IWAM_01

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! So... what is his reward?

Chapter One: The Accident

A dense fog had rolled in off the Sound while I was sleeping in my tent. I can hear the drone of the occasional small boat negotiating the fjord in the fog—whoever is out there must have radar, a really good GPS, or be foolhardy. They are most likely commercial fisherman trying to make the most of the salmon season. Moisture from the condensing fog is dripping from the trees above the small gravel beach on which I have found rest. This part of the Sound is very rocky and good camping beaches for sea kayakers are hard to find. As fatigue caught up to me late yesterday evening the best I could do was to wait for an hour after high tide to claim a narrow piece of gravel which was exposed by the falling tide. I had about ten hours use of the pocket beach before it was to be covered by sea water again. Fortunately the sea has been calm in the protected cove sheltering the beach. If there had been waves then my time on this beach would have been much more severely limited.

The wet, cold, foggy weather, is a good match for my depressed mood. The only thing missing for a perfect match is the type of steady soaking miserable rain which is common in this area. My life is in a shambles and my depression extreme. The tide is also rising quickly so I must pack up my camp and be on my way.

As I pack the camp and stow everything in my small boat I wonder what it is that I am going to do—not the next part of the trip, but about my life. My life really is very unpleasant right now.

While I like sea kayaking a lot, I am on this trip in response to a very strong spiritual prompting instead of for casual recreation. The prompting had given me hope that on this trip I would find answers to the personal problems I face and guidance concerning next steps in my life. After a week of wandering in the wilderness I am no closer to the answers than when I started.

As I contemplate my next immediate move, I consider the wisdom of making the four mile open water crossing I’ve planned. The fog is still thick and I still hear the occasional passing of a power boat. While I have a state of the art GPS to guide me, I am invisible to other craft. I listen for the deeper noise of a cruise ship but don’t hear one. This passage is used every day or so by large passenger cruise ships taking lazy people to see the many glaciers emptying into the fjord that I’m paddling in. Being struck by a fog blinded power boat would be bad enough but at least they’d know they hit something and maybe attempt a rescue. A cruise ship, however, would never even notice that I was there if they ran over me.

Normally I would strongly recommend against making a crossing in such weather, but given my current circumstances, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

I am currently about fifty miles from the nearest port connected to the road system but I am not alone. In the past week I’ve encountered several groups of kayakers and have watched a dozen or more power boats and assorted watercraft pass by each day. While this area is considered wilderness there are quite a few people out enjoying it.

This fog is proving to be persistent and thick. In fact it is difficult to tell where the sun is. At least the water is calm. Actually it is almost dead calm. There is not a breath of wind and the only disturbance in the water surface is the occasional long swell remaining from a power boat wake. Without a compass or GPS it would be easy to get turned around and head off in the wrong direction. I am glad that I am prepared.

The morning is chilly and the tide is about to overwhelm the beach so I need to make a plan and get moving. A good steady paddle will loosen and warm the muscles. A steady paddling rhythm can be hypnotic and comforting. On a day like today, not a lot of thinking is required to navigate the boat once the course is set and motion is started. This leaves a lot of time for contemplation. Given my current state of mind, I’m not sure that is a good idea.

Throwing caution to the wind, with the so-what attitude of the depressed, I decide to go for it. I’ve been stood up and I’ve seen about all I want to here. It’s time to head home. I need to cross the fjord opening to cut at least a day’s paddle off of the trip home. Chances are good that I’ll make it across without incident, but even if I don’t it wouldn’t a great loss. I have a Coast Guard approved boat whistle—which is quite loud—that might warn off smaller craft if they should approach. I also have a hand held marine radio which I can hail craft with if needed. The odds of encountering anything big are relatively low.

“This is really a stupid decision, Jerry.” I mutter to myself. How many times have I warned my kids against just such stupidity in past trips? Given my current depression I ignore my own warning. While I’m not really suicidal, death almost sounds like a relief.

With a sigh I finish packing everything into my small boat and shove off just as the last of the beach is reclaimed by the sea. It’ll be another couple of hours before another such beach comes available.

Having made the decision, I check my GPS unit and choose a heading to watch on my deck mounted compass, taking into account the currents caused by the rising tide. The timing is good as the currents will not be much of a factor around high tide. Monitoring the GPS will permit me to alter my course if my calculations are off. This is almost too easy when I recall my pre-GPS days. We used to navigate only by map and compass and would occasionally find ourselves in the wrong place when crossing blind. It would have been extremely fool hardy to attempt this foggy crossing without the modern electronic toys. The crossing should only take an hour or so and, it being at the peak of high tide, the currents shouldn’t be a problem. Dipping my paddle in the water, I head off on my course and settle into a steady paddling rhythm.

While I am fifty miles from my port of departure, I’ve put almost one hundred fifty miles under my keel in the past week. I’ve been paddling in and out of fjords, most of the time without any real plan—I have been searching for something but I’m not exactly sure what. I thought I’d found it yesterday, but the answers weren’t there. Unfortunately, now I have to get back to civilization and find out what new disasters have happened in my absence. I also have a court hearing to attend in a few days.

---< 0 >---

My boat wobbles a bit as the wake of a passing watercraft reaches me. I had heard the boat pass distantly about five minutes earlier. Otherwise all is quiet—almost too quiet. According to my GPS I’m about half way across the fjord opening. The fog ahead of me seems to be thinning somewhat as I can see a strange bright light trying to shine through just ahead of me. I wonder what is producing such a light as I have not heard any sign of another watercraft nearby.

Without notice, I break through into a very unusual clearing in the fog. The clearing is perfectly round, about a hundred feet in diameter and standing on the water right in the middle of it is a brightly glowing personage dressed in white robes. That’s right. He is standing ON the water as if it is the most normal of things to do. My boat is eighteen feet long, so I have to back paddle quickly to avoid hitting this obviously angelic person.

Time seems to have stopped. The water is not moving, there is no sound to be heard, and I get the strong sense that I’m in another dimension.

While it must have been only seconds, it feels like long minutes before the personage speaks to me. In the intervening time he looks upon me with a peacefully serene expression that shows a hint of amusement as if he knows something significant that I don’t. When he does finally speak, he does so with a soft but compelling voice which seems to pierce me to the very heart.

“Peace be unto thy soul, my fellow servant. Thy faithfulness and devotion are acceptable unto the Lord. Thou hast proven thyself in his eyes. Thou hast carried well the burdens which thou hast been given. Those burdens have helped to make thee the person thou art and have given thee the compassion which has made thee a strong instrument in the Lord’s work. They hast also prepared thee to be an even greater instrument in the Lord’s hand than thou has hither to been. No mistakes have been made. The burdens which have plagued thee recently and throughout thine life will now be removed. Take the lessons of thy life and expand upon them to bless the lives of His children and thine. He has much work for thee yet to do before thou art called home to take thy place in his kingdom.”

Without waiting for questions, he begins to ascend upward (towards heaven I presume) smiling knowingly at me again with the expression of one who knows something big is about to happen and he’s not sharing the details.

Before I have time to process his words, a small tour boat pops out of the fog and rams my kayak, shattering the front end and pushing the rest violently aside, rolling me over. As I go into the drink, I get a glimpse of astonished faces peering over the boat’s rail.

I struggle to release myself from the remains of my boat while underwater. All the emergency exit drills pay off and I’m soon free and struggling for the surface.

It looks like I forgot about the daily glacier tour boat.

I do ingest some seawater before breaking the surface. Floating on the surface with the aid of my personal floatation device (PFD) I cough up a bit of salt water. Taking inventory of my body I don’t think anything that is cut or broken. Having never actually been in the water in the past couple of decades of sea kayaking, I have opted not to use either a wet or dry suit. Being in water with a temperature not much above freezing, I hope the boat that hit me returns as I won’t last long before hypothermia gets me. With this in mind, I start blowing on my warning whistle in hopes of attracting attention.

I notice that the fog has closed in again. There is no clear opening. I feel my energy waning quickly but am reassured as I hear the boat looking for me.

Heavens, the water is cold! Very cold! I am shivering violently and losing focus as the tour boat eases into view through the fog. Someone drops a line with a loop in it over the side. I barely get the loop under my arms before a great pain seems to explode in my chest.

Just before I pass out, my last thought is that the angel seems to have gotten things wrong.

 

To Be Continued...

IWAM_02

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! This chapter fills in a lot of background regarding the reason for the darkness in Jerry's life.

Chapter Two: Life’s Burdens

Three months ago, my life was great—well as great as it ever gets. I was anticipating retirement in another year at the tender age of fifty nine with a great pension from a job that I used to like but which had become a burden as I have taken on more administrative responsibility. In addition to the pension, my wife and I were out of debt and had a glorious nest egg built up that could keep us for several lifetimes with careful management. Three of our four children were well launched into productive careers and the other had chosen the life style of a vagabond hippie—living out of her car somewhere in America doing God knows what. We don’t hear from her often. My wife, Aileen, of thirty seven years was in good health and already making plans to keep me busy in retirement. Our relationship was good—we were best friends.

That was three months ago. Now everything is different—life is hell. I have learned that change can happen blazingly fast.

The slide into hell began when Aileen was suddenly killed when a drunk driver decided to ignore the speed limit and a stop light. She died instantly when struck directly in the driver’s side door. The accident happened around 12:30 AM when she was on her way home from helping to tend our granddaughter while the little girl’s parents went out for the evening. The only survivor of the accident, a passenger in the other car, claimed it was my wife who ran the stop light and has filed suit for damages. Aileen was the most careful driver I know. My son testified that she was alert and happy when she left their home and that she was wide awake and stone cold sober —neither of us drink alcohol at all. I don’t put much stock in the claim against us as the other driver had a blood alcohol level that was three times the legal limit. So far no other witnesses have stepped forward to testify as to what really happened. While we filed a counter suit of wrongful death, my lawyer is recommending settling the suit by paying off the idiot’s surviving family with the lion’s share of our life’s savings.

About a week after my wife died and before I returned to work at the State agency which employs me, one of my female coworkers filed a sexual harassment charge against me claiming that I had groped her after everyone else had left for the evening when she stayed late to help me finish a project. She said that this happened just days before my wife was killed. She also claimed harassing emails and had a bunch of fabricated emails planted on my computer along with some pornographic images. Needless to say, there were no witnesses, again, and things are looking dismal for me. I’m not sure why this woman did this as we’ve always had a cordial relationship. The way things are going, I may lose that wonderful pension, not to mention having to pay damages. There’s even been mention of possible jail time. I may have to sell our family home to cover the expenses. The house that Aileen and I had built with our own hands and in which we had raised our family. It is a house full of sweet memories.

Because of the “sex” scandal, my membership in my church is being threatened. This after years of flawless devoted service and leadership in the lay church. You’d think that they’d give me the benefit of the doubt given my years of service. Even my longtime friends are keeping their distance from me. I have become a pariah. My own children are suspicious of me, as if I’ve grown a second head or something. The females in the family are particularly distant. They are keeping the grandchildren away from me as well.

About a month ago I started to have anxiety and blood pressure issues—go figure. The doctors also found that I have a rare heart condition, Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, which is probably not fatal unless I find myself in a high stress situation. That could be a problem given the circumstances.

Things are looking bleak. I’m not sure how to get out of it. Frankly the idea of never returning from my solo wilderness trip has its appeal. There are lots of cases of people wandering off into the wilderness only to die a lonely accidental death.

These new burdens are just adding to one that I have coped with my whole life. Since I can first remember, I’ve known that something was not as it should be in my life. I should have been born a girl. I don’t know why I feel this way, but the feeling is always strong and gets stronger at certain times. Unfortunately, being a physical female is not the hand that I was dealt at birth. I have made the most of what I was given, but have kept this little secret to myself. I have, instead, done everything—well, almost everything—that I can to live my life as God would like me to—that includes caring for other people, serving faithfully those who God has put in my path, and being as Christ-like as possible.

I have gone through periods where the desire to be female has been overwhelming. This has resulted in private periods of cross dressing using my wife’s clothes when the family is away. Unfortunately, I never did look good in female attire. The clothes felt right. I enjoyed those episodes as long as I avoided mirrors. When I was wearing female clothing, I felt like I was dressed as I should have been and it brought a sense of peace to me. Occasionally, I’d also delve into pornography (at home only—never at work!) so that I could daydream about what it’d be like to be one of the girls—I’d admire the bodies of the nude models, sometimes imagining that I could select the one I could be morphed into. Every time, however, the guilt of sneaking around in my wife’s clothing and delving too deeply into pornography would get to me and I’d do a purge—successfully ignoring the urges for another six to ten years .

Don’t get me wrong, I was attracted to my wife. I really enjoyed our family life and being with her. Even now after the many changes in my life I miss her terribly. I just wish that we could have traded bodies. Consequently, I was probably never as happy as I could have been.

I have always had a close relationship with God. He has been there for me and others many times. I’m convinced—mostly—that my situation is not a mistake. I would just like to know why he has placed this burden on me. I’ve prayed often for him to either make it right or take away the longing. My preference is to make it right.

Now, I’ve been saddled with the additional burdens of losing someone I love, financial and professional ruin, and the loss of my closest relationships. I’m not sure which of the burdens is the heaviest—they all seem to be individually overwhelming. Combining them together is bringing me to my knees.

My lawyer was not happy when I had announced my ‘vacation’ just two weeks before I have a hearing date over the sexual harassment charges. Apparently, if events transpire as she thinks they will, I’ll be out of a job when this is over. She tried to convince me that my only hope was to stick around and look for new evidence which would clear me of the charges or at least cast significant doubt. She figured that my vacation would be better taken after the event—after all I might have lots of time then.

I couldn’t delay the trip, however. For one, I am tired of facing the mounting problems and I needed an escape. This however, is not my main reason for disappearing into the wilderness for a couple of weeks. The real reason is hard to describe in a secular world.

I am a religious man, which can be quite a burden in itself in these times. I have a strong belief in the existence of God and in personal communication with Him. I’ve had a lifetime of experience with receiving gentle spiritual promptings which have guided my life and led me to reach out to other people in need, finding a sense of peace in my life that is otherwise unexplainable. I’ve also had some rather strong revelatory experiences over the years which have led me in unanticipated directions—often in directions that are contrary to my personal desires and contrary to common sense—which have brought me great peace and/or success as I have followed them.

One of those strong revelatory experiences happened to me two weeks ago. I had just arrived home from another frustrating day trying to find ways to fight the false accusations against myself and my departed wife. I had spent nearly the entire afternoon with my lawyer and an investigator going over the evidence in both the traffic accident and in the sexual harassment case. We also reviewed the possible responses—for probably the hundredth time. The investigator has been trying to dig into the harassment charge against me. He is convinced that the woman who filed the charge is being manipulated by someone who is out to do me harm. The problem is I haven’t a clue as to who would want to do me harm. I’ve had long term issues with a couple of professional colleagues over the years—both of them are incompetent fools in many ways. Both of whom, on principle, I had been a lone voice opposing their promotions many years previously. At the time I was out maneuvered and made to look a fool. Both of them have long since publicly proved my objections true and have been separated from the organization as a result of their own incompetence, vindicating me in the end. Neither of them appears to be connected to my accuser.

