just beginning to understand the power I was wielding. I had gone through the sense of vulnerability felt by women concerning physical strength, now I was beginning to appreciate the balance, the power women have.

I knew that wherever we went tonight, I was going to attract attention and that pleased me. I wanted to be noticed. In the back of my mind a little thing called common sense was whispering just be careful, remember you still need some adjustment down there and how much practice have you had in dealing with randy men? Not a lot, be careful or it will all end in tears.