Monday, September 16
Wow.... What a great weekend! I was really, really sad to switch to boy mode for school, and was already sure the day would suck in so many ways.
Our school is really progressive in a lot of ways, with most kids coming from upscale but semi-liberal families. However, everyone wears uniforms. In warm weather, the boys wear khakis and white golf shirts with the school logo, and are supposed to wear conservative shoes. Girls have the option of wearing the same (of course with "girl golf shirts", buttoning the opposite direction and cut differently) and khaki pants or khaki skirts (not too short!) with optional white knee socks. In the cold weather, everyone switches to white long-sleeved oxford shirts (again, with the school logo) and blazers.
Of the girls, about a third always wear pants (sometimes called the butches'), about a third always wear skirts (the girly girls'), and about a third switch up depending on the mood. There's no hard and fast rule on skirt length, but there's a pecking order. Girls up thru 9th grade wear skirts knee-length. Tenth-graders generally hem their skirts up about 2 inches, 11th graders another two inches, and 12th grade girls wear skirts a full 6 inches above the knee! The administration tries to overlook this, but if any of the senior girls pushes it too far, she can get sent home.
Last year, when I was in the 8th grade, boys protested that girls get to wear skirts but boys have to wear long pants even in really hot weather. Some guy found a loophole in the rules and wore a skirt to school. Within about a week, half of the guys were wearing skirts in protest -- mainly the jocks! (I think some of their girlfriends loaned them some skirts for the occasion.). The administration stood their ground, and the guys eventually realized that wearing skirts wasn't all it was cut out to be.
I'm writing all this down so I'll remember it in 50 years. I dunno why it matters now. Today I've got to deal with the simple fact of being in my third week of the 9th grade, which is hell on earth whether you're a boy or a girl. Maybe it's worse for girls. I dunno yet.
Anyway, I got dressed in my ugly boy clothes, but with a cute pair of panties underneath to remind me of the weekend, and was about to head downstairs for B'fast when Mom called me to her room. We were running really early, so we had a while to kill.
"We never worked on your fingernails this weekend. You still have short boy nails, and next weekend, if they're starting to grow out, we may want to paint them. I'd suggest a light pink to match your lip gloss, plus deep colors are hard to get off on Monday morning. Anyway, in the meantime, you should be wearing a clear nail hardener to help your nails grow longer. Sit down and spread out your fingers and I'll show you how to apply this."
Mom really looked like she was having huge fun playing dress-up. I was her dress-up doll, and it was fun for me, too. But still, she seemed to be w-a-a-a-a-y more into it than I could ever have hoped.
She reached in her vanity drawer and pulled out a bottle of clear nail hardener. "Girls in our family have soft nails," she said. "As your nails grow out, this will help keep them strong and prevent chipping." She applied the clear polish in long, practiced strokes, and it felt really interesting and different going on. "You should probably clean and remove this ever other day and replace it. On the weekends, a good nail polish will suffice."
"Will I feel this all day?" I asked.
She said, "You know, I've been wearing something on my nails for so long, I don't even notice anymore, but yes, you'll probably feel it until you get used to it."
I did a quick count of my "girl stuff" I was wearing. I now had clear nail gloss, the little stud earrings (although hidden under my "boy combed" hair), the panties, and the cute watch I bought at the mall Saturday which was really girly but could pass as a boy's watch, maybe.
Mom then pulled out the cherry chapstick she'd bought for me and said, "Remember to put this on to keep your lips nice and moist. I'd also suggest starting to use a moisturizer on your face and hands in the morning and evening. I'll get you a good one at the store today."
"Oh, and one more thing," she said, "don't make any plans for after school. I'm going to try to get you in to see that doctor that Martha suggested yesterday."
"Huh? A doctor? Why???"
"Well, for one thing, Martha suggested Dr. Preston. You remember? While you were back in the dressing room the last time, she gave me all the details. He's both a counselor and a medical doctor, and sees a lot of patients with gender dysphoria."
"Gender WHAT?"