Anyway, when I arrived home that evening I put together a simple dinner and sat out on my back deck mourning the loss of my wife and generally feeling low over my general predicament. As I sat there miserably contemplating my situation, an almost audible thought came into my heart and my mind saying: “Get thee into the wilderness.” In my mind’s eye, I immediately saw myself paddling through ice fragments near one of the tidewater glaciers commonly found in our area of the world—one that I didn’t recognize. The words seemed to vibrate through my entire soul and I felt compelled to jump up and start making preparations immediately.

The prompting was disturbing. What was wanted of me? I have to admit that I’d been something of slacker in my religious commitments lately. It’s hard to stay committed when your world is collapsing around you and when you feel abandoned to carry several heavy burdens alone. I have not been able to live up to Job’s example as fully as I should. I have felt a growing distance between me and God since all the troubles began—as if He has forsaken me along with everyone else. Still, I have remained basically faithful. This abandonment has been unsettling to me. Since the evening of the prompting, I have scrutinized the revelation many times; however I could detect neither comfort nor condemnation in the summons. At least I now know that God knows that I’m here. The heavens have been silent since then, even when I have petitioned with my whole heart and soul.

Anyway, how do you tell everyone that you’re going camping alone in the wilderness—away from all communication except for by a satellite phone, which I don’t have—for an indeterminate amount of time on the eve of what is likely to be total personal disaster. My legal counsel expressed extreme frustration with my announcement. The office seemed relieved to see me go. My kids wouldn’t answer my messages. Everyone who would talk with me said that it was crazy to go out alone. Regardless I felt a strong compulsion which I had to act upon.

Yesterday, with a sense of déjà vu, I found myself paddling through fractured ice—as I had done many times in the past week—and suddenly recognizing the place as the one which I had seen in my mind after my prompting. My heart had been momentary lifted as I expected answers as to the reason for my summons. It would have been a relief to have been chewed out for being a slacker—if nothing else—as I’d at least know where I stand. But, alas, the heavens remain sealed.

I had hung around watching the glacier calve all afternoon, waiting for further direction. The direction never came. I felt like a fool drifting around waiting for something that never came. Summer was starting to wane meaning that it actually got dark at night now, so in the late evening I had finally left the glacier to find a suitable resting place. I paddled three miles down the fjord before I found last night’s scrap of beach. I spent the evening thinking about the experience. I concluded that I’d done what was asked of me and that it was time to head back home. I’d gone where I was told to go and was stood up. What game is God playing? I asked but got no reply—until now.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_03

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! The angel's promises start to come true.

Chapter Three: The Hospital

As I regain consciousness, the first impression is the smell. It is a familiar smell which brings back bad memories. The smells are quickly followed by the sounds. I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m obviously in a hospital. How can things get any worse? All I can see in my mind is mounting bills and more heartache.

The last time I was in a hospital, it was in the Emergency Room of a small local hospital where I identified Aileen’s lifeless body. I felt then as if my life had been shattered. The smells and the sounds brought it all back to me with an accompanying wave of grief. I can feel tears running down my cheeks.

I must have stirred as I hear someone getting up from a seat.

“Dad… are you awake? You are crying.”

It is the concerned voice of my vagabond daughter. What is she doing here? Last I heard, she was thousands of miles away rock climbing in some inaccessible place in southern Arizona.

“Samantha?” I croak with a raspy voice. My goodness, my throat hurts.

“Don’t talk, Dad, I’m calling the nurse.”

She is holding my hand as I try to open my eyes. Fortunately it is night and the lights are muted, giving me time to adjust.

A nurse bustles in and starts asking questions of Samantha. She tells the nurse that she heard me sob once and saw the tears on my face. This is followed by a round of vitals checking and a few yes or no questions which I can answer with a weak shake or nod of the head.

“Do you hurt?” the nurse inquires.

I feel really groggy but there is an underlying ache throughout my body so I figure that a nod is appropriate.

“Well,” the nurse replies, “now that you’re awake you’ll start to feel the pain. The doctor has ordered some pain medication for when you awake.”

She allows my daughter to give me a little water to ease my throat before she injects something into an IV tube and I quickly fade back into sleep.

------< O >------

I guess that I’m still in the hospital. I smell the smells and hear the sounds, though the sounds are more energetic than before. It must be daytime.

I’m not sure that I want to open my eyes again, but do any way. The room is much brighter so I quickly close my eyes and try again to open them more slowly.

The bed is tipped up a bit and I can see Samantha curled up in a big chair reading a book and sipping coffee. I spend a few minutes just watching her as she reads. I use the time to inventory my memories concerning how I got to be here.

It seems that all my woes raise their ugly heads as I contemplate my predicament. Too bad the boat missed—it would be nice to have all these trials behind me. My depression is as bad as ever.

“Sam,” I croak out quietly.

She puts her book down and quickly comes to my side, pushing the nurse call button when she gets there. She gingerly grabs my hand.

“Oh, Dad,” she says with a mixture of concern and relief. “We thought we’d lost you to! How are you feeling?”

Well, besides aching all over and feeling really groggy, my throat is parched.

“Water,” I manage to croak.

“Just a sip now,” Samantha, my wayward daughter, admonishes me. “You’ve had a rough go of it and you’re not cleared for food or liquids yet. That tube they stuck down your throat for a while must have made things pretty sore.”

I sip a little ice water through the straw before Samantha pulls it away. About this time a nurse bustles in looking all business. He, a male nurse, goes through the vitals check and informs me that my doctor has been notified that I’m awake. He is in the hospital somewhere and will stop by as soon as he can. When he’s done, the nurse heads out to harass some other poor patient.

A few sips more of water make my throat feel better but I am still a bit groggy. I also have a flu-like ache throughout my whole body.

“Gee, Dad,” Samantha says, “you really know how to shake things up. What were you doing out there in the fog? Aren’t you always telling me to be cautious in those conditions? You’re lucky to be alive.”

Nothing like getting to the heart of the matter. Samantha has always been one to say what’s on her mind.

The way I feel physically and emotionally I’m not sure that ‘lucky’ is the right adjective that she should be using for my situation.

Ignoring her questions, I ask “How long have I been here?”

“A week,” she curtly replies. “And the first part of that week you were on life support. Hypothermia and a heart attack are not a good combination. You’re lucky that there was a doctor and an AED on that tour boat and that the Coast Guard helicopter was on maneuvers nearby or we’d have buried you by now. What were you thinking? You must have a death wish to be out in such conditions. Tim tells me you’ve been pretty depressed lately by all the crap you’ve landed in. Where you trying to commit suicide? If so, you’re an idiot and you almost succeeded. ”

Tim is my oldest son, and an ER doctor at our big regional hospital.

“And you lost my favorite of your kayaks,” she adds with some distain. “I was hoping you’d give it to me. But no, you have to go and trash it in the middle of the ocean.”

“Idiot,” she mutters under her breath. I don’t think that she is happy with me.

Samantha likes to tell it like she sees it. That’s probably the reason she has trouble with long term relationships and with holding down employment. She’s quick to tell people what she thinks—often without considering all the issues or their feelings. Tact is something missing from her skill set. One of her middle school teachers once tactfully told us that Sam has “a strong sense of justice” after Sam had, with much directness, called one teacher to task from some perceived violation of school policy.

She seems determined to lecture me on safe kayaking procedures today.

“I love you too,” I manage to croak out. My throat really hurts.

She seems to be become contrite. With tears in her eyes, “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just that you scared us all so bad. I’m not sure I could stand to lose both you and Mom so quickly. I love you to.” She gives my hand an affectionate squeeze.

About this time, a familiar doctor breezes in with my male nurse in tow. Samantha slips out the door into the hallway.

“Well,” says the doctor while looking me over, “things are looking up. How are you, Jerry? Long time no see.”

Dr. Mike Chadwell and I go way back. We went to high school together and are still close enough that we do the odd hike together and we’d go out to dinner together with our wives once or twice a year. He’s a good man and a good friend. He’s been our family doctor for many years.

I manage to croak out a hello.

“You look like crap,” Dr. C matter-of-factly points out, “but you’re still breathing, which is much better than you were when you came in. It’s good to see you awake, my friend.”

“Thanks,” I manage to get out. “I’m glad you’re here Mike. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Well, to start with,” he begins, “you had hypothermia, some sea water in your lungs, and several heart attacks. You also gave your son a hell of a fright when they wheeled you into the emergency room from the helicopter. You didn’t have any ID on you so they didn’t know who you were when you were picked up. Tim got your case as they rushed you in the door and ID’d you right off. I hear that he cleared the decks to give you everything they’ve got down there. It was touch and go but he stabilized you. Knowing your medical history helped a lot as he was aware of your heart condition and was able to make the right moves quickly.

“Right now, you are one sick puppy. While you didn’t break anything or have any lacerations, you do appear to have done some damage to your heart, but we won’t know the extent until we can get you on the tread mill for a stress test and do an MRI. Also, you started to develop pneumonia from the seawater in your lungs, so we had to drain you and put you on a ventilator for a few days. We are hitting you with some strong antibiotics but you’re likely to be sick for another week from the pneumonia. Hopefully, the pneumonia won’t get much worse. It took a day of pumping you with fluids and wrapping you in warm blankets to get you core temperature up again but now the fever from the pneumonia is keeping you too warm. In fact, you’re warmer than I’d like.

“I don’t think that the hypothermia will cause any lasting effects. It is strange but the hypothermia might actually have helped you survive the heart attacks—we’re not sure on that one.”

Samantha slips back in the room during this summary.

“So,” I painfully conclude, “I’ll be okay in a week or so?”

“Well,” Mike hedges, “there is something else.” He looks concerned. I just look at him enquiringly.

“We’re not sure what it is, but you seem to be losing a lot of weight very quickly,” He informs me. “We’ve upped the calories in your IV and are working to bring your temperature under control, but none of it seems to be working.”

“I could stand to lose about forty pounds,” I point out with great effort.

“Well,” he sighs, “you’re well on your way. You’ve lost twenty pounds in the last week.”

My incredulous look solicits more information.

“Yes, my friend,” he continues, “You’re down twenty pounds since you arrived, which is a lot more than we’d expect.”

No wonder I feel so weak.

“We need to level that off soon,” he says. “We have no idea what’s causing this but suspect that your fever has something to do with it. You’re burning up all your body’s reserves. Unfortunately, it’s not the only strange thing happening here. Your hair has all fallen out—everywhere. I mean, ALL your hair. It’s worse that chemo. We have no idea why this happened.

“In addition to all these physical things going on, my friend, I’m worried about your emotional health. I understand all the stress factor’s you faced lately have driven you to some strange behaviors. We all thought your short notice trip was ill timed but might be good for you. However, the decision to make a crossing in fog is very out of character for you. You know the risks as well as anybody but you still did it. It almost seems as if you were intentionally tempting fate.”

I give him a hard look. I’m not up to this argument right now. I’m feeling very drained and my throat is too raw for more than a few words at a time. So, I just roll my eyes at him and scowl as best I can.

“I know, I know,” he back pedals a little—but not much. “Once you recovered enough I want you to spend some time with a friend of mine who specializes in these things. She might be able to help.”

I just continue to scowl.

“Okay,” he sighs, “we’ll talk more about that later. For now, let me focus on getting your temperature down and weight stabilized. I’m going to start you on a Jell-O diet with lots of fluids for a day to see how your stomach does then bump you up to high calorie solids if everything works out.

“How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”

I hold up six fingers as I ache all over.

“We’ll give you a mild pain medicine to help you with that when we’re done here.” He responds.

“Jerry, we’re all worried about you. You’re getting the best help we can provide. I’ve got a number of specialists consulting on your case. Don’t worry, we’ll get this sorted now that the worst is past.

“Janine, says to tell you that she’s praying for you—that’s got to be good for something. I suspect that you’ll be seeing her soon now that you’re awake.

Janine is his wife of 35 years and a good friend. As far as staying awake is concerned, I’m tiring quickly. I think that he can see it too.

He reaches over and squeezes my hand affectionately.

“We’re doing the best we can for you, Jerry.” He continues, “The best thing you can do right now, my friend, is rest and let your body heal. We’ll take good care of you.”

He gives my hand aanother reassuring squeeze.

I squeeze back before drifting off again.

------< O >------

It is evening the next time I come to, and the room is a bit more crowded. All four of my children are here to gang up on me.

In addition to Samantha we have Tim, the oldest, who is still in his scrubs. Mark, the second oldest, is an engineer and is looking pretty casual, as usual. The youngest of the crowd, Bill, is here with his wife, Helen. I suspect that my other two daughters-in-law are taking care of the grandkids.

Mark is the first to notice that I’m awake.

“Hey, Dad,” he grins at me, “the new haircut is a little extreme, isn’t it?”

One hand is taped to a board and has IV needles in it. I cautiously raise the other and rub my head. It is bald. It takes most of my strength to raise that arm so I just let it fall back on the bed.

“I guess so,“ I cautiously reply. My throat doesn’t hurt quite so much now, but still sounds a bit off.

Samantha appears at my side with a bowl of cherry flavored Jell-O.

“Doctor’s orders,” she informs me. “Eat some of this. It might make your throat feel better.”

It did. The cool Jell-O felt like heaven going down. The sips of water also helped.

An awkward silence descends on the group as no one seems to know what to say.

“I hear that I gave you quite a start,” I direct my comment toward Tim.

“You can say that again!” he replies. “I think an ER doctor’s worst nightmare is having a loved one come through the doors on the verge of death. Fortunately we have a great staff and there were no other severe injuries to deal with that afternoon. In fact we thought it was going to a slow day until we got the call from the helicopter. You tested our capabilities big time.”

“I’m glad that you were there, son.” I tell him. “Thank your staff for me, please.”

“Actually,” he admits, “It felt as if someone took over for me that day. I think that God wants you to live—in spite of your stupid stunt.”

I sigh, “Who else wants to take a crack at me?”

“I’m next,” says Bill looking reproachful. “How many times have you told me to THINK before acting? Usually you follow that up with a lecture about the possible consequences of stupidity, but I hear that Sam beat me to the punch. Come on, Dad. What were you thinking?”

“I tell you what he was thinking,” Mark jumps in. “He was thinking that playing roulette just might be a quick way to end all the crap he has had to deal with lately. Am I right?”

“It was a calculated risk,” I hedge. “I’m not exactly suicidal.”

