Waking up to a new reality

Home for Christmas

Wednesday morning and Eric was woken early by the hustle and bustle of the ward outside coming to life. Needing to pee, and still a little tender between his legs, he carefully swung round and slid out of bed. Carefully making his way into the bathroom, he sat down on the toilet and relaxed every muscle that he could. To his surprise he managed to let his pee flow almost as soon as he was down - it wasn't that difficult after all.

When the nurse came in with some breakfast, Eric said that he had been to the toilet and had peed.

The nurse replied, "I'll finish the breakfast round and be right back to sort that out."

Off she went, while Eric ate his breakfast. Returning about fifteen minutes later, the nurse went into the toilet. A moment later she came out and said, "I'll get that on your chart. Another 225 millilitres – I think we can safely say that your water works are okay."

Eliza turned up early this morning. The conversation was definitely optimistic, with the prospect of Eric getting home today. But he was starting to feel nervous about getting out too, for he couldn't fathom out how her could explain his situation to his friends.

He said, "I was reading the internet last night and found diaries of people that had changed gender and some of their stories were not easy to read – some of them had really hard times when people found out."

Eliza: "I can't promise that it's always going to be plain sailing. From time to time there will be less understanding, or even hostile people, but because of your age I think that it will be easier for you – kids will soon forget that things were ever different."

Eric: "That reminds me; yesterday you said something strange – when I suggested that 'It's okay for you to say – you've never had to learn to pee again.'  You said 'No Eric, you're right I never had to learn to pee again, but. . .', you hesitated, as if you were going to say something else, but didn't.

After that, I started wondering why you specialised in gender issues?"

Eliza, "Well you're quite perceptive, aren't you? What you've realised is that anyone could have a secret past but there is no way to tell who has and who hasn't. But does it matter? It's who they are today that really matters."

Eric: "Sorry. I'm just curious."

Eliza: "Well Eric, just between you and I, and these four walls. You're quite right –I do have some personal experience in the area. It's no great secret, but I don't shout about it either."

Eric: "Can you tell me about your experiences – it gives me hope that things might work out?"

Eliza: "I usually listen to your thoughts, but if it helps.

Okay, so my story is a bit different from yours, but there are similarities. I was born on one of the islands; like you, my mum heard the words, 'It's a boy!' But I was different – I didn't know it until I started school and the other boys stood to pee. I had to use a cubicle and sit to pee, as my penis didn't work like other boys. Instead I had a pee hole tucked underneath. It was only when I left the island to go to secondary school, when I was your age, that I got diagnosed as being intersex when the school nurse examined me. It was a shock at first, but it explained why I was different and it was the first time I was able to talk about it. After a few years and many doctors examinations, I made my mind up who I wanted to be. My experiences are why I became a doctor and then psychotherapist specialising in gender issues."

Eric: "But how did you tell friends that you were now a girl and how did they react? I've started to worry about that."

Eliza: "That's maybe where our stories differ most. There was no medical emergency, in my case, so nobody would consider operating on me until I was eighteen. I left school as Neil and started university three months later as Eliza. I chose a university far from home, where there was little chance of meeting anyone I knew. But I still had to go home to a small tight knit island community where I had left as a boy – interestingly the thought of going back was much worse than the reality. It was surprising just how accepting most people were. Even the most set in their way seemed to understand when it was explained that it was a medical condition, not diagnosed in my childhood that needed action for my health."