"Gender dysphoria. It means that there is a disconnect between your birth gender and your perceived gender. Think of it like a spectrum. Some people are just fine with their birth-gender. Some people -- men and women --- really perceive themselves as the opposite of how they were born. A lot of people fall somewhere in the middle. Plus, it's different from sexual orientation, although there is a fair amount of overlap."
"So, what do you expect him to do for me?"
"We'll just have to find out, sweetheart. I'm guessing he'll want to interview you and maybe do some hormone tests. That's just a guess based on what Martha said. Anyway, I'll call him today and see if we can get you in."
I almost wish she hadn't said anything. I spent most of the day thinking about what was going to happen at the doctor's office. As usual, in between classes, and at lunch, I hung out with the girly-girls, who have basically thought of me as an effeminate gay boy as long as anyone knew what that meant. They marveled at my new haircut, and Bree (I have to remember she's going by "Brianne" this year!) even said that if I combed it differently, I'd look like a girl! (I'm pretty sure she meant it as a compliment.). They saw the ear studs, and I told them, yes, I decided to get those at Claire's this weekend. They thought the studs were cute, and Emma-red (not to be confused with Emma-brunette) even said I should try switching to small hoops when the time came. I was really happy that this was going really well until 5th period when an announcement came over the loudspeaker for me to report to the office.
I've spent eight years in this school -- now nine -- doing everything I could to avoid "the office." Nothing good ever came from "the office". But, I got there and Mom was there busily chatting with Ms. Weston, the headmistress, about whatever adults talk about.
Mom turned to me and said, "Dr. Preston wants to see you, and can only fit you in at 2pm. Let's go now and we can make it."
Ms. Weston got all serious and asked, "Oh my, Maggie, I hope this isn't anything serious."
Mom said, "Oh no, Jean. I think Chris is probably just fine. Chris had the before-school checkup and all his shots back in August, but he may be having some... oh... hormonal problems. Boys have those too, you know."
It was a little weird to hear Mom and Ms. Weston on a first name basis. It was even weirder to hear them talk about me. Then Ms. Weston added, "OK. I'm glad to hear. I hope it's just nothing. You know, when you've been a teacher and headmistress as long as I have, you've seen everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING. I promise you, Chris won't be the first boy with hormone problems."
Mom just nodded, and finished with, "I'll bet you have seen everything, Jean. I'll bet your have."
Dr. Preston's office was downtown near the main hospital. Mom didn't say much on the ride over, so I asked her, "What should I say to the doctor?"
She simply said, "Be yourself. Let him ask the questions."
We spent only a few minutes in the waiting room. Mom did some insurance stuff and forms with the receptionist, and sat back down. There was one other patient in there -- a middle aged woman slightly taller than average but otherwise looking like any of the mothers at my school. She went back first, and didn't stay long. From the sound of it, she was just getting some kind of regular shot. We got called back, and the physician's assistant told me to take off my shoes and climb up on the scales. She did all the normal physical exam, including blood pressure and temperature and pulse and pulse oxygen and said everything looks like a normal 14 year old. I caught that the last time I was in a doctor's office, the PA said something like, "normal 14 year old boy." I wondered if that had any significance.
After a few minutes, Dr. Preston came in and introduced himself to my Mom, and then to me. He looked at my chart a bit, and then looked at me dead in the eye, saying, "So, are you a boy or a girl?"
I was struck by this. I didn't really have a good answer. I said, "I don't know."
He smiled and made some notes. I blurted out, "Was that the right answer?"
He just laughed and said, "There isn't a right answer'. It's either boy or girl or I don't know'. Which ever one you answer points us in a different direction. Now, I have a blank spot to fill in on my chart. You help me here. Should I write Chris' or Christy'?"
Without blinking I blurted out, "Christy."
He said, "Ahhh... now we have two pieces of information, don't we?" He then turned to my mom and said, "Ms. Dancer..."
She interrupted with, "You can call me Margaret if you like. My friends call me Maggie."
Dr. Preston continued, "Maggie, then, would you please excuse Christy and I for a few minutes. I'd like to talk with her alone."