“Well,” Mark continues, “you made the calculation and I’m sure it wasn’t in your favor, but you went anyway. We’re just glad that you survived it. Don’t do that again. You’ll give us grey hair.”

“How do you think I got mine?” I smile back at them. “I apologize.”

“You don’t have any hair,” Sam reminds me. “Maybe it won’t be grey when it grows back.”

“Anyway,” Tim adds, “if you hadn’t survived we couldn’t have given you the good news.”

“That’d have been a waste,” Bill agrees.

“What good news?” I ask.

“Ah, well,” Mark begins after they all look at him. He is usually the designated spoke person for the group. “It seems while you were out hiding in the wilderness that some good things happened. Where to start?

“First of all, it appears that there were witnesses to Mom’s accident after all. A young couple who were out way past their curfew developed a guilty conscience after reading news accounts of the accident and its aftermath. They came forward and testified in their deposition that Mom did have a green light. They were a block behind her when the crash happened. They didn’t stick around because they would get in trouble with their respective parents if they were found to be out too late. Now they’re in trouble for not helping at the accident scene. The long and short of it is that the wrongful death suit has been dropped and your lawyers are begging us to file one of our own against the estate of the other driver. Apparently he was pretty well off.”

I could almost feel a major portion of my load shift with this information.

“What a relief!” I say. “I don’t want to sue anyone at this point. The guilty party is dead, why cause additional heartache for his survivors.”

“That’s what we thought you’d say,” remarked Bill, “so we told your lawyer to just collect her fee from them and let the case drop. I think the other family will be relieved.”

“And it gets better yet,” mentions Samantha with a grin. “Go ahead and tell him about work, Mark.”

“Oh yeah,” he smiles, “it seems that your investigator is pretty good at his job. He managed to somehow prove that the questionable emails you supposedly sent and the porn found on your computer were planted after you took leave to deal with Mother’s death. We’re not really sure how he did this, but I think that it has to do with some system backup files which were compared before and after you left the office. When confronted with the evidence, your accuser tried to bluff her way out of it, but eventually broke down and admitted to being part of a scheme to slander you and ruin your pension. Your investigator had found that she’d deposited a large lump sum in her bank account the day after mother died. She admitted being given a large sum of money to help ruin you. Apparently a former coworker of yours really had it in for you and masterminded the whole thing. Both of them were arrested but are now out on bail.”

“I suppose all is well at work now,” I sighed. “I was worried about missing my hearing date.”

“That’s not an issue now,” Tim pointed out. “I think that we all—or at least me—owe you an apology for doubting you over that issue. We should have had more faith in you. We should have stood by you.”

They all expressed agreement with Tim.

“I think that your Pastor at church will also be apologizing shortly,” mentioned Bill. “You should be back in good standing. We’ve let the gossips know that you’ve been cleared too—it should get around pretty fast since you have been very prominent in the church.”

This is almost too much good news. I guess the angel was right about burdens been taken from me. There is only my old familiar burden left—and that one doesn’t seem so heavy after the other two were lifted. If the rest of the angel’s message is right, then I’ll recover and be about His business soon. I just wish that Aileen was here to do it with me.

We chat for a while longer with all the kids commenting on my weight and hair loss. There are a number of good humored jokes about my weight loss program and the fact that I need to find a new barber. They all try to cheer me up and keep things light. Actually the relief coming from being free from unjust burdens helps considerably.

It isn’t long, however, before I tire and fall asleep while one of them is talking to me.

------< O >------

What a day!

It was only yesterday that I came to and the hospital is already trying to get me out of there. The morning was spent doing a variety of tests to try to get to the bottom of my fever, weight loss, and hair loss. Besides aching all over and feeling extremely weak, I feel pretty good. Any pneumonia that I have has pretty much disappeared—which also baffles the doctors. It cleared up too fast.

I continue to lose weight. I’m down another pound. They measured me today and found that I’ve also lost an inch and a half in height—I am now only five foot ten and a half inches tall. This is another baffling development.

They had me working with a physical therapist in the late morning to help me bring back some strength, but, from my point of view, that session did not go well—I see why they are often referred to as physical terrorists. The therapist, however, thought I was doing pretty good given my accident, a week in a coma, and the loss of so much weight.

The good news is that the IV is gone and I’ve graduated to real food—or at least as real as it gets in a hospital. They are also letting me get out of bed, with assistance, to visit the bathroom. My physical therapist wants me to try walking around the ward a couple of times this afternoon—I’ve tried it once but needed help getting back to bed after traveling fifty feet and almost collapsing.

Right after lunch, my lawyer stopped in for a visit. She was smiling as she confirmed what I had been told by my kids. As predicted, she encouraged me to file suit against the estate of the driver who killed Aileen. She pointed out that there was a high probability of success in obtaining a healthy settlement. I told her that I didn’t need the money and that even a huge settlement would not be adequate compensation for the loss of my life’s companion. What I did agree to was for her to file suit for enough to cover her fees, the funeral costs, and the loss of Aileen’s car.

My legal terrier was not so eager to go after the woman who harassed me at work. Apparently there are no assets to get. All she can see is mounting legal fees that I’d have to pay. After lengthy discussion we agreed to let the prosecutors take care of the culprits in criminal court and leave the option open to file a civil suit if assets come to light. Again, I don’t see the point in adding insult to injury so tell the lawyer that I’m not interested in obtaining more than legal fees from my accuser. In the meantime, I would just bite the bullet and pay off the lawyer and investigator for the great work they did in clearing my name. That’s a lot better than I was hoping for anyway, though it would be nice to have someone else cover my legal fees. In end, we agree that we’ll sue the estate of the driver who killed Aileen for a little more in damages which I can then use to pay the legal fees for my other case.

Not long after my lawyer left, my boss appeared in the doorway. We are reasonably good friends and he spent a lot of the time expressing his pleasure in the outcome of the investigation. He did try to talk me out of my retirement plans as he thinks that it will be hard to replace me. It’s nice to be wanted again. He wished me a quick recovery before he left.

Both the lawyer and my boss seemed to be taken aback by my much thinner body and bald head. So am I. I had a chance to look in the mirror a couple of times today. I hardly recognized myself.

The constant of the day has been Samantha. She has not left my side. I don’t think that she’s had a regular job in years—I’ve never been able to figure out what she does for cash—so she has the time. She scowls at the doctors and nurses whenever they are about. She recommends herbal teas, essential oils, yoga, and meditation as the cures for my ailments. She is of the strong opinion that the modern medical establishment is a bunch of con artists and that natural methods are much better. She likes to ignore research by saying that no research is needed when it comes to natural methods—we just need to listen to the old healers. This attitude has caused endless heated discussions over the years with her brother the ER doctor who points out that scientific research into natural methods has shown that these methods are not very effective.

If she had her way, she’d spring me from the hospital and build a sweat house in the mountains by a clear stream where she’d be sure to make me my old self again. I have to admit that I’m more on her brother’s side of the argument; however it is nice to know that she cares. This has not always been the case.

As she became a young adult, she decided to throw off all the social norms and go discover herself. This involved some questionable men, toying with drugs and alcohol, and living the life of a wandering rock climber. She got involved with the hard core climbing community and disappeared for a couple of years to live in camps all around the western United States doing many of the classic big wall climbs and lots of obscure ones. She basically lived out of her car and slowly depleted a healthy inheritance she received from a grandmother who passed away about the time Samantha was a junior in college. Samantha has exhibited extremely self-centered behaviors coupled with a strong, and vocal, sense of justice which often leads to a variety of relationship problems.

She did manage to finish college with a photo journalism degree but has not done anything with it. She doesn’t even own a camera any more. About a year or so ago, she started to reestablish her relationship with us. She was getting particularly close to her mother and was devastated when Aileen was killed.

Though we’ve always had a reasonably good, if not a little distant, relationship I’m not sure why she came back to support me. Her brothers paid for her ticket to get here and she is nominally staying with Mark and his young family. I’m sure that, with her opinionated insensitive comments, she will wear out her welcome soon. She always does. I suspect that she’ll be moving into the old family home with me when that happens. She’s using my car for now.

It is late afternoon and there is a lull in the activity.

“Samantha,” I say, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have company, but I have to admit that I not sure why you are here.”

She seems to be a little offended by my comment.

“Of course I’m here,” she huffs. “You are my Dad and we thought we might lose you. I didn’t want to lose you without a chance to say goodbye. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Mom.”

“Well,” I reassure her. “I love you and am glad to see you. I don’t think I’m dying right now.”

“I don’t know,” she observes. “If these quacks don’t do something soon you’re going to waste away to nothing and disappear. If they are so hot, then why haven’t they found out what’s happening? We should get you out of here.”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I somehow feel at peace about this whole situation. I had an experience just before I was hit by the tour boat which leads me to believe that I have many years ahead of me and much work to do.”

Samantha gets a strange look on her face and asks, “You mean some kind of religious experience?”

Samantha turned her back on her religious upbringing when she left home and began her search for herself. She doesn’t know that we are aware the she formally disassociated herself from the church she was raised in. While she believes in nebulous, indistinct natural earth aura inspirational experiences, she doesn’t believe that there is a God out there.

“Yes,” I confirm, “a religious experience.”

She ponders this for a moment and seems almost embarrassed about something.

“Well,” she waffles for a bit, “I guess that I had one to.”

This surprises me.

“You mean that you felt one of those indistinct impressions you tell us about?” I ask.

“Um,” she hesitates, “no. More like one of the religious experiences you read about in the scriptures. I had a vision or visitation. Have you ever had one of those?”

While I’d had lots of direction from God over the years, until last week I’d never had a visitation.

“Not until last week,” I admit. “I had one too.”

“Who visited you?” She asks.

“I’m not sure who,” I tell her, “but he was standing on the water wearing robes like you’d expect from the ancient times. He had his own clear spot in the fog and he had a brilliant glow around him.”

“What did he have to say?” she asked with interest.

While I’m not normally good at memorization, his words are as fresh as if I were reading them. I’m not sure how much to tell her.

“He told me to be at peace and that my burdens would be taken from me. He told me that I have a lot more work to do before being called home,” I tell her. “Who visited you?”

“It was Mom,” she tells me with an unsettle look on her face. “And it was disturbing.”

It’s as if an arrow has pierced my heart. Oh, how I wish I could have some time with her!

“What did she have to say?” I ask with my heart in my throat.

“Well,” she hesitates, “she told me that she loves me and not to be sad about her death. It was her time to go and, while she misses us all terribly, that good things were happening for her. She told me that she’s sad about the pain my life choices have brought to me and what the consequences will be if I don’t change direction. She told me that I’ve always had what I am searching for; I just need to go back to the teachings of my youth. She also said that there were some big changes coming in your life, Dad, and that I am the only one of your children positioned to help you through them.”

“When did she visit you?” I ask.

“Just before I got the message from Mark to call him as soon as possible,” she says. “It was like five minutes after the vision that the message came. When I got ahold of Mark, and he told me about the accident, I knew I had to be with you. Something inside just compelled me to come home as soon as I could.”

We sat pondering together for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“She looked so peaceful and extremely happy. I could physically feel her love for me.” Samantha reverently whispers.

With her words, a feeling of peace washes over me and I know that she’s told me the truth. Aileen was like that; people could always feel the love and concern she has for them.

“What do we do now?” she asks.

“We wait and see what happens with this illness, I guess.” I reply. “I have faith in the messages we have received. Everything will turn out the way it should.”

To Be Continued...

IWAM_04

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Going back to work is problematic.

Chapter Four: Going Back to Work

---

 

It’s been a month since the accident. I was in the hospital for a week after regaining consciousness before the medical folks decided that I didn’t need to be there anymore. They still don’t know what is happening with my fever or with my hair, weight and height loss. They ran a lot of tests which returned strangely mixed results. Apparently my hormones are a bit off. My testosterone hormone level is substantially lower than it should be and dropping. My estrogen levels are up significantly and look like those of a very young preteen girl. Other indicators are similarly haywire. Ultrasounds and MRIs are showing signs of some strange happenings which have the doctors totally baffled. Regardless of these funky results I don’t seem to be in imminent danger and there is nothing more they can do for me except give me low grade pain meds to match the low grade fever and help relieve the ache in my bones. For the foreseeable future I have to see Mike once a week for further tests and data gathering.

It only took a couple of days after regaining consciousness for me regain my balance and some semblance of strength. The fever dropped to a little bit lower level and the rate of my weight and height loss tapered off slightly. I was five foot nine and a half inches tall and weighed in at one hundred ninety three pounds when they released me from the hospital. That’s a loss of two and a half inches in height and thirty two pounds in weight in just two weeks.

Now, two weeks after my hospital release, my height and weight reduction seems to be continuing. I stand at five foot eight inches and my weight is down to one hundred seventy seven pounds. I am by far the shortest person in the family now. Samantha is next at five foot eleven inches and the boys range from six foot three inches to six foot six inches. Samantha is pleased to be taller than her Dad now.

A piece of good news is that my hair is starting to grow again and there doesn’t seem to be any grey in it. It is short and looks like a military buzz cut. It is growing back in places which had started to go bald the past few years. It is also growing back under my arms and in the pubic area—which itches some. The nice thing is that it is coming back in the same color of red which I had in my youth. I’ve noticed that my beard growth has not restarted and my arm & leg hair is very fine and light colored. I don’t have any chest or back hair either.

Since none of my clothes fit anymore—and I suspect that they never will—they have been donated to charity. We’ve been cautious about buying more than absolutely needed until my shrinking stops. In fact, much of my new wardrobe has come from the same charity shop to which I donated my old clothes. No sense in investing a lot on clothes which might not fit in a few weeks.

I had lots of visitors during my last week in the hospital. Everyone expresses relief that Aileen and I had been vindicated. I remember that most of them had kept their distance during my dark days, but I don’t hold that against them. I now know, however, who I can rely on in a pinch—pretty much nobody.

Most of them didn’t seem to know what to say regarding my physical changes. Some seemed uncomfortable and acted as if they were afraid of catching whatever disease I have. Others were absolutely intrigued and seemed to have no end of questions and speculations. I heard a wide range of theories on the cause—everything from mysterious seawater viruses to curses cast by sea witches. They all agreed it had something to do with being dumped in the water and nearly dying. Except for the basics that I shared with Samantha, I haven’t shared the whole story with anyone.

I’ve made a couple of trips to the doctor for more tests and follow up work. One of the tests was a stress test and an echocardiogram. Given my weakened condition, I wasn’t able to do the treadmill at the rate I have in the past, but the attending doctor thought that everything looked good. The echocardiogram also showed that my heart is in good shape and that my Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy is actually getting slightly better—this is unheard of. Substantial damage was anticipated as a result of the several heart attacks I experienced after the accident but, remarkably, no damage was found.

