work...

I was thinking about my journey in terms of work.  It makes me smile now to think how things used to be.


In my first job when I left university I worked with people with learning disabilities.  I expressed my gender identity through the radical step of wearing pink nail varnish.  I was told not to because it might upset some of the parents. My boss at the time said to me that if I was a nudist I wouldn't go around nude at work and it was the same with this.


When I got another job at Maidstone Borough Council I went and bought a suit from a charity shop - there was no way I was going to pay a lot of money for such an unsavoury item.  I wore that suit pretty much every day for about a year.  What a horrible thing to have to do - for me.  No wonder I used to be drunk most of the time.  Eventually the trousers wore out - as Becca pointed out when she saw the little white flowers on my knickers as I went upstairs.  
I always wore girl underwear at least...!


I bought another suit - with a waistcoat... ooh very flash.  I used to think I'd just wear a suit at work and dress how I wanted outside - that shouldn't be so difficult to do.  It seemed necessary seeing as I was told I'd be sent home if I came to work wearing a skirt.


In 2005 I had the first of the two 'I can't take this any more' moments of my life.  That time it was wearing men's clothes - the second time it was being a man at all.  So I decided to stop wearing them altogether - my plan being to subtly introduce girly clothes over time so no one would really notice.


It was summer, I remember, so the first day I wore a man's shirt untucked with the usual trousers, no tie, and flip flops.   Probably I had toenails painted in clear nail varnish and maybe a little bit of makeup.  At the time it seemed enormously radical and there was some comment about it - some raised eyebrows.   


Gradually I wore more girly tops and trousers and a bit more make up.  Some people misunderstood the change of direction and I had comments like 'you look like you've been to a jumble sale' - because I think they could handle it  being informal rather than girly, you know?


I had a pair of boots with a small heel - I wore them and people were actually bought over to see such a bizarre thing.  It was that novel.  Look, look at what Jay is wearing  (I hadn't adopted the 'e' at the end of my name at that stage).


Eventually, after about a year, a decided to take the plunge and wear a skirt to work.  It was the elephant in the room - I'd gone so far, surely it was stupid not to do it.  


Now I can see looking back times when I've been scared and brave - times I'm proud of.  I think I've been brave more times than I've backed away - I'd like to think so...   That day when I first wore a skirt to work was probably the bravest I have ever been and I am fiercely proud of it.  Because I know how scared I was.


When I got to work I ducked straight into the loo (still the GENTS loo at that stage!) and hid in the cubicle.  I was nearly puking with fear - it was awful.  Every fibre of my being didn't want to go into that office but I fucking did it.


And it was fine.


After that I wore whatever I wanted really.  It was funny how people thought it acceptable to criticise what I wore or offer their unasked for opinions in the rudest way.  Like I'd get ' now I wouldn't have worn that skirt with those shoes' or whatever.


Maybe I did make some fashion mistakes because of my naivety - I don't think I wore anything mad but it was a steep learning curve.  It's no excuse for rudeness.


I think it was strange so people kind of forgot the usual 'rules' of conduct.  And I seemed to be putting myself out there by being openly eccentric or weird - I was asking for a comment.  Maybe they even felt it was rude to NOT say something or offer an opinion.


None of this happens now at work - so I can see that it wasn't normal.  But then it wasn't a normal situation.  It's funny though that after all that some people I work with were utterly amazed when I announced my intention to transition fully.  For fucks sake - what did they think the skirts and makeup and heels were all about?????   I think they thought it was funny old Jay(e) being crazy.  When actually it was funny old Jaye just trying to be normal.


Now it's good though - apart from a couple of people who won't look me in the eye, but they are outnumbered by loads of wonderful, supportive, lovely, glorious people.


I've got to where I am now because I was brave, sure, but I couldn't have been brave without my angels.  Not the heavenly kind - just the kind who work for Maidstone Borough Council ... they'll do for me.




























  

How do you make a hormone?

...don't pay her, according to the joke of old.  Terrible.


Anyway, I am in celebratory mood (hence the fireworks) because I have made a big step in my journey - I am finally taking hormones.  I don't suppose anything amazing is going to happen in the next three months of me being on Progynova 2 mg - but that's OK because I need a low dose at first.  Otherwise you develop very small, not nice boobies.   


The development needs to be slow and gradual - like you'd get at puberty really, which is basically what's going to happen.  Not that I'm going to end up with a big old massive pair, but I should have something at last.


But it's not all about boobs - the hormones should eventually slow down unwanted hair growth, make the wanted hair (like, on my head) softer and make my skin nice and soft and girly.  Also I should put on some weight on my hips and bum and eventually just look a bit more like a girl because of fat redistribution in my face.  When you look at a TS whose been taking HRT for some time you can see this effect, their features are softer.


