My surgery is scheduled for this morning, and I’m scared; very scared, actually! I remember how I, as a little boy, fell and hurt my knees and elbows. Then mum would blow on it to make the pain go away, and it did! Now she can’t blow and make the pain go away, and I’m scared it’ll hurt so much I can’t stand it. However, Dr. Standish has promised me he’ll do everything he can to minimize it. I suspect I’ll have to take strong painkillers for a while, but I don’t mind; not if it means we get the result we want. I just hope she will then allow me to wear trousers sometimes; girls nowadays do.
I’ve got a lovely frilly white blouse hanging in my closet, which would go perfectly together with a pair of my boy-jeans! Not on a school-day, of course, but maybe on a weekend. A tightly strapped belt around the waist, and I think they’ll still fit me, although being corseted for so long has changed my figure. If not, I’ll just have to buy some that do fit.
The door opened and the nurse came into the room.
“Right, young lady,” she said in a cheerful voice, “are you ready? ‘Cause here we go!” She grabbed the foot-end and manoeuvred the bed out of the door.
I have now been home for a couple of weeks. Dr. Standish was right; it doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I thought it would, even though he performed so many surgeries, in such short time.
The other night, when mum diapered me for the first time as a girl, she asked me if I regretted having gone through this whole thing.
“Of course I don’t!” I answered. “The only concern I have is how you’re going to be able to pay all the hospital-bills?”
She smiled down at me, as I lay there on the changing table. “Don’t you worry about that; it’s all been taken care of.”
Now, I was curious: “Oh; by who?”
“You’ll meet him tomorrow,” mum said, as she lifted me off the table and smoothed out my night-gown. “And it’s ‘by whom’, not ‘by who’. I thought you learned proper English in school?”
“Mm we do, but right now I’m too tired to think about how I speak!” I said, covered my mouth and yawned.
“O.K then, off to bed! I’ll bring your bottle.”
“Thanks mum,” I said and gave her a smile and a hug, “for everything!”
“You’re most welcome, dear!” she replied.
I guess she came back with the bottle, but by then I was fast asleep.
“So; where’s little brat?” I heard a vaguely familiar voice say. It was early the next morning, and I had just got dressed. I put my head in my hand. ‘Please don’t let it be him!’ I begged; but of course it was my uncle Stewart. He is a man who is deeply despised by everyone in my family except, for some reason, by my mum. He is loud-mouthed and rude, and has never cared about if, and who, his comments may hurt.
Instead of answering, my mum opened the door to my bed-room and told me to join them.
When I entered the room, uncle Stewarts jaw dropped.
“Is that really Luke?” he stuttered. He walked around me, having a close look at everything; from my low-heeled black patent-leather shoes with their silver-and-rhinestone buckles, my sheer white tights, ¾ length long sleeved, green velvet skirt with tulle petticoats, to my shoulder-length blonde hair, with its fringe that had been cut off in a straight line, just above my eyebrows.
I curtseyed deeply as mum had taught me, and politely said: “Yes uncle, it is really me. But my name was changed to Lulu after the procedure.”
Uncle stood in front of me, looking stunned.
“He really does look and sounds like a girl! And all this has happened in less than a year, you say?”
“He looks and sounds like a girl, because he is a girl; and have been since mid-August. The surgery was the only thing that remained to make the transition complete.”
“How do you like it then?” he asked me. “Any regrets?”
I looked him straight in the eyes, and emphatically said: “None whatsoever, uncle! I love being a girl, even though I didn’t think I would, when we started this journey.”
“You are an amazing kid; you know that, don’t you?” uncle said. He looked at mum:” Well, Greta, what’s next on the agenda for this remarkable young woman?”
“I’m planning to send her to a one-week camp this Christmas, just to see if she behaves the way I want her to, even if I’m not there to keep a constant eye on her. Have you got any suggestions as to where to send her?”
“No, I haven’t,” he said, looking thoughtful. “However, I do have a friend who runs a boarding-school for young ladies, like Lulu. By that I mean boys who have been through the same thing Lulu has. I think it would be good for her to have someone else to talk to. I know she has got you, but sometimes there are things you need to talk to strangers about to get the proper perspective. And besides, she’d get a heck of a lot more training being a girl there, than she would on a one-week camp!”
When he saw mum getting ready to protest, probably saying we couldn’t possibly afford such a school, he raised his hand.
“Money, we can talk about later. Let’s get this lovely young lady off to school first.”
“Thank you, uncle,” I said and gave him a big hug.
At first, he looked perplexed; then he hugged me back.
“Don’t thank me yet, honey,” he whispered into my hair. “It's going be a very hard time for you, believe me.”