I’ve been developing crow’s feet around my eyes in recent years. Those are starting to slowly disappear along with some aging related skin issues. I am starting to look more like I did when I was in my late twenties. A visit to my dermatologist resulted in a clean bill of health—the patches he was watching for potential skin cancer have all cleared up. This apparent reversal in aging of both my skin and heart continues to baffle the doctors. I personally like it.

The blood tests continue to be interesting. My cholesterol levels have dropped to the point that I have been taken off my cholesterol medication—something else I like. My testosterone level is continuing to decrease well below what is expected of a male my age. My estrogen levels are maintaining the level of a young girls’ at the onset of puberty. The doctors tried giving me additional testosterone but it has had no impact on the decline. It seems that the testosterone from the shots does not stay in my blood stream for more than an hour or so. Pills are no better.

Samantha moved in with me and took up residence in her childhood bedroom. That first week home I was so weak that it was all I could do to get cleaned up in the morning and do some basic chores around the house before collapsing on the couch for the rest of the day. I did get stronger to the point that now I’m feeling pretty good—if it wasn’t for the low grade fever and constant ache in my bones. My strength levels are well below what they used to be, so it was good to have Samantha around to help with a home reorganization.

Samantha has cooked up some really strange dishes which I have had trouble eating. She is way into organic foods and vegetables. I miss my meat and potatoes diet. I have been ordering the occasional meat lovers pizza for home delivery which disgusts her no end. As I need to start putting the weight back on, I made a run to the store as soon as I felt up to it and stocked up on a lot of unhealthy, high in fat and calories, American foods.

Eating my normal diet of fattening foods only slightly slows down the weight loss.

I’ve used up a sizeable chunk of my sick leave and there is no reason to delay my return to work any longer. The boss says that everyone is anxious to have me back as several projects are in disarray and they need my talents to settle them down. Apparently the office turmoil associated with my recent troubles was not good for the organization.

So today will be my first day back.

That is if I can manage to find something to wear to the office. Even the clothes we bought late last week are getting to be a little too big for me. Putting on a suit we picked up at the charity shop on our last visit, I look like a kid fresh out of college who borrowed his father’s suit. I opt for business casual instead, but that doesn’t look much better.

“I don’t know,” Samantha frowns as she looks me over. “I don’t care much for business attire anyway, but this looks so wrong on you right now. I’m sorry to say it Dad, but you look like a kid starting his first job. “

Looking me over again with closer scrutiny, she adds: “If you were a girl, it would be easier to do this as girls can get away with just about anything and call it a fashion statement.”

“Well,” I reply with some exasperation, “I’m not a girl, last I checked, so we just need to do the best we can.”

What I don’t tell her is that I dearly wish I was a girl—I always have. I’m not much of a male anymore and that doesn’t bother me at all. Those defining genitals have been shrinking at a rate slightly faster than the rest of me. Even my friendly doctor has commented that, with this and the other symptoms, I seem to be doing a reverse puberty.

In the end we decide to go with casual slacks with the belt pulled in tight (we had to punch extra holes in the belt even though it worked fine a couple of weeks ago when we picked it up at the charity shop), a polo shirt which hangs fairly loose and my new shoes with an extra pair of socks.

“Do you mind if I drop you off at work?” Samantha asks. “I’d like to use the car today to go pick up some groceries and drop off that stuff we boxed up for charity.”

We’ve spent the past couple of weeks going through Aileen’s mountain of clothes and other possessions. We’ve invited family and her friends over to take what they want then we had a yard sale and sold much of the rest. The remainders are going to charity. It has been emotionally difficult for me to get rid of all of this stuff as it is an attachment to Aileen, who I still grieve. Samantha, on the other hand, has been persistently ruthless. I couldn’t have done it without her. I have kept back some special jewelry pieces and other particularly sentimental items; such as Aileen’s wedding dress, to keep her in remembrance. Samantha has decimated my closets as well. The house feels strangely empty. Samantha has worked hard to make it so.

“Sure,” I reply sadly. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

------< O >-----

What a non-productive day!

It was as if I were the center attraction of a freak show. I got in before anyone else and went straight to my office in order to get a handle on what was happening with our projects. The morning was basically spent answering questions from just about everyone in the office. They’d stop into my corner office one or two at a time to welcome me back. They all seemed shocked when they saw me. Let’s face it—I’m not the man I used to be. A couple of them didn’t seem to recognize me at first. I guess that you can hardly blame them.

I met with the boss and we decided to hold a meeting for the whole office so that we could address everyone’s questions at once. The hope is that the correct information would get out and that everyone would get back to work instead of whispering about me.

“Jerry,” the boss says, “everyone’s in the training room. It’s time.”

With a sigh, I push out of my chair and follow him into the meeting room. Almost all forty of the staff from our division is in the room—the only ones missing are those off on business trips. The noise level drops completely when I enter the room. There is an air of expectation. After all, it’s not every day that one of the senior members of the organization goes through age regression.

“Hi, everyone,” I start. “Judging from the number of visitors in my office this morning I’m sure that you are all interested in what’s happening with me. Before I get started, I want to thank everyone who stood by me during the recent issues with our former co-worker.” Actually there were not any real strong supporters in the bunch, but it’s as nice thing to say in case someone out there was a closet supporter. “And thank you for the condolences for the untimely death of my sweetheart.” There hadn’t been a lot of those either.

“As you know,” I continue, “I decided to take a break and go kayaking for a couple of weeks. As I was starting to head home, I made a stupid decision to make a crossing in fog. The end result being that I was run over by a tour boat. Fortunately for me, they saw me and did a fairly quick rescue. I ingested a lot of seawater, contracted hypothermia, and had multiple heart attacks. There was a doctor on board the tour boat who restarted my heart with an AED and performing first aid for hypothermia. The Coast Guard picked me up from the boat and delivered to me to our regional hospital where the ER doctor on duty (who happened to be my son) was able to stabilize me and get me the help I needed to survive.

“After a week in a coma, I awoke in a hospital bed with a mild case of pneumonia. Again, thank you those of you who sent your regards and/or visited—I sincerely appreciate it. For a reason not yet understood by the medical staff, I was running a high fever and losing substantial weight and height. I really needed to lose a few pounds anyway so I was pleased at first.“ This brought some laughter from the group.

“Oh yeah,” I continue, “and I lost all my hair.” To illustrate the fact, I ran my hand over the red stubble which had grown back.

“Since then, I have continued to lose weight and height, almost like an accelerated reverse puberty. I didn’t like puberty the first time around, I don’t think I’m enjoying its reverse.” This gets a few chuckles. “My heart issues have actually improved. All in all, however, it is nice to feel younger again.”

“As I said, we don’t know what’s causing my body issues, but the regression does seem to be slowing down.”

“Anybody have questions?” I ask.

People seem to be rather nervous about starting the question session, but it warms up after the first few questions.

“How much more are you going to regress?” one curious soul enquires.

“Nobody knows. This is outside anyone’s experience. I’m hoping not much more. The rate of change is tapering off. Hopefully it will level off soon.”

“Is it contagious?” a concerned coworker tentatively asks.

“I doubt it. However, I suggest that you don’t go getting run over by a tour boat! Maybe that’s what triggered it.”

“Are you still planning to retire?” one of the team leaders asks. “We can still use you around here and you don’t appear to be retirement age anymore.”

“Thanks for the compliment. Yes, I am still planning on retiring, but it is not as urgent now.”

“I hate to ask this, Jerry,” one of my closer colleagues points out, “but how do you think your younger looks will affect your ability to work with clients and staff. Let’s face it; you don’t appear to be the sage grey haired professional which has garnered so much respect.”

“That’s a tough one,” I admit, “We’ll have to wait and see. I am the same old me inside with the same education and experience. I can still do the job.”

The questions continue for a while, taking up most of the lunch hour. People are able to relax a little when it started to become apparent that I’m still the same person inside. There are even some lighthearted jokes about the situation by the end of the session.

With their curiosity satisfied, most of the people leave to take advantage of what is left of their lunch hour while a few of my closer associates stay to chat for a while.

------< O >------

“Hello,” I answer my phone.

“Have you heard about what’s happening on Facebook?” our department administrative assistant asks.

It’s only been a couple of hours since the staff meeting, but apparently at least one of my coworkers has updated their Facebook status with their views on the meeting. According to our admin assistant, the post is going viral, especially since they posted a picture of me taken at the meeting. They also posted a “before” shot taken from an old family photo we had posted on my Facebook page.

Don’t you love social media! This going to be a long afternoon.

------< O >------

I was right about the long afternoon. Absolutely nothing of value got done in my office. Going to work today was a waste of the State’s money. The boss pointed out that that would have happened regardless of when I came in.

It was suggested that I make my own Facebook declaration about the events. Essentially posting the statement I made to the staff with answers to the questions asked. So, when I got home, Samantha and I sat down at the computer and drafted our own announcement and posted it on my Facebook account. She arranged for the other kids to share it from their accounts as well. I did not post a picture.

The posting got over 500 like/dislike hits in the first hour. There were tons of comments as well. The majority of the folks liked the post and the comments were generally supportive. A few of the comments had some really creative suggestions for cures. Others are asking for regular progress reports. Some wanted to get in on the deal and reverse their aging processes.

There were a few comments posted by some rather uninformed know-it-alls which chastised me for bringing this on to myself. A couple even suggested that I was being punished by God for unspecified sins. It always amazes me to what conclusions some people can come to with incomplete information—and how sure they are of their views.

I’m a popular guy--mostly.

Once these things get out on the net, they never go away. I’m tagged for life. At least the “true” story is out there. We didn’t mention the visions/visitations—only Samantha and I know about those. Hopefully the furor will die down soon.

------< O >------

Day two at work hasn’t been a lot better than day one. I even have news people calling me now. I put a message on my phone that I’m not taking calls or listening to voice mail. If they need to contact me they can come to my office or email me. I’ve had to delete hundreds of emails which are not work related.

When I get home, my private email account was very full and I spent over an hour deleting most of those as well. The Facebook hits have been out of this world. I’ve quit reading the comments.

I’m exhausted and going to bed.

------< O >-----

I don’t think that I’ve ever been so glad to see the end of a work week. It is Friday night and all I want to do is to crawl under a rock somewhere.

The furor is dying down some, but it has been pretty intrusive. I’ve refused offers for exclusive interviews and appearances from all major media networks and news outlets. I just refer them to my Facebook page for information. After posting a notice that I’m no longer checking Facebook, I’ve stayed away from the computer most of the week. I’ve been vainly hoping for some major natural or societal disaster to take the attention away from my predicament.

By Friday, I could at least get some of my real work done, but not at the level that I need to be because of the continuing interruptions. Hopefully next week will be better.

I had another doctor’s appointment today. I’m now weigh in at one hundred seventy pounds and am five feet seven inches tall. My features are also looking even younger. My temperature is still elevated a couple of degrees above the norm and the aches are still there. Over the counter pain relievers make the aches bearable and I’ve gotten used to the fever.

Samantha has decided to hang around for a while longer—at least until my changes even out. I’ve paid her a little for her help in cleaning out the house so she is feeling comfortable financially—that’s easy to do when you think making more than $5,000 in a year is over working. We’ve had some long talks about where she is going in life. In the past, she has resisted adding structure to her life, but her experience with her deceased mother has her thinking. She even mentioned the possibility of getting a job—a huge step for her.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_05

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Its time to retire.

Chapter Five: Making the Retirement Decision

“How are you doing today, Jerry?” Mike greets me as he enters the exam room with my latest test results in hand.”

It’s been two months since the accident.

“It seems that you are continuing your changes,” he observes, “but your height and weight changes are tapering off a little. You’ve only lost five pounds and a little less than half an inch this week. Your testosterone level is continuing to decline and your estrogen is consistent with that of pre-teen girl. Your cells’ twenty third chromosomes are almost all XXY now.”

Someone decided to check on my sex chromosomes a few weeks back. They started to see a few cells with XXY groupings. Not a lot but they were there. It is almost unheard of to have mixed chromosomes. This has the medical folks intrigued and concerned. I am secretly pleased.

I haven’t mentioned my gender burden to anyone—even the psychologist that Mike sent me to after the accident—but it appears to me that the angel had more in mind than what I thought when he said that my burdens would be removed. I have started to hope that I am turning into a girl. I am about the right height and weight to be a slightly heavy sixteen year old girl, my looks are starting to get somewhat androgynous, my genitals look like those of a prepubescent boy, and my voice has gotten higher.

My regression has continued to the point that I now look like an older teenager of indeterminate gender. My hair has grown out to be about an inch long so I am no longer the bald guy. In fact the hair is much thicker than it was before the accident. My skin has gotten almost completely smooth. My beard growth and body hair have not returned.

“Seriously, Jerry,” Mike asks intently, “how ARE you doing?”

“In spite the continuing fever and achiness,” I reply, “I’m feeling better than I have in years. My bad shoulder seems to have completely healed, I’m more limber than I can remember, and I sleep better than I have in a very long. What’s not to like about it?”

“Well,” Mike points out, “It looks as if you’re going to slide back into your teen years and you might end up intersexed if your sex chromosomes have anything to do with it. Your life is nothing like it was. Doesn’t that bother you.”

I try not to look pleased.

With a shrug I reply, “What am I going to do? This is outside anyone’s control. At least I still have a lot of life ahead of me.”

“You will have,” Mike retorts, “if you don’t regress right back into the womb.”

I just shrug. “What can I say?”

“You’re taking this way too calmly,” he points out. “I’d be flipping out if this were happening to me.”

“Well,” I point out, “It’s not messing with my marriage relationship as Aileen has gone. I can retire anytime I want if it interferes with my work. I have plenty of assets so I have lots of options.”

“How is your family taking it?” Mike asks.

“That’s interesting,” I wanly smile, “Samantha and I are getting along better than ever. The boys and their families seem to be alright with it, however one of my daughters-in-law seems to be a little distant as a result of the on-going changes. The grandkids think it is a lot of fun now that grandpa has the energy to play their games with them. We’ve had a lot of fun running around together. My mother and siblings aren’t sure what to think. I send them regular updates and reassure them that this is all a natural process—I’m not doing anything to encourage it. They are all as mystified about this as you and your colleagues are.”

It’s true, Samantha and I are getting along much better. She actually got a job—a low level service job well below her training—but at least it’s a job. She and I have spent long hours talking about how to make use of her college education. She has been doing some heavy thinking and soul searching and is starting to see the need to settle down and start making a contribution to society as well as to earn her own way. It seems that the visit from her mother really rattled her foundations.

This is a good thing.

I’ve kept in close contact with the boys and their families too. It is good to have them all nearby. No one is sure what to make of my changes, but they say that I’m still the same old me inside. Maybe a little more patient than I used to be, but essentially the same old person—just in a younger package.

“It’s people who don’t know me well who are the problems,” I observe.