Mom just nodded and left for the waiting room. Dr. Preston seemed like a really nice man, and he put me at ease pretty quickly. "Now Christy," he said, "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and some of these are going to seem rather technical and blunt, but I need to ask them in a particular way, and in a particular order. You seem like a bright young person. I'm sure you can handle this, but we're going to be rather clinical for starters, OK?"
I just nodded, and he went on. "Christy, do you feel more comfortable in a girl role or a boy role?"
I said, "Well, Dr. Preston, it's not that simple. I hang out with girls at school, and I really only have one close male friend, Jason, and everyone seems to accept me more as an effeminate `boy' than as a masculine boy. I'm not happy doing traditional boy things, and really spend most of my time doing what seems to be girl stuff."
He just nodded and made more notes. "How long has this been going on?"
"As long as I can remember. I've always felt uncomfortable in boy roles. I didn't enjoy most sports, except for soccer, which I played on a co--ed team. I tried cub scouts and didn't like it at all. Mom sent me to some really liberal summer camps, where she thought I'd be accepted, and I spent nearly all of my time swimming or in crafts, and really didn't go for any of the macho stuff the other boys would do. When I was in a boys cabin, all of the other boys were gross. I tried to stay neat and organized, but they just threw clothes everywhere and hardly ever showered accept at swim time. I didn't like showering in front of them, and always showered late at night while the other boys were horsing around."
He wrote a lot of notes on that, and then said, "This is going to be very personal, but how do you feel about your genitalia? How do you feel being naked in the shower room with other boys?"
"I don't like it," I said. "I'm very uncomfortable with my body around boys. By myself, I don't think about it very much, really."
"Do you masturbate?"
I winced, and said, "No."
"How do you feel about women's bodies? Do you think about them? Do you think about women naked?"
"Ahhh... I dunno how to say this. This is going to sound terrible..."
Dr. Preston said, "Christy, there are no `terrible' answers here. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to help."
"Ok. I watch a little bit of porn, on--line, and I find myself wishing I was the girl in the scenes."
He nodded, and said, "That's not really what I'm after, but it's OK. It helps me understand where you sit on the sexuality spectrum as well. No, I'm wondering if you wish your body would develop like your sister's or your mother's or your girlfriends at school."
"I don't have any girl friends' at school. There are girls, and there are girls who are friends of mine, but I've never had a girlfriend' and never really thought of having one. I don't think girls look at me that way. But yeah, some of the girls my age are starting to fill out and look more feminine and have curves, and they're able to wear really nice, feminine clothes and flirt with boys and have girl emotions, and I really wish I was like them."
"Your mother said this all got started last week when she found you wearing some of her lingerie, is that right?"
"It didn't get started that way. I've been dressing in hers and Becky's clothes for a long time, probably ever since Becky went off to college and I could get away with it without getting caught."
The conversation went on for another fifteen minutes or so, asking pretty much the same questions but in different ways, and then he buzzed the reception desk for Mom to come in. As soon as she was in, he turned to her and said, "Ms. Dancer, ahh... sorry... Maggie...Christy and I need to meet at least once a week for a while. Please make an appointment for next week. In the meantime, I want to get some fasting bloodwork done, including a urine test. Please make an appointment with the lab -- the receptionist will give you the info. This should be a fasting blood draw, so you might want to make it early in the morning before Christy has breakfast. For now, I'd continue with her `presenting' as a boy at school, but let her conform to her female gender identity to the extent she wants at home. Does that make sense to you two?"
Mom nodded, and I agreed. Mom made the appointment for Thursday, and called the school to let them know I'd be late that day. Ms. Weston came on the line to make sure I was OK, and Mom told her it was OK but that the doctor just wanted to make sure.
We got home, and I quickly changed into my new swimsuit. Like that, I looked in the mirror and went from Chris to Christy. I spent the afternoon swimming, taking care to wear sufficient sunscreen to avoid a nasty burn. Near dinner, I went in and changed into my bra, a cropped t-shirt, and shorts, and settled in for a nice evening in front of the TV. Mom found some rom-coms on one of the pay channels, and I closed my eyes and quietly began imagining I was Reece Witherspoon.
Sigh...