They will increase the dose after three months, at which time I will have the first injection to combat the enemy forces (testosterone).


I have wanted this for a long time and I feel, well, pretty happy about it.  Which is good, because I don't feel happy about things that are happening all that much - more about things that have happened.


I carefully read the leaflet that came with my tablets - basically it's all directed at women going through the menopause so I think I can disregard the stuff about unusual spotting.


I absolutely never have trouble with my periods - it's a gift.


There's nothing else to say really - I am just happy.  That's all.

Freddie's Dad

Ten years ago, when Becca said that she really wanted to have a baby, one of my first thoughts was if it was fair.  On the baby I mean.  Even back then I knew that things were going to get complicated for me, and I just wondered if someone like me should be a parent.   You know - someone 'different' ?


Anyway, we decided to go for it and Freddie was born on the 10th January 2001.


Becca had to have an emergency caesarean so she was still out of it when they came and gave Freddie to me. I can't say I was filled with the wonderful awestruck feelings of parenthood, fatherhood, or anything else - I was just a bit stunned that yes, it was real, it had actually happened.  And I was just massively aware of my own ignorance about how to look after a baby.


Turns out that was no problem - I think it's actually better to approach the whole thing with no pre-conceived ideas (no pun intended) and me and Becca did just fine, I think.  Sure Freddie rolled off the coffee table on my watch but he was OK - babies are quite bouncy.


But was it fair?  I knew he'd get into problems at school because of me - your dad is a girl, yada yada...


Actually that hasn't really happened... yet.  There's been a few things, questions, but Freddie is very popular with lots of friends so it seems to be OK.  We'll keep an eye on it.


I'm sure there will be problems one day - we'll just stand together as a family and shout about it.  Because that's what all bullies hate - when you make a noise.


Where we are at now :  Freddie sees me as liking 'girl stuff' and wanting to be a girl.  He has said 'I wish you liked boy stuff' - of course he has.  And he's said he wished I wasn't like this - of course he has said that too.


But me and him are close, really close.  I've always been there from day one when they first gave him to me, me and Becca have always been equal parents in terms of giving him attention - and when Freddie is scared in the night he shouts 'Daddy'.


We tried to think of other things for him to call me because people stare at us when we're out.  I tried to discourage him from calling me that and get him to call me 'jaye' or 'mum' or something.


But recently I've realised that whatever happens to me in the future I AM Freddie's DAD and I've always been that.  I always will be.  And I'm proud of that fact and I don't want that to change.  So I'm not going to ask him to not call me Dad any more. 


When he remembers he says 'she' and 'her' when talking about me - so it's 'what shall I get Dad for her birthday?'... if people can't handle that contradiction that's their problem.  I don't even see the contradiction.  I am his Dad, I was obviously a boy when he was born, now I'm a girl.  I changed - but I'm still his Dad.  It's not that complicated.


Anyway, this morning he gave me a father's day card he made - there's a picture of it above.  That tells me everything I need to know.


Also today we kicked a ball around.  I do that - just like other Dad's.  But unlike them I do it with a long skirt hiked up and ballet flats that go flying in the air when I kick the ball.   And when that happened Freddie just laughed and laughed...





















































































  

My big letter...

I have been jumping at the postbox every day for the last month waiting for my letter from the clinic  (it was sent to my GP - I requested a copy).  Today it finally arrived and I am delighted!  Finally something has happened after all the waiting - now I just have to organise my hormone treatment with the GP, so hopefully it really shouldn't be long till I start (hence pic).


I thought those of you who follow my adventure might be interested in what it said so here is an edited version  (I've taken out the personal bits - even I'm not that much of a publicity whore - ha ha) : 


I saw the above named in the Gender Identity Clinic on the 20th May 2010 where she said 'I am here to carry on with my transition'.


Family history is probably well known to you, parents are alive and well as are the patent's two older brothers.  This patient is married with a son of 9.  There is said to be no family history of illness, suicide or homosexuality.


Medical history is significant for a fractured wrist but very little else.  It is not my impressions that this patient has Klinefelter's Syndrome as she seems too bright and also doesn't have a female carrying angle.


She is on no prescribed medication, doesn't smoke, drinks within a safe limit and doesn't take any illicit drugs.


Her psychiatric history began at the age of 5 when she wouldn't void and she also saw a psychiatrist when she was aged 20 at university when she had panic attacks.  More recently she has seen a counsellor in association with gender identity issues.


She has a reasonably wide and supportive circle of friends and has been married since 1997 to a wife who is not too upset by her change of gender role.  


This patient derives her finances from her job, she works for Maidstone Borough Council in the Rates and Revenues Department and has worked in female clothes since 2005 and in a clearly and officially female role since July 2008.