Some people are convinced that I’m messing with nature and that it is an abomination. Others are intrigued and want to know the secret to my anti-aging formula. I’ve gotten the cold shoulder from a number of people I know who are uncomfortable with what is happening to me. I’m not sure if they are afraid that they’ll catch it or if they think that I’m some kind of pervert.

The office has gotten used to me so I’m able to get more of my work done. Unfortunately, however, I’m finding that I’m getting a lot less respect from people outside of our office who don’t know me. Most people think that I am just an intern when they first meet me. They are very surprised to find that I am a senior staff member.

“Some of those who knew of me before or know what happened to me aren’t sure what to make of me,” I tell him. “Some of those that are uncomfortable with my changes have shunned me. Fortunately the publicity died down, so I’m not quite as much of a freak show. Those who don’t know me or anything about me just treat me like a rooky kid. Frankly, it’s easier on me to not challenge their impressions if I don’t have to.”

“It will get to be real problem at work if this keeps up,” I continue. “Not with my coworkers so much as with our clientele. They don’t take me seriously. On occasion, I’ve even had a few ask to speak to someone more experienced. Heck, I’m the most senior and experienced person in the office. I just don’t look like it.”

Another piece of good news, for me--not so much for others, is that there was a major terrorist event in the country a couple of weeks ago and my story has become old news. The public is now looking in other directions. I still have a few weirdoes bugging me, but it’s not like the days just after the Facebook posting.

“Okay, Jerry,” Mike sighs, “I’m not doing much more than monitoring your progress these days. I think we should continue to do that so that I can write a ground breaking journal article once we figure this out” He grins at me with his tongue firmly in cheek. I know that he’s in this for friendship in addition to the glory.

“Actually,” he continues, “I think you should touch base with the psychologist lady to make sure that you’re not about to come unglued emotionally. I’m worried about how well you are taking all this, my friend.”

“Thanks for the concern, Mike,” I reply, “but I’m doing okay. Really.”

Actually, I’m doing more than okay. I love these changes.

------< O >------

“Isn’t there someone more experienced I can talk to young, err, young man?” the woman asks looking at me doubtfully. She also seems unsure as to whether I’m a young man or young woman. “This project will be difficult and you don’t look like you’ve been here all that long. Aren’t you still in high school?”

I want to get up and scream sometimes. I’m at least fifteen years older than she is.

Instead, I politely tell her, “I am a lot more experienced than I look, however, you might feel more comfortable working with Harry. He’s been here for a couple of years now.”

This seems acceptable so I help her make the necessary arrangements. This has happen twice already this week. And it’s only Wednesday.

It’s been nine weeks now since the accident. I’ve only dropped three pounds so far this week and have shrunk less about a quarter inch—I check every morning. Last time I looked in the mirror I definitely look somewhere between a high school senior and a college freshman of indistinct gender. I’m starting to sound like a husky voiced girl too. Maybe it’s time to pull the plug.

The boss’s door is open and he is in, so I rap on the door frame to announce myself.

Looking up, he waves me in.

“What’s up, Jerry?” He notices my frustration. “Let me guess. You had someone else think that you’re too young to do the job.”

“You got it,” I sigh. “I’m thinking that I need to move my retirement up. I’m not much use to you now.”

“That might be a good idea,” the Boss admits sadly. “You are the best we have, but that fact doesn’t matter if no one takes you seriously. I just don’t have a lot of work for you that doesn’t require interaction with clients. I can have you assist the rest of our staff, but that would be a demotion.”

“Yeah, I know.” I respond. “I talked with the retirement office yesterday. They say that they normally require a hundred and twenty days to process a retirement but can cut that down to sixty days in special circumstances. You need to convince them of that. I’ve got forty days of regular annual leave remaining and about seventy days of sick leave. I can probably talk my doctors into saying that my medical issues are interfering with my work, so I propose that we make this my last week. I’ll file the paper work tomorrow and get a note from the doctor on Friday. I’ll take my remaining time as sick leave as I can cash out the annual leave at retirement. Once I file for retirement, you can start recruiting for my replacement. I can help with training the new person if you want me to stick around a little longer. How’s that sound?”

The Boss looks at me reflectively, “I told you before all this that I thought that you were too young to retire. By appearances, that’s definitely true now, but what can I say? You’ve had thirty good years with the agency. You deserve something new. We’ll miss you around here.”

With that, I get to work finalizing the arrangements for retirement and cleaning out my office.

------< O >-----

“Surprise!”

I just about jump out of my skin.

It is mid-afternoon on my last Friday at work and I just got back from seeing Mike again. The office seemed somewhat deserted with I walked in. When I got to my office, I found a note on my desk asking me to meet with someone in the training room. That is where I am finding the entire division plus a number of old friends.

On the wall hangs a banner declaring “Happy Retirement”.

The Boss gets up and makes a short speech. The agency’s commissioner, who is an old friend, also gets up to make a speech wishing me the best during retirement.

With a twinkle in his eye, he says, “And when you grow up again, we’ll have a place for you.” This got a few laughs from the group and from me.

Some joker had put together a trophy consisting of a small mangled sea kayak model mounted on a board with a plaque saying “Best wishes for a long retirement and watch out for Tour Boats”. It was signed by the entire office.

I spend the next hour greeting everyone, eating cake, and drinking punch.

As the party winds down, several co-workers help me carry the last few boxes from my office down to my car.

With a few handshakes and a hug or two, my working days come to an end.

For now, that is. If I ever start aging again I’ll probably start a second career!

To Be Continued...

IWAM_06

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! The changes are becoming apparent prompting actions on several fronts.

Chapter Six: More Changes

“Yes, Miss,” the ticket seller says. “that’ll be fifteen dollars and fifty cents.”

Samantha giggles and pats me on the head while I hand over the cash. We are buying tickets at the movie theater, it is winter, and we’re both bundled up in winter coats and hats.

“Enjoy the show, ladies,” he adds with a smile as he hands us our tickets.

This type of thing is happening more frequently. It’s now been almost four months since the accident. I’m still on sick leave, I recently celebrated my sixtieth birthday, and my retirement should be official any day now.

And the guy thinks I’m a young teenage girl.

I love it.

So I give the guy my sunniest smile and say “Thank you kind sir” before heading into the theatre.

I am now five foot four inches tall and weigh in at one hundred and fourteen pounds. I’ve lost half my body weight in four months. According the height/weight charts I’m about the size of a tall girl between twelve and fourteen years old. My hair is now two inches long. I won’t let anyone touch it as I want it to grow as much as possible. Dr. Mike tells me that I’m pretty much completely XXY now which makes me officially intersexed. The fact that my facial features and voice are becoming more girlish by the day just confirms that fact. The remains of my male genitals aren’t worth talking about, though they are there. The pubic and underarm hair which grew back after the accident is starting to fall out again. The fever and achiness are still both present, but I’ve growing accustom to them.

“Quit flirting,” Samantha admonishes me once we are out of earshot. “It creeps me out to have my father acting like a teen girl.”

“I might as well,” I reply, “I get mistaken for one more often than not. Might as well give them what they expect.”

“You know,” Samantha observes for about the hundredth time, “it is hard to call you ‘Dad’ anymore.”

All the rest of my children and their wives had taken to calling me by my first name long before the accident so they don’t have the same problem. Samantha has been gone and has not taken on that habit.

“Then just call me Jerry,” I suggest.

“I guess so,” she agrees, “but if I close my eyes and picture my father, I have a hard time calling him by his first name.”

“The open your eyes, sweetheart,” I suggest to her.

Samantha is not the same young woman who came back from the desert four months ago. Sometimes I think that her change has been more miraculous than mine. We have been spending a lot of time together. We’ve spent a good part of each weekend skiing or ice climbing together this winter which has given us a lot of time to bond and to talk about life and things. I think that those conversations have helped her to work through a few issues.

Her visit from her mother has had a profound effect upon her. While the change hasn’t been easy—she still rebels against it from time to time—she has made an effort to change her life, her views, and her attitude towards other people.

It is not easy for her.

We’ve had long talks about religion, interacting with other people, and how to set goals.

Her first job after returning home was at a large sporting goods store where she tried to work with people getting outfitted for various outdoor adventures. She’d often come home with disdainful comments about how ignorant and ill-prepared most people are. Her lack of tolerance and lack of empathy have been the trademarks of her character all her life.

When she was judgmental, I’d try to help her realize that these other people haven’t been raised with a family focus on mountaineering, back country skiing, ice and rock climbing, canoeing, sea kayaking and mountain biking like she had been. Few people have her level of expertise—and probably never will—and that’s alright. I tried to get her talking with her clientele about what it is that they do well so that she’ll realize that everyone has value and have expertise that she doesn’t. Her job is to help them learn enough to have a safe and enjoyable experience doing the things that most people dream of. She’d work on it and it wasn’t too long before she started to be just a little less judgmental. She was having trouble with her supervisors as well so we had to talk a bit about working with those in authority. It was a great—and sometimes painful—learning experience for her.

Working through contacts with her old college professors, she managed to land a minor job with one of the local news outlets. The job could work into a real photo journalism position if all goes well. She used some of her newly refined people skills to squeak through the job interview. We’re still working on ingraining the new habits.

She also started going back to church and we spent many hours talking about scriptures that give us guidance in how to be tolerant and respectful while showing love of others. She is often critical of intolerant church members but we talk about the fact that all of us have weaknesses and we need to help each other overcome them. It surprised her when I pointed out her own intolerance of them—something which gave her food for thought.

“Do you know how hard it is to take advice from someone who looks like a teenager?” She asks rhetorically. “When you talk, your voice sounds like a teenage girl, but what comes out is really grown up. It is so weird and incongruous.”

It has been hard to get respect lately!

------< O >------

“Can I talk to you a minute, Jerry?” My Pastor asks. He looks as if he has something significant on his mind. He also appears uncertain about how to approach whatever topic he wants to discuss.

“Sure,” I reply. I can pretty well guess what he wants.

I’ve continued teaching our adult Sunday School class since the accident happened five months ago. I know that it has made a lot of the newer people in the congregation a bit uneasy. The old timers seem to be taking the changes in stride as they all know that the changes in my life are not of my doing. It doesn’t hurt that we’ve respected each other for decades in many cases.

Visitors and newcomers, on the other hand, are totally confused. I’ve overheard, or had reported to me, conversations where folks have asked how a person so young can be so knowledgeable. Recently it’s been overheard that some folks are pretty sure that I’m female. Some of my old friends in the congregation seem to get a kick out of keeping people off balance regarding my age and gender. My baby face is now more on the female side of androgyny. I’ve dressed in male slacks, a white shirt and tie but they hang loose on me, hiding any shape that I do or don’t have. I continue to let my hair grow and it is about four inches long, and while I try to keep it combed in a male style, it is also pretty androgynous.

It has been getting harder and harder to get respect out of the adults. They know that it’s me up there teaching, but their eyes and ears hear a young teen girl instead. It is unsettling to most of them. I’ve been thinking it’s time to step aside and let someone else handle the class.

I’m down to one hundred seven pounds and am just under five foot five inches tall. All the teen boys and most of the teen girls in the congregation are bigger than me. I think that I’d get even less respect out of the kids if I were their teacher.

After settling into a seat in the church office, the Pastor tries to engage in small talk as he looks for a tactful way to broach his subject.

“Pastor,” I decide to help him out, “I’m sorry to say this, but I’m thinking that it’s time to step down as a Sunday School teacher. Maybe there is some place else you can use me where I don’t have to interact directly with most of the congregation. I’ve got lots of time on my hands since I am retired.”

You can see the Pastor relax considerably. I saved him the effort of asking me to step down.

“That’s too bad, Jerry,” he says with relief. “You are—without a doubt—the most knowledgeable person around when it comes to scriptures and church history. It will be a shame to lose you in the classroom, but your condition is getting in the way of your effectiveness.”

Well put, I think to myself. This Pastor may be young, but he knows how to be diplomatic.

“What would you think about producing our monthly newsletter?” He asks. “It hasn’t been the same since our old editor moved out a couple of months ago. You know most of the people and everything that is going on. I think that you’d be good at it.”

What he means is that I can do this by email and with a few phone calls—limiting my face-to-face time with people who are confused by me. I can see his point, and I’m not anxious to create any more waves that I need to. I just want to transition quietly into what I think the Lord has in mind for me.

“Sure, Pastor,” I smile at him, “I’d be happy to.”

------< 0 >------

Samantha has invited the daughter-in-laws over on a Saturday morning. And from the looks of it they have something serious on their mind.

It has gotten to the point where I no longer resemble my old self. It’s been six months since the accident. I stand a bit under five foot four, weigh in at one hundred pounds. My fever and achiness are still ever present though not as bad as at first. Fortunately the rate of weight and height decline is gradually slowing. It is fortunate as I have been worried that I might age regress to infancy. My hair has had a minor growth spurt and is now six inches long—it looks pretty shaggy. I’m still pretty much hair free everywhere else. No one but my doctor and I know that my genitals have receded to nearly nothing with my testacies actually ascending. My penis is only about an inch long—about where a very young boy would be. I haven’t told the family that my sex chromosomes are now mostly a mix of XX and XXY with only a very few XYs. The Y’s seem to be losing the battle. My testosterone output is virtually nil. Estrogen levels continue to be consistent with that of a young girls’. While still appearing to be somewhat androgynous I am on the feminine side of androgyny. I now look more like a preteen girl than a male.

It is funny though, none of my family—immediate or extended—have felt comfortable enough to talk about the implications of the changes.

Samantha, as the my own biological daughter, seems to be the initial spokeswoman for the group. Her boldness and former lack of social tact make her the ideal candidate.

“Dad,” she starts, “or should I say, Jerry. We want to talk to you about something.”

We are all sitting around the living room. The three daughters-in-law are lined up on the couch, Samantha is on the love seat and I’m sitting in my favorite lounge chair facing the bunch of them.

I give Samantha a ‘go ahead’ look.

“It’s pretty apparent to us,” she continues, “that your body is becoming more female every day.”

She takes a deep breath and spits out the bottom line, “We think you should start living as a girl.”

I work hard to keep the smile from my face. I was wondering how long it would take before the subject was broached. I’ve been wanting to make the switch for months now, but did not want to seem too eager.

“And we,” she quickly continues, waving at her sisters-in-law, “ have talked about it and we are prepared to help you make the transition.”

“I’ve been with you when strangers think you are a girl,” Helen, Bill’s wife, adds. “I don’t think anyone meeting you for the first time ever thinks that you’re male.”

That’s true. No one has mistaken me for a boy in a long time. In fact, most people seem to think that I am the tom-boy daughter of one of these women whenever I’ve been out and about with one or more of them.

“You are starting to look like a young teen girl who hasn’t started to develop yet,” Amanda, Tim’s wife points out.

Oh yeah, that reminds me that I can’t drive anymore—actually I can, but it’s too much of a hassle. I got pulled over by a cop a month ago who wouldn’t believe that I was old enough to drive. He thought that I was joy riding in my parent’s car. I don’t look anything like my driver’s license photo so I ended up at the police station and had to have my lawyer come down to prove my innocence. Some of the cops at the station remembered all the hoopla about the change and I was eventually let off with advice to get a new license issued—which I did. That’s a whole other story in its own right—one requiring further legal aid. I’m the only preteen girl in the world with an official driver’s license declaring that I am a sixty year old male.

I’ve been bumming rides off these women for the past month or taking the city bus to avoid a repeat of the hassle. The good news is that I can get away with paying the youth rate on the bus.

I’ve also been accused of skipping school on multiple occasions when out in public on a weekday. Several shop owners have threatened to call the police to take me back to school.

“Even the grandkids are confused.” Debbie, Mark’s wife tosses in.

Not long ago, the oldest grandson, young Frank—a very preconscious seven year old child—loudly proclaimed in a family gathering that I didn’t look like a grandpa anymore and that he was going to call me Jerry from now on. The youngest, Kimberly –a happy go lucky four year old—just wants to play dolls with me after declaring that ‘Papa’ is now a girl.

It’s not only the grandkids who are confused. An eleven year old girl, new to our church congregation, asked me just last week why I wear boy’s clothes and why don’t I attend the youth Sunday School class, or any of the other youth activities, like the other girls my age. One of the other youth who knows me tried to explain to her that I’m actually a sixty year old man. There is no way that the girl would believe that—neither would her parents.

This past week I had a chat with an old friend of mine who has been observing the growing confusion at church. He and I talked for a long time about what all the confusion was doing. Even he had mentioned that I might want to give people what they see if I continue to morph into a little girl. It might make things easier all around.

“So,” I reply with false caution, “just what do you all have in mind?”

They all look nervously at each other before Amanda, the oldest, pipes up.

“We want to take you shopping this morning for some clothes more appropriate to your apparent age and gender,” she states, “and to get your hair done. It’s a mess.”

They all look at me nervously hopeful.

Wow, I think to myself, I wasn’t expecting this. I’ve been wanting to start making the transition. In fact, I’ve managed to purchase a few items myself when none of them were around. I’ve got a pair of girls jeans, a couple of skirts and blouses, and some panties hidden under my bed—some are already too big as I bought them a couple of months ago. Using my credit card is nearly impossible these days, even with my new identification, as all the clerks think that I’ve stolen my father’s card. I can only use it when shopping on the internet. I’ll need to talk with my lawyer about getting my gender status changed and new identification documents secured once the changes settle down.

I make a show of sighing while doing a happy dance inside, “I guess it is inevitable, but I am still changing. We can’t go too wild.”

“We need to go all the way,” Helen points out with a smile. You can tell that she smells an easy victory for the girls. “You need to get rid of that androgynous look and quit confusing people. We don’t need to get much and can go to a Walmart or Target so that we don’t spend too much.”

“Alright,” I agree with another sigh while suppressing a happy smile, “I’ve been anticipating this. I suppose that it’s the right thing to do. Where do we start?”

This kicks off a flurry of happy activity. Amanda—being her normal efficient self (she has an MBA and was a successful business woman before deciding to focus on raising her two sons)—suggests that we start with some measurements and asks me—with a bit of nervousness—to strip down to my underwear so that they can get some accurate measurements.

They all express some surprise as I take off my baggy T-shirt and jeans. My body shape is a cross between that of a preteen boy’s and a preteen girl’s. My thirty inch chest and twenty eight inch waist is pretty typical of a young boy my size, but my thirty two inch hips with slightly rounded bottom is more representative of a young girl’s body.

Turning slightly pink, Debbie hesitantly asks, “Um, where are your male parts? You haven’t totally changed into a girl have you?” The rest of them look more closely at my jockey shorts covered crotch. It is pretty clear that I’m not filling them out.

“Even Frank’s are more noticeable,” observes his mother.

I guess, it’s time to let part of the cat out of the bag.

“Well,” I admit, “my testicles have ascended back into my body and my penis is quite small.”

“It must be.” Samantha agrees. “It doesn’t show in those shorts. I wonder how you’d look in panties. If you can hide it well, this opens up a few more clothing options since girls bottoms don’t leave much room for extra equipment.”

“I think some control briefs with lots of spandex should hold whatever you still have. That is, if we can get them that small.” Debbie mentions. “We’ll have to get some of those first.”

After I get dressed again, we all pile into my big SUV—I let Samantha drive as it looks more natural. And so our girls shopping spree begins.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_07

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Jeri starts living as a girl.

Chapter Seven: First Steps

What a day!

The daughters-in-law have finally all gone home to their families and Samantha and I are home staring at a pile of shopping bags in my bedroom.

It turned out that I wear a pair of panties about as good as any still-waiting-to-bloom twelve year old girl. My little male appendage did stick a tiny amount, destroying the image. Debbie’s idea of using a control brief was a good idea, so we bought several pair. Helen thought that what I really needed was a size too small nylon/spandex panty to hold things tucked back. That worked too. We added a dozen pair in various colors and styles to my inventory. Chances are they’ll be too big in a couple of weeks, but they weren’t that expensive. Several of pairs of tights in various colors were also added to the inventory—being winter, I’m told that they are nice to have. We got a couple of pairs of girl’s jeans which fit a little snugly in places which would hurt on a guy. The latest trend seems to favor elaborate sparkly embroidery on the back pockets so, of course, that’s what we got. There will be no confusing me with a boy in these jeans. They show off my slightly rounded bottom quite well.

We bought half a dozen tops in various preteen girl styles. I drew the line on tops with girly phrases or other decorations on the front. I don’t want to get uber girly here. I think it is best for those around me that I ease into this. I’m still thinking about what my “style” will be, but I’m pretty sure that uber girly is not it. I’ll probably have to try a few styles before settling on something.

It was decided by the group that I need to have a dress or skirt for church tomorrow. I must have tried on several dozen options before there was general agreement on a final choice. As spring is approaching, we went with a sundress with a long sleeved T-shirt like top under it for modesty and warmth. I have to admit that wearing a dress for real as a girl is a strange thing. None of my closet cross dressing episodes with Aileen’s skirts over the years really prepared me for this. For the first time, dresses look right on me—it’ll still take some time to get used to them. I’m not particularly beautiful, but at least I don’t look like a guy in a dress. And I won’t continue to look like a girl wearing her big brother’s clothes. I look like a typical flat-chested, late blooming early teen girl. They had me get a couple of training bras as apparently girls that age are in a hurry to develop and often start padding things while they wait for the real thing to appear.

Of course we had to buy shoes as well. All my old ones are too big, even those we bought a month ago. Given that I’m still shrinking, we kept it conservative with a pair of trainers and a nice pair of dress shoes with a one inch heal. They also had me purchase some feminine socks to wear with them.

Nightwear was also on the agenda. Debbie is the most girlish of the bunch and wanted to get me in a night gown. While inwardly I smiled at the idea, the rest strongly recommended a flannel bottom and camisole combination popular with teen girls these days. They seem to be worried that I’ll rebel if pushed too hard too fast to be a girl. In keeping with my cover, I buy a whole flannel pajama set and a camisole “just in case.”

The hair salon experience was better than stories you hear. The hardest part was deciding what to do with my hair. There’s not a lot you can do with short full hair. As I expressed a desire to grow it out longer, it was decided by the committee (after extensive conversation and after consulting many style magazines) that a simple part down the middle with a layered look would be best for now since it will grow out nicely. It is definitely a girl’s haircut. The staff at the salon did a fantastic job on the cut. The girls picked out a few barrettes for me and showed me various ways of pinning my hair back and/or up for different looks and occasions.

In payment to the girls, I offered to cover their costs if they wanted to use the services of the salon. Debbie and Samantha took me up on it, getting their rather long hair trimmed and styled. I later paid for clothing items for Helen and Amanda—after all, I’m far from broke. Unlike many preteen girls I have a steady income greater than what their parents normally earn. It’s nice to do something special for each of them.

Now, Samantha and I are sorting and storing my new clothes.

“I guess we can box these up,” Samantha says, waving at the small assortment of relatively new male attire taking up a small portion of the closet space. “And the stuff in the drawers too.”

Due to her ruthless cleaning strategy, my closets and drawers are virtually empty already. The only things we keep are those special items of Aileen’s that I saved during the first purge. Those items are now all too big for me and have been relegated to the back of the closet.

Adding my new items to the closet and drawers doesn’t do much for relieving the emptiness.

“It still looks like I’m living out of a suitcase,” I comment when we’re done.

“That’s a good way to put it,“ Samantha agrees. “Living out of a suitcase on your road to disappearing.”

“I don’t know about disappearing,” I reply. “My calculations show that the way things are going, the height and weight curves should level out somewhere around the size of a five year old girl in about three years’ time.”

“That should be wonderful,” she snorts. “I could become your mother. I’m not ready to be a mother.”

I agree with her about her preparedness to be a mother. While she’s made great strides these past six months, she is still not really ready for that great responsibility.

“Well, you’ve got about two and a half years to work on it,” I tell her. “Most women only get nine months’ notice.”

“I think that I’ll just turn you over to one of your daughters-in-law,” she retorts.

“Ah,” I smile at her, “I doubt that. What did your mother say? Something like you are supposed to help me through these changes? I think that means that you’re to stick this out with me.”

“I’m doing my best,” she earnestly replies.

“I know, sweetheart,” I reassure her giving her a hug, “I’m really impressed with what you’ve accomplished so far. I don’t think that I could have adjusted so well without you. You have been my rock through these changes.”

“You’re adjusting just fine,” she observes. “It’s kind of scary actually. I would have been distraught if something like this happened to me. How can you deal with this?”

“As we both know,” I answer her, “It is in the Lord’s hands. I believe this is happening in response to that angelic visitation. There is no other explanation. So if this is what God wants for me, then he must have a reason for it.”

I’m still holding back about admitting my life-long burden to anyone. As I ponder this, I get a strong impression that now is the time to broach the subject with Samantha.

“Samantha, sweetheart,” I begin, “can you keep a confidence?”

She looks at me enquiringly. “That’s weird. I just got tingly all over and received the impression that what you’re about to tell me is true and should be kept private. So, I guess the answer to your question is: yes.”

I am grateful for the divine assistance. It would be hard to convince her otherwise.

“Well,” I begin with a deep breath, “I’ve always felt that I should have been born female. I’ve tried hard, however, to live the life I’ve been given. I’ve tried to be the best son, brother, husband, and father that I could be but I have always wished with all my heart that I could have been a daughter, sister, wife, and mother. I’m afraid that this longing may have interfered with my efforts to be a good man.”

I start to get some tears in my eyes recalling the struggle. I really did, and still do, want to do what’s right in the sight of God.

Samantha gives me an affectionate hug—something which is out of character for the old Samantha. “You’ve been great. You were nicer to Mom and the rest of us than most fathers are to their wives and children. I always looked up to you as a sensitive caring man. You have been very manly and a good father in ways that few men of my acquaintance have been. I’ve never met another man like you and I’ve always felt blessed that you were my father.”

This does bring tears to my eyes. I never knew that she felt that way.

“I did notice, however, that you watched a lot of girls and women over the years,” she continued. “I thought that you might have a wandering eye but you never seemed lecherous. Most women and girls that I know felt comfortable and at ease in your presence. More so than they are with other men. It always struck me as being odd. How did you come to be married then? Weren’t you attracted to men if you were a girl inside?”

“I had a male body with male hormones,” I point out. “It’s funny, but while I wanted to be a girl and often wondered with sex would be like as the wife, I never saw a man who attracted me. I just couldn’t fathom being with a male as a male. I did, and still do, love your mother with all my heart. I just wish that we could have traded roles.

“And about watching other females, after getting through teenage and early adult years and after settling down with your mother, I don’t think that I ever looked at them as sexual attractions. Your mother was very good at satisfying that part of my life. I would, however, watch them to see if I could figure out what life was like for them and what it would have been like for me if I had been born the way I wished I had. I was very envious of them—often thinking that they probably don’t appreciate how lucky they are.”

“Lucky!” She snorts in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I like being a girl—men are pigs—but have you noticed how poorly women have it? We have to really work at getting respect. There’s still a lot of macho crap out there. Being a woman has not been easy at any time in history.”

“You’re right in a lot of ways,” I agree, “but I’ve notice a few things over the years that might balance that.”

“Oh yeah,” she challenges me, “name a few.”

“Okay,” I begin, “there is my observation that most women do not tend to have the macho pride issues that men do and, consequently, tend to be more effective at getting things done than men. I suspect this is because they have to work harder at it. They generally get the job done when it needs to be done and much more thoroughly than most men. The competent women that I have worked with have almost always raised the standard for performance.

“Also, most successful strong women tend to be more empathetic than men. They are more likely to reach out to someone in need. They make great mentors. They don’t let macho pride stand in the way. This is why you see women flocking to what is perceived as people serving professions like medicine and law. They often are more interested in helping someone personally than in the bottom line. This makes our society a better place. Look at you, for example, once you started to get past the ‘what’s in it for me’ attitude, you started to find ways to make a difference in people’s lives without thought for profit. Remember when you got interested in dance therapy as a way to help troubled souls? There was no money in that but you didn’t care—you just wanted to help people.”

“Well,” she responds with a little disgust in her voice, “look where I am now—in corporate America helping to make the owners of my company rich.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” I admit, “but maybe what you are doing is helping people to understand the current social issues by delivering accurate images and news. If people don’t know what’s going on, they can’t make informed decisions which will help them to live better lives. What your company does is important to our community, even if it does make a few people rich.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“Let’s look at it this way,” I try again. “What would happen to the community if your news company, or one like it, didn’t exist? How would people know about what’s happening in government? What about knowing what weather is likely to happen over the next few days?”

“I see your point,” she grudgingly admits. “Our company does fill a need, but being male or female is irrelevant in that case.”

“Is it now?” I ask. “Don’t you think that it’s good to have both a ‘male’ and a ‘female’ perspective on things? Also, in your case where you have yet to have input into what is said, don’t you think that an employee who is there to do their part for the community—as opposed to one who solely wants a paycheck—is more likely to help the organization be effective in serving the community? Which employee will get the most satisfaction? The female perspective tends to have the broader view. I’d be more inclined to hire a sincere woman than a career minded man any day.”

“Not everyone shares that view,” she points out. “But I see what you are saying. It sounds as if you think that being a woman is superior to being a man.”

“I could list a few more points in favor of women,” I continue, “but, as a man, I can also point out some of their faults. It’s not that one is better than the other; it’s just that they are both wired slightly different. Personally I think that men and women complement each other nicely. Each couple finds way to supplement each other if they are to be successful as a team. How they do it is up to them, but I think that people are generally happier when they have a companion at their side and with whom they’ve worked out a mutually agreeable way to work together, amplifying each other’s strengths.”