She live with her wife and son in mortgaged accommodation which is suited to their needs.


Considering gender development she first cross-dressed at 13 wearing her mother's underwear and did so fairly steadily thereafter being caught by her mother and soundly told off.


She first bought her own female clothes at the age of 18 and first went out cross dressed at the same age when she went for a nocturnal walk.


She first went out in daylight cross dressed at the age of 23 when she went shopping with her wife.  Her cross dressing appears to have been sexual until she was aged about 18 years but not since.


She was born in Chatham to a father who was a builder and a mother who was a housewife, both being Evangelical Christians.  She was a quiet, shy oddball at school but came into her own when she joined pop groups from the age of 16 although she achieved no commercial success.


She left school at 18 with some A levels and went to Greenwich University studying Sociology in which she got an upper second degree, the only one in her class to do so.  She then worked with intellectually disabled adults for three years before moving to her current job.


When I saw her she was markedly thin with a height of 5ft 11in and a weight of 9st 3 and a half pounds.  This gives her a body mass index of 18.1, just below the bottom end of normal.  She had a pronounced thyroid cartilage but otherwise presented well in a female role.  When I asked her what she wanted she said she was enthusiastic to receive hormone treatment and a thyroid cartilage shave and ultimately gender reassignment surgery and a Gender Recognition Certificate.


With regard to diagnosis, I would see her as somebody with secondary transsexualism arising out of a background of initially fetishistic and subsequently dual role transvestism.


With regard to the thyroid cartilage shave this would appear very much to be indicated and I am happy to support a referral in this regard which will be made to the ENT surgeons at Charing Cross Hospital.  It is also appropriate for her to be treated with oestrogens and I would be grateful if she could be given Estradiol Valerate (Progynova) at a dose of 2mgs a day rising after three months to 2mgs twice a day.  


In concert with this she needs to be given a gonadotrophin releasing hormone analogue and I would recommend Decapeptyl at a dose of 11.25 mgs every three months which is to say precisely the dosage and regime used in prostate cancer.


Please note that for the first two weeks of this treatment there needs to be additional dosing with Cyproterone Acetate at a dose of 50mgs a day in order to offset the initial androgen flare that accompanies the onset of treatment with a gonadotrophin releasing hormone analogue and which is followed by a precipitated decrease in native androgen production.  Accordingly the Cyproterone Acetate shouldn't continue after the first two weeks as prolonged use can be associated with depression, lethargy, fatigue and deranged liver function tests.


We aim with this patient to achieve a serum oestradiol level of between 400 and 600 and the dose should be increased by 2mgs aliquots at three monthly intervals until this is achieved.


We wouldn't consider this patient as a candidate for surgery until she has stabilised on a hormone regime which gives exactly the same hormonal effect as would pertain after gender reassignment surgery since it will be better for her to find out in advance of this surgery whether this situation is one she is happy with.

Secrets and Lies

Families eh?  Someone I know is having very bad trouble with their family - it makes you think about the whole thing.  


We've all got one.  You can choose your friends but not your family - that's certainly true.  And your friends don't love you from any kind of obligation or desire to replicate their DNA strand.


In sociology you talk about the 'nuclear' and 'extended' family.  The nuclear family is so called, I suppose, because an atom consists of some electrons circling a nucleus of protons and neutrons - mum, dad and kids then?  


My nuclear family would be my mum and dad and two brothers.  My mum had me pretty late by the standards of 1974, when she was 39.  My brothers were nearly adults when I was born so there is a big age gap.  Consequently I've always looked up to them and hero-worshipped them a bit, but I've never really been important enough in their world for them to pay much attention.


Boo hoo - poor me.  It's just the thing with families isn't it - these dynamics of sadness and regret and longing.  Now they have a sister so the dynamic is going to change somewhat.  Not sure how much they've thought about that.  


They are good though - supportive.  Just a little..er... distant.


My relationship with my mum and dad is good though - in fact my relationship with my mum gets better and better, after years of arguments about that whole 'transgender' thing.  We hug now - which is pretty remarkable, believe me.  AND she offered to lend me a petticoat because my dress was see-through.  Wow!


You do have to think about how you'll feel when they're gone - especially when they are in their 70s, as my parents are.  I don't want to regret what I did and didn't do.  


But some parents are just not there, or are downright abusive, and all you can do is surround yourself with other people, other families.  Alternative families. Strange quark families, maybe.  The people I love are my family - sometimes we are related, sometimes they are in my life for a few weeks, sometimes a day, maybe forever - but all the time I love them, they are my family, and I love them all the time.