“You and Mom got better at that over the years,” She observes.

“It seems to takes a lifetime,” I respond.

“Speaking of mother,” Samantha observes, “She was very happy when she came to me. She said that good things were happening for her. I’m wondering how that could be as you will become a woman and she will be without you in heaven.”

“There’s another dream I had,” I tell her, “that I’ve only ever told your mother. I think that it will shed light on that.

“A couple of years after we married, we were still struggling to find that complementary balance. One night I had a very vivid dream. In the dream I had died and was on the other side. Your mother had died first so I was looking around anxiously for her. After a time, I saw her walking towards me hand in hand with a very handsome looking man. She was radiant. She was happier than I have ever seen her. Kind of like what you described to me from your visit with her.

“When she got to me, she threw her arms around me and gave me a great hug. Standing back she put her arm around this man and held him close. His arm was possessively around her shoulders and he had a very serene smile on his face. He didn’t say a thing.

“Your mother did speak to me, however. She said ‘Thank you so much for our life together, Jerry. I can’t tell me how much I appreciate it. You were a good man, but I am not yours. Your mission was to prepare me to be worthy of this great man.’ With that they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes and the vision faded away.

“I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. I wondered if it was a warning of what I’d lose if I didn’t live my life the way I should. I worked hard the rest of my life to make sure that losing her was not due to my own unrighteousness or inattention to her.“

“So now, you think that she’s met her true companion and you’re free to become the girl you should have been,” Samantha speculates. “Doesn’t that hurt a little?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking and praying about this the past few months,” I tell her. “I believe that I’ve gotten confirmation of what you say. I get the impression that we’ll still be the best of friends—or at least I hope so. While she has found her true love, now—when the time is right—I will need to seek for the man who I can love forever. Yes, I will miss being with her, but I have faith that there are other great things in store which will make up for the loss.”

“So that means that you think this shrinking business will cease and you’ll grow as a girl?” She asks.

“Yes,” I confidently reply, “I do. I just don’t know when the changes will be finished or how old I’ll be when they do. It seems clear that I’m going to have to be a teenager again. I’m not really looking forward to that. Hopefully my sixty years of being a man will keep me from making foolish schoolgirl mistakes.”

“So,” She grins at me, “you don’t think that you are going to be a boy crazy teenage girl like the rest of us?”

“I don’t know,” as I give her a playful shove, “I know a lot more about boys than any of you ever did so they aren’t that mysterious. After all, I was a Scoutmaster for lots of years so I got to know how young men operate. And before you ask, I’ll remind you that I was never sexually attracted to boys or men.”

“We’ll see what happens when you go through female puberty,” she smirks. “Oh yeah, I can’t wait until you have your first period. I think that every guy should have to go through that once or twice. Hormonal swings can do a number on you.”

“At least I’ll have you here to guide me through it.” I smile at her.

She rolls her eyes, “I don’t think that I’m cut out to act as the substitute mother of a hormonal teenager.”

“You’ll do fine,” I tell her. “After all, your mother and I survived it when you went through that stage.”

“Just so you know,” I conclude, “I am not happy to be becoming a girl because of any perceived advantages. I am happy because I am finally becoming who I have always wanted to be regardless of the advantages or disadvantages. I feel at peace becoming a girl”

“Well,” she smiles at me, “welcome to the sorority. I hope that it is everything you are hoping for.”

After an affectionate hug (something very unlike the old Samantha) we finish putting everything away and watch one of Aileen’s old romantic films. I’ve always enjoyed them and it is great to see Samantha start to loosen up and enjoy them as well.

It has been a great day and evening. My first day living as I have wanted all these years—as a girl.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_08

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Samantha struggles with being perceived as Jeri's mother.

Chapter Eight: Motherhood

Day two is turning out to be interesting.

Samantha and I decided to attend church in the congregation which Bill and Helen attend. They live in the next town down the road—or is that up the road? This is a church that I have never attended as we don’t live in this town. Anyway, I am able to attend without anyone knowing that I’m a sixty year old man. It’s a good first outing fully kitted out as a girl.

After some discussion yesterday, the girls agreed that I could go by the feminine version of my first name without too much issue, so today I am Jeri, a late developing thirteen year old girl. Samantha had me add small baggies of birdseed into the cups of my training bra for appearances sake. I appear to have an almost A cup set of breasts. The loose fitting sundress hides my lack of curves.

I got a few reminders about how to sit, how to get in and out of a car and other little things that girls learn while growing up. For now, I’m being passed off as a tom boy in a dress.

I should point out that Samantha and I have essentially the same hair color and texture. It is something which she inherited from my side of the family. I think that I am taking on the characteristics I would have had if I had been my parent’s daughter. My looks are also morphing in that direction. The end result is that it is very apparent that Samantha and I are blood relatives. As she has also taken on some physical characteristics (i.e. nose and eye shape) from her mother’s side of the family, we are not twins.

“Are you and your daughter joining us or just visiting?” One woman asked Samantha before the service. Samantha is only thirty so she’s not quite old enough to be my apparent mother unless I was born when she was seventeen.

“Just visiting,” Samantha replied after thinking about it briefly. “Actually, Jeri here is a younger cousin of mine. I don’t have any children.”

“Oh my,” the woman looked a bit taken aback. “Sorry about that, she just looks so much like you I just assumed she was yours.”

Standing by the woman was a mid-teen girl who is developing quite nicely. The girl seemed to be proud of the fact as she’s wearing a dress which shows every curve—a little racy for church, in my opinion. The girl is also an inch or two taller than me. She looks bored.

“This is my daughter, Brittany,” the woman introduced the girl. “She can help Jeri find her way to the youth Sunday School after the main service, can’t you dear?”

“Sure Mom,” the girl replied without enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you Jeri, see you after the service.”

Well, that was anti-climactic.

The service was good but the Sunday School class was an eye opener. I have taught teens in several capacities over the years. It’s always been a struggle to get them engaged and the current teacher wasn’t all that experienced. Brittany dutifully escorted me to class and introduced me to a few of the girls. A couple of the boys—to the chagrin of the girls—asked if I was moving in and showed me lots of attention. This is attention that I think some of the regular attending girls wish they were receiving. I suppose it is the new kid complex where the new kid is always more interesting than those who have been around a while.

After the meetings were over, we all went out for lunch at a local chain restaurant.

“…and what can I get for you and your daughter?” the waiter asked Samantha when taking our order. I had to stifle a giggle at that. Samantha just looked daggers at me. She told the waiter that her young cousin could order for herself.

That’s two.

------< O >------

After lunch, Bill headed home to do some home project (probably watching basketball) while Helen, Samantha and I decided to hit the mall for to see if they could augment my clothing supply. I think that they just wanted some girl time.

We were in one of the larger department stores looking at girl’s clothing. Samantha had me hold up a top to get an idea how it would look on me when a sales girl appeared.

“Ooh…,” she commented, “that looks lovely with your daughter’s hair color.”

That’s three.

------< O >------

Eventually, Helen headed for home. As she hugged Samantha goodbye, she said , with a grin: “Bye, Mommy.”

Samantha was not amused but I thought it was funny.

On the way home, I talked Samantha into stopping at the grocery store. While we were in the checkout line, I remembered something I forgot to get just as the checker got to our small pile of stuff.

“Go ahead, dear,” the checker told me, “I’ll just chat with your mother for a few minutes if you hurry.”

That’s four.

“She’s not my daughter,” Samantha corrected the checker. “She’s my young cousin.”

“My goodness,” the checker exclaimed. “She looks a lot like you.”

------< O >------

We’ve been home now for a couple of hours. I haven’t seen Samantha since we got home. She had stomped off to her room and left me to deal with stowing our purchases. I fixed myself a snack for dinner, but Samantha never came out of her room.

I think that she’s taking the mother mistake too hard.

I am pondering going to bed early or just staying up to watch some TV when Samantha finally surfaces. She looks troubled.

“What’s up,” I asked her with some concern.

“Everyone thinks I’m your mother,” she states, “I am not your mother. I am not a mother. I don’t want to be a mother. I would have had to be in my mid-teens when you were ‘born’ by the looks of you. Heck, you look half my age.”

She glares at me.

I don’t think that she’s done, so I just wait patiently.

“It’s your fault,” she huffs at me. “I don’t think that I should be seen in public with you.”

Okay… so the problem appears to be that I am somehow making her life difficult. Apparently she is still somewhat self-centered.

“What’s wrong with being perceived as a mother?” I enquire.

“Mothers have to be responsible,” she informs me. “Mothers can’t be themselves. Mothers have to watch after snot-nosed kids 24/7. Mothers usually have a father around who needs to be taken care of as well. Mothers are servants.”

Well, she doesn’t seem to have much an opinion of motherhood.

“So what’s wrong with be perceived as one of them?” I ask.

“I’m not one of those people,” she says. “I don’t want to be one of those people. I want to be free to do whatever I want whenever I want. Making commitments gets in the way of that.”

“Why do you think that some women do motherhood and wouldn’t trade it for anything?” I ask her.

“I can’t figure it out,” she admits. “They don’t realize what they are missing.”

Where did we go wrong, I ask myself? Samantha just doesn’t get it.

“Maybe,” I suggest, “it’s you who doesn’t realize what you are missing. You might start by trying to look at it through their eyes. Take the time to try to understand them. You have two sisters-in-law who have chosen to center their lives on their families and a third one who probably will soon. You might want to take the time figure out why.”

Sarah just gives an unbelieving grunt in reply.

“Well,” I add with a smile, “being my mother shouldn’t be too bad. After all, I’ve had sixty years of life experience. I can pretty well take care of myself. All you’ll have to do is act like you’re in charge. That’ll be a lot different than raising a kid from scratch. I think you should stop fighting it and play the part.”

“We’ll see,” she huffs without commitment.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_09

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Jeri finds ways to be productive and finds a new friend.

Chapter Nine: New Employment & A New Friend

It’s now nine months since the accident and I’ve been living full time as a girl for three months. At my last checkup, Mike observed that I’m about 90% female. Because of my physical age and new gender, he has brought in a Pediatrician and a Gynecologist to assist with my weekly monitoring. My penis is essentially gone and my scrotum has started to morph into a set of female vulva. We suspect that a fully functioning vagina is in my near future. I’ve had occasional cramping and an ultrasound shows that I am developing all the appropriate female internal organs. My fever is only slight now and I have only lost two inches in height and twenty six pounds in weight in the last three months. Those pesky Y chromosomes are all but gone now. I am no longer androgynous—I look like a 12 year old girl on the cusp of puberty. I weigh in at ninety pounds and stand a little shorter than five foot two inches. There is no doubt about it—I am becoming a girl. I’m still a little underdeveloped for a girl my apparent age but there is a hint of curves and my bottom is starting to be more rounded. The good news is that the change is slowing.

I’ve worked with my lawyer and medical people to get my legal documents changed to show that I am female since it is pretty obvious where I am heading. I changed my name too—I’m now officially going by the name of Jeri. Since the changes have slowed considerably I decided to get new identification documents (passport and driver’s license) showing me as I am now. I also changed out my credit cards, the deed on the house, my retirement records, college diplomas, etc. The only thing that throws people off is the birth date listed on the documents. Nobody can believe that I’m sixty years old.

Summer has started and I am enjoying a lot more time out of doors. Over the winter, I spent a fair amount of time skiing so I am in pretty good physical shape—for a kid. I’ve taken to mountain biking and hiking in the local mountains. My family is very nervous about my activities as it is not generally considered safe to be out in the woods with bears and moose on the loose even when you are an adult male. Samantha goes with me when she has time off from work and the boys and their wives go with me whenever they can. With my small young body, I can’t keep up with them like I used to but they are patient with me.

I’ve got a lot of time on my hands these days and spend as much of it as I can being active. It is so wonderful feeling young and energetic again!

I have also started to do some online consulting using my old professional skills. I’ve been studying web programming and have developed a couple of commercial educational websites which are starting to get noticed. They bring a little income to add to my savings. I don’t need the money. My retirement income is more than adequate to support me. I just need to keep productive.

A few months ago, I started doing some babysitting. First off, I became the preferred babysitter for my grandkids. It started when Mark and Debbie couldn’t find a sitter for Kimberly one night and asked if I’d help. Pretty soon it became a regular thing. Amanda picked up on it pretty soon and I found myself regularly watching Frank and Warren. One day, Amanda’s neighbor saw me playing with the boys outside and asked me if I was old enough to be babysitting. When I assured her that I was well qualified, she asked what my rate was. I had to grin at that because I was making $60 per hour when I retired—I don’t think she could afford that. Before too long I had become a go-to babysitter for half a dozen families and was starting to turn down jobs frequently. I found that I love working with small children. We would play games together and I would teach them how to work with each other. It was almost like managing an office full of adults.

While I’ve never been one to spend time with friends without Aileen around, it is now virtually impossible to hang out with my old adult acquaintances. It is just too weird being about 12 years old in appearance, hanging out with 50-60 year olds. Neither them nor I know how to break through the weirdness.

The one place where I was weak was in working with my new apparent peer group. My only real interaction with them was at church functions. I met some really nice kids there, but a few not so nice ones as well. None of the kids are what I would call friends. Most of the kids at church—and their parents—know about my past and are not sure what to make of me. I found that I struggled with relating to them on a peer level as they were emotionally and socially at a much different level than I am. The fact that I didn’t go to school with any of them also set me apart from their social groups. When asked about why I didn’t go to school we’d just tell people that I’m being home schooled—which is sort of true: I’m studying web programming on my own.

I’ve gone on a couple of church youth group functions. I have made an effort to be friends with a couple of the 10-12 year old girls—it is little rocky as there is an obvious maturity difference. Add that to the fact that most of them know I was a sixty year old guy not too long ago and it makes it difficult to connect with any of my new age group. Some of their parents aren’t too keen on me, a former male, hanging around with their daughters. I can’t say that I am close with any of the kids.

Tonight I’m going waterskiing with about twenty of the youth. It will be the first time out in my new bathing suit. It is a one piece suit—we must be modest at a church gathering. I am not much to look at as I appear to be your typical preteen girl who only has a hint at curves and no breasts. I don’t think that it will result in making new friends, but everyone will have a pretty good idea of how far the physical changes have really gone.

------< O >------

“This spot taken?” a young female voice asks.

Looking up from my blanket on the beach, I see a cute girl about my apparent age standing there with a towel. She is wearing a swimsuit similar to mine and huge pair of sunglasses. I notice that she is just starting to develop those feminine curves which will start attracting boys as their puberty begins to kick in. There is also a hint of breasts showing through her suit.

“No,” I smile up at her, “Make yourself comfortable.”

“My name is Laurie and I’m twelve,” she informs me as she spreads her towel next to mine. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jeri,“ I reply. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new here?” I’m glad that she didn’t ask my age.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “We just moved here a week ago. You been here long?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “Quite a while.” I imagine that she’ll hear the story soon.

“How come you’re hanging out by yourself?” she asks. “It seems that all the fun is happening over there.” She nods over to where the ski boat is picking up a couple of kids.

I sigh. “I don’t fit in all that well.”

It is not like the others are rude or anything, but most of them know about my transition and are not comfortable around me. Also, I still don’t know how to relate to this demographic who are just starting to figure out how life works.

“Why not?” she asks. “You are a cute girl. You should have lots of friends.”

“How come you aren’t over there then?” I ask her.

She shrugs her shoulders. “I get nervous around guys—I get pretty tongue tied around them and blush way too much when I make a fool of myself. I’d rather get to know some girls my age first. You look like you could use a friend.“

We spend the next half hour chatting—well she does most of the chatting. Apparently her father just got a promotion within a State agency and moved here from another part of the State. She wasn’t too clear on what her father does, but from what she could tell me it sounds as if he is working in my old department. How strange. I might have been her father’s boss if I’d not changed. I don’t want to bring that topic up.

She seems to be nervous about starting over again in a new school and making new friends. It sounds as if she left behind a couple of really close friends. Her father has been here for a couple of months but the rest of the family waited until school let out for the summer to join him. She asks me about the school and church groups and seems surprised when I tell her that I don’t attend the school. I tell her that I am studying at home—I just don’t tell her what.

After a while, a couple of other kids who have had their turn with the ski boat, wander over to meet the new girl. I introduce Laurie to the several other girls and a couple of boys that I am familiar with then lay back to watch new connections form. It doesn’t take long for them to out me.

“Hey Laurie,” asks one girl, I think her name is Cindy. “did Jeri tell you that she is really a sixty year old man?”

Until they forget that little bit of information, it is doubtful that I will ever fit in.

Laurie looks at me with surprise. “No way!” she exclaims. “I may be new, but I’m not that stupid. There is no way that Jeri can be sixty years old, much less a guy.”

I sigh. Here goes another potential friendship.

“It’s almost true,” I reluctantly inform her. “I am sixty years old and I USED to be a guy. I am a girl now. No one knows why,” except for me and Sam I don’t tell anyone, “but is probably due to a freak accident I had last summer.”

She stares at me intently. “You are pulling my leg. I don’t buy it. There is no way.”

Several of the other kids emphatically assure her that it is true. I even drag out my latest driver’s license to show her my age. The fact that I even have a driver’s license freaks her out a little. The picture is of a slightly older version of my current self as I have regressed some since the picture was taken. It says that I am female.

“He used to be good friends with my grandparents,” Cindy informs her. “We’ve watched him transform over the last year. It’s freaky.”

“He’s a she now,” one of the boys points out. “and still getting younger, I think”

“Whatever,” Cindy dramatically rolls her eyes. “It’s still freaky.”

Laurie surprises me by giving me a supportive hug. “Poor girl! Now I see why you need a friend. I’m here for you.”

And thus my first peer friendship is launched.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_10

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Jeri finds a way to reassure her new peer group.

Chapter Ten: Proving the Point

Over the next month, Laurie boldly continues to be my friend in spite of my past. She works at helping me relate to twelve year olds and I do my best to fit in the role. Puberty is just hitting her and her curiosity about boys is pretty evident and we spend a fair amount of time talking about boys as I reassure her that they are just as nervous around her as she is around them. She has taken a shine to one boy in particular, Joey, and as we speculate about him, I find myself thinking he is cute as well. I am starting see boys differently now. I grin to myself when I make that realization. It is another huge step towards becoming who I’ve always wanted to be.

It turns out that her father does work for my former State agency and would have been in my division had I remained there. He had heard of my transition at work but was still surprised when I finally met him when Laurie invited me over for a sleepover with a couple of other girls. Her mother wanted to meet my parents, but after a bit of discussion, they finally settled for a rather lengthy discussion where they tried to determine my intentions concerning their daughter. It takes a while to convince them that I am not an old pervert in a young girl’s body.

The sleepover is fairly heavily regulated by the parents, but they tire long before the excited girls, leaving us to a girly giggle fest. I have a bit of difficulty relating as some of the things we do seem more than a little immature, but I do the best that I can.

I try to get into the silly games and Disney princess movies that the other girls are into. We play with each other’s hair as they try to show me things that I can do with my now longer hair. I find the hair exercise very educational and practical. It is also interesting and fun when you think of all the things a girl can do with her hair.

“So,” Cindy asks at one point as she works on my hair, “are you really all girl now? You look like it.”

We are sitting around in short nightgowns and panties and sort of watching the latest Disney princess movie as we attempt to braid and style each other’s hair with various hair accessories spread about.

“Almost,” I cautiously reply. I don’t want to scare them off. My penis is now gone, having become a bona fide clitoris. My outer lips look pretty much like any other girls, however the vaginal canal is still developing. From the outside I am formed like any other 11 year old girl.

“Yes,” I assure them that I am now a girl. They don’t need to know the finer details. “Do you know about chromosomes?” I ask them.

“Sure,” Cindy responds. A couple of other girls don’t appear to be too sure on the topic. Biology class is still in their future.

“Chromosomes are parts of our cells which have the genes that give us characteristics from our parents,” I inform them. “What color eyes, the shape of our noses, stuff like that. One set of chromosomes tell us whether or not we are a boy or a girl. Boys have XY chromosomes and girls have XX chromosomes. Medical science has not found a way to change those, but somehow all my former XY chromosomes have become XX chromosomes just like any other girl’s.”

“Yes, yes,” Cindy waves that off, “but are you like us down there?” she points at my panties. From all appearance my panty clad crotch is not any different than any of the others scattered around the room.

“Yes,” I reply with a blush.

“Did you have some kind of surgery?” she persists.

“No,” I squirm a little. “It’s all naturally me.”

“I want to see,” Cindy declares staring me in the eye with a challenge.

“Cindy!” several of the girls gasp at her boldness.

“Well?” she asks the other girls, “Aren’t you curious?”

“Sure,” Laurie replies, “but that is kinda personal, isn’t it?”

Sighing again, I realize this is the best way to put any rumors to rest. These girls will be sure to whisper the news to their other friends and it will spread like wildfire.

Without saying anything, I look around to make sure that it’s only us girls in the room, then slip off my panties and spread my legs as I sit on the floor. The external changes are pretty much complete. The remaining changes are internal with a little redistribution of body mass to match that of the girls.

There are gasps all around.

“Well?” I ask, “Am I girl enough for you, Cindy?”

She just nods her head in astonishment.

I quickly pull my panties back up and sit cross legged on the floor with the rest of them. That was embarrassing. It should, however, make them feel a little more comfortable around me. I imagine that word will spread to other curious people rather quickly.

“Can you get pregnant?” another girl asks in wonder.

I shrug my shoulders. “I suppose I will be able to if my growth rate changes direction. I am still getting younger rather than older, but not as quickly as I was a few months ago. I haven’t had a period.”

“I’ve had one,” Laurie proudly declares. “I had my first one a couple of weeks ago.”

This launches an intense discussion about feminine hygiene which takes the focus off my issues. Thank goodness! It seems that about half the girls present have already had this passage into womanhood and the others are nervous about it.

------< O >------

It would seem that the sleepover was a turning point in my relationship with my apparent age peer group. The girls took it all in stride and have finally accepted me as one of them. I have been included in several girl gatherings since then. The boys are a bit skittish still—I think that some of them fear that what “I have” might be contagious.

Now, eleven months after the accident I am eighty two pounds and five feet one and a quarter inches tall. My vaginal canal is pretty much completed and I look like any other skinny eleven to twelve year old girl. My suite of doctors are really scratching their heads over this. They have fully documented the transition but no solid theories have been developed which fully account for the process. I haven’t shared the divine influence as people are not very accepting of such possibilities.

Samantha continues to be mistaken for my mother and has become resigned to the situation. She is seems to be taking to the responsibility well. At times, I think that she gets into to the role too well. The other day, she threatened to ground me for coming in late without letting her know where I was.

“I worry about you,” she informed me. “I thought you were aware of the dangers to the physical wellbeing of a young girl out on her own this late. If you can’t be more careful I’ll have to put a curfew on you.”

Wow, that is a big step for her.

Talking of big steps, she has also been dating a really nice guy for the past couple of months. It would seem that his being a doctor is causing her some moral dilemmas.

She met him during one of my many visits to the medical profession and there appeared to be some kind of chemistry from first glance. She resisted his first few offers to go out, but eventually caved in after a few long discussions with her sisters-in-law… which is something else that surprises me. She and the sisters-in-law have become a lot closer in the past eleven months.

Anyway, in the past month Sam and Jack have spent every available moment together. When this first happened Samantha would come home and we’d talk about her conflicted moral issues. She really liked the guy but he was part of the medical establishment which is in direct odds to her holistic, nebulous, mother earth, spiritual and herbal healing hippie philosophy. This has caused her to do something she’s avoided like the plague—that is to consider things from a scientific data-driven approach. This undermines many of her pet ideas and she is uncomfortable with the results. Nevertheless, she is drawn to Jack in a way that cannot be ignored. She just needs to reexamine her outlook on the world and possibly make some changes.

I hope that she can do it!

To be fair, Jack has had to reexamine some of his fundamental beliefs as the result Sam’s insistent arguments that the medical community needs to be a bit more open minded.

I think that both of them are better for the experience.

I like him too. He’d be a great son-in-law. He seems to be having a hard time getting his head around the idea of having an 11-year old girl as a father-in-law.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_11

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! It's been a year since the accident and the changes are complete.

Chapter Eleven: It is Done

It is 5:00 am and I am sitting, alone, on the top of a local mountain watching the summer sunrise. Much like last year, I have felt a strong prompting to be here. It is almost feels like a summons.

Today is also the anniversary of my visitation and accident.

I have only lost a pound and a quarter inch in height during the last month--all of that in the first week. There has been no change in weight or height for three weeks. My fever and achiness have totally disappeared. According to height and weight charts, I am the average weight of an eleven year old girl and the average height of twelve and a half year old girl. We’ll just call me a skinny and tall twelve year old. As the rate of regression has just about stopped, I also seem to have finished my physical changes.

I also had my first period just in the past week. That plus the fact that my breasts are showing signs of early development have solidified my status as a girl and indicates that I am starting to move forward instead of regressing.

As the sun rises I hug my knees to my chest and recall all the events of the past year.

The accident was quite a shock but that was balanced by the resolution of all the problems which had been piling up. The aftermath has been nothing short of miraculous.

As promised by the angel, all my burdens, apparently including my gender challenges, have been resolved. Aileen and I have both been cleared of false charges. I am also a completely formed girl—there are no physical traces that I was ever male. The only thing that shows that I am anything but a twelve year old girl is my birth date.

I have a steady income for life (given that I am, physically, almost 50 years younger than last this time year, this is a sore spot for the retirement folks). Being debt free with substantial assets and a guaranteed income is something that few twelve year old girls can lay claim to. I am also making money from my web business, so there is no real financial worry for the future short of a general societal collapse.

Samantha has changed almost as much. She has reevaluated her life and found that she needs to be broader in her thinking and she is starting to realize that the world does not revolve around her. She has become less judgmental and has started to find fulfillment in responsibility. She came home late one evening a few weeks ago sporting a huge diamond engagement ring. She accepted Jack’s proposal of marriage but is scared of the huge change this will be in her life. In spite of her best intentions, she has fallen deeply in love with him. Hopefully this love will carry her through the changes she needs to go through. I firmly think that her visit with her deceased mother and the months of “taking care” of me have helped her to see the need for change.

My new peers have pretty much accepted me as one of them. In fact, several of the girls have been pressing me to join them in school when it starts up again in the fall. I am tempted to do it, just so that I can have that same teenage social experiences as the rest of the girls. I do find, however, that my life experiences cause me to be much more cautious about certian things than what these girls are. The start of budding breasts and the advent of my period have pretty much convinced all the girls that I am one of them. The boys still keep their distance, however.

It has been a momentous year and I am content.

“Hello Jeri,” a very familiar voice catches my attention.

I look up to see Aileen and a very handsome man coming my way. A closer look convinces me that this is the same guy who appeared to me last year. A strong sense of déjà vu hits me as I am aware that I am living a form of my dream of so many years ago.

“Hello Aileen.” I respond. “It is wonderful to see you again. I have missed you more than you can know!”

She smiles at me. “As you saw in a dream many years ago, our marriage was not to last. It was intended to prepare each of us for greater things. I want to thank you for preparing me to be the kind of person worthy of this great man.” She looks at her companion with love in her eyes has he hugs her close.

“You have always had the spirit of a woman and God made you a man on purpose. The purpose will become apparent as you progress through the rest of your life. You did an admirable job being what you were not. You have been true and faithful and are now rewarded with the opportunity to live your life as a woman but with an understanding that no man or woman has ever had. Your faith has made you whole. Your experiences have made you a much better person that you would have been had you been born female originally and has given you unique skills to do the Lord’s work that lies before you.”

“I am happy for you, Aileen.” I tell her sincerely. “I hope that we can still be the best of friends.”

“I believe that we will be,” she smiles back at me.

“I have been sent to tell you that your Heavenly Father is very pleased with you.

"He has much for you to do in the coming years. You have already greatly blessed the life of our wayward daughter. She will come around and become a great woman. You are to do much more that is good in the world.

“You are also in a position to provide guidance to your new peers. They will need it in the coming years if they are to fulfill their destinies. Stay close to them and be patient. One of your missions in life will be to nurture those around you in a way that will help them find God’s love and bring peace to their lives.

“You should also know that the physical changes you have been experiencing in the past year are complete. You are now a complete daughter of your Heavenly Father. You have much to learn and much to give. You have an exciting life ahead of you.”

“Thank you, Aileen.” I earnestly reply. “I love you and you have been my best friend. I just hope that I can find again what we had together and what you so obviously have now.”

“Oh, you will,” she smiles. “There is a boy out there for you. You will know when you find him. I have seen some of your future and I think that you will be quite happy with him. In the mean time, be patient and learn all that you can about being a woman worthy of a great companion.”

“Wonderful!” I give a joyous squeal. “Who is he?”

Aileen laughs, “That would be too easy and deprive you the fun of the search! Stay close to God and you will not miss your future husband when he comes along.

“That is all for now, Jeri” she tells me. “Have a great life and I’ll be here when it is time for you to return home. We will be the best of girl friends.”

“Please stay for a while longer” I plead, “there is so much I would like to know.”

She just smiles at me and takes the hand of her new man then fades from view.

I am left with a great sense of peace. It’s a relief to know that my prior life was not a mistake and that I had completed that part well.

I am so looking forward to my new life. I can hardly wait to see what is in store.

The End