An excellent film about families is Mike Leigh's superb 'Secrets and Lies'.  The title sums up what a lot of families are like - as does one character's almost Shakespearian soliloquy towards the end of the film : 


'Secrets and lies!  We're all in pain... why can't we share our pain...?'


I won't tell you the story if you haven't seen it but I can only say it means a lot to me as a depiction of the problems families have and, ultimately, the love that keeps them together.


It's also extremely funny.  Watch it.  And let it be a gateway to the wonderful work of the greatest British film-maker alive :  Mike Leigh.  That's another blog though...
















  

I must tear down the wall...

This is the album 'Leftoverture' by the band Kansas.  It's an album I return to again and again - always to listen to the whole thing, never just one track.  You know how you have to do that with some albums?


I'm kind of pleased that this album, which I love so much, is a bit obscure - it's not a 'Dark Side of the Moon' or 'Night at the Opera' - you never hear it talked about when people remember the heyday of progressive rock, although it's a supreme example of that genre.


When describing it you have to use words like 'sweeping' and 'majestic' - although 'pompous', 'cheesy', 'bonkers' and 'beautiful' also spring to mind.  It's full of strange 'Moog' moments and songs are quite likely to include unexpected polkas or violin flourishes.  The production is crisp and clear throughout the swirling, joyful madness - you can hear absolutely every instrument, the hum of the Moog and the squeak of the strings.


It's particularly unusual,I think, because it's such an optimistic and spiritual record.  Most of the songs seem to be about some kind of personal journey of discovery - in fact the theme is 'redemption' I suppose, something I always find appealing.  It's odd to me that rock music doesn't often venture into this area because it actually suits it really well.  The thrill of the volume and the hugeness of it - it perfectly describes how we reach towards something higher. 


Anyway, the song that means most to me on the record is 'The Wall' - because it so perfectly describes my journey.  'The Wall' is everything that would stop me reaching my goal - it's my fear, it's other people's opinions, it's inside me and outside.  But I can tear down the wall.  Have a read of the lyrics and I'm sure you'll see what I mean : 

I'm woven in a fantasy, I can't believe the things I see
The path that I have chosen now has led me to a wall
And with each passing day I feel a little more like something dear was lost
It rises now before me, a dark and silent barrier between,
All I am, and all that I would ever want be
It's just a travesty, towering, marking off the boundaries my spirit would erase

To pass beyond is what I seek, I fear that I may be too weak
And those are few who've seen it through to glimpse the other side,
The promised land is waiting like a maiden that is soon to be a bride
The moment is a masterpiece, the weight of indecision's in the air
Standing there, the symbol and the sum of all that's me
It's just a travesty, towering, blocking out the light and blinding me
I want to see

Gold and diamonds cast a spell, it's not for me I know it well
The treasures that I seek are waiting on the other side
There's more than I can measure in the treasure of the love that I can find
And though it's always been with me, I must tear down the Wall and let it be
All I am, and all that I was ever meant to be, in harmony
Shining through and smiling back at all who wait to cross
There is no loss

If it makes you happy...

... it can't be that bad - if it makes you happy then why the hell are you so sad?


Wise words there from Sheryl Crow - a profound sentiment actually because there is so much which we believe will make us happy but which in fact ... doesn't.


There's barely anything I can think of which could make me happy unreservedly.  At the moment it seems as if the near and promised hormone treatment is the answer - and I'm sure it will make me happy.  But even then the effect will probably be less than I want - or too slow - or something else.


Or maybe - as often happens with happiness - I'll just get used to it, take it for granted and yearn for other changes.


Happiness is like that - it seems to me.  You can't plan it, you can't schedule it.  When it does happen you often don't even realise it - only afterwards does it become clear, in the memory.


That was what interested Proust so much - he believed all pleasures couldn't be experienced directly, but would rather be developed afterwards in the 'dark room' of the mind.  Makes a lot of sense.


He was in good company.  Questions of happiness have occupied thinkers and philosophers since the whole thing started - much more so than the spurious line of enquiry - 'what's the meaning of life?'.  Which is surely a theological question if anything.


Certainly happiness has crept up on me now and again, and I see those moments clearly now.  Walking to school when I'd just started my A-levels, just one morning, chasing Freddie in the turbine hall at Tate Modern, getting drunk with friends, slipping a dress over my head in the changing room and thinking, hotly, yes it fits - and I'm going to buy it!


Being, becoming, a woman has made me happy.  And sad.  Every step has made me positively, definitely happier.  But right now I'm sad.  And you can't help but think - if it makes you happy, why the hell are you so sad?


The answer is, I suppose, that happiness is hard won.  You have to squeeze it from a nettle.  It hurts to get happy.  And when it comes you don't realise it.  But then sometimes you do - and we live for those moments don't we?