This is a story about having a second chance to be the person you were meant to be.

The traffic on the north circular was hell as usual. Typical London traffic. Everyone angry, everyone just trying to get home. No one giving an inch. It had been gridlocked for half an hour. I had promised my wife that by some miracle I would be home earlier than my normal 7pm to take her out to her favourite restaurant for her birthday.

Even if the traffic started to move, I would never make it back to Ware by seven. I felt my pulse quicken. Then the pain in my chest started again. I had been putting it down to indigestion. Like many men I thought it would just go away on its own.

I edged forward, then felt the impact from behind. Fucking hell, this will take ages to sort out! Beth will be mad. I hate letting people down. My boss told me that’s why my customers like me. I put them first. I put everyone first I had been told by many people.

I got out of the car and saw a red-faced giant baring down on me. His white van had destroyed my bumper. Brilliant, not only late, but I’m also going to get a beating from this fucking idiot.

“Why did you pull up so quickly you fucking moron?” He said.

He had rammed into me, I thought.

“You hit me you fucking twat! You should look where you’re going.”

Rage boiled up in me. Because of this fool, I would be late for my wife. I had to write a sales report tonight for the meeting tomorrow morning. I wasn’t going to bed much before 2AM now.

Then it happened. The pain in my chest was excruciating. I fell to my knees and passed out.

I have blurred memories of a mask over my face. Seeing the ambulance ceiling then blue sky then the lights of a hospital corridor. I was injected, then another mask.

“We’re losing him.”

“…clear!”

“Again! Clear”

I watched from beside my bed as these wonderful passionate people battled to save my life. I saw the line on the ECG remain flat. I just felt calm and curious. I felt regret for all the things I hadn’t done. I had promised to fix the latch on the back gate. Beth would have to pay someone now I thought. Very odd.

Above my head I saw a tunnel with a bright light at the end. I felt myself floating into it. I felt myself twist and turn as I progressed towards the light. Suddenly I was standing before a wall of blue, white light. Somehow, I knew if I stepped through that would be the end of my time on earth.
A shape formed out of light. Wispy at first, then solidified into my grandmother who died when I was twelve.

“Nan?”

“Hello Mark. Do you know what’s happened to you?”

“I’m dead, I think. Is this the gateway to the afterlife?”

“Yes, something like that. Do you want to go through?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes, you do. If you want it enough, you can still survive. It can end here, or you can fulfil your life’s dream.”

“I feel so calm nan. It’s like looking at someone else’s life.”

“Mark, you know that's true to some extent, don't you?”

“What do you mean. I raised two great kids. I worked all the hours I could to support my family. I tried to be a good husband and father. I went without for the sake of others.”

As I said this, scenes of my life came rushing back. I was gently weeping. I was justifying my life to myself.

“Mark, you were a wonderful father, husband and man, but that’s not what you ever wanted to be, was it?”

I knew she knew my secret. My soul was laid bare to her. Sixty years of pain and suffering welled up in a huge surge of grief.

“Noooooo.”

I hugged her so tight I thought I would hurt her. She pulled my head onto her shoulder.

“It’s ok. You sacrificed your happiness to be someone others would like, and they did. Isn’t it time you were happy? Have the courage to be your true self”

“But I’d be letting everyone down. They would hate me.”

“It’s time you were good to yourself. You lived a selfless life. Go back and live for you.”

I felt a tugging sensation pulling me away from the light. I tried to hold on to her. It was like holding onto water. I slowly slipped back down the tunnel.

“It’s Michelle by the way.”

“What nan?”

“What your mother would have named you.”

“I love you, nan.”

“I love you too Michelle.”

I was back in the emergency room.

“One last time. Put fresh gel on. Clear!”

I saw the ECG jump, then a steady beat resumed. I opened my eyes.

“He’s back. We’ve got him!”

A week later I was at home. My company got in touch and my boss told me to take as long as I needed to recover. A few weeks later I had put in for voluntary redundancy. My boss was sympathetic as he knew stress had been a major factor of my heart attack.

I had the dreaded discussion with my wife about what I wanted to do with my life. I was shocked. She knew. She said she had always had a feeling that I was never happy as a man. She said she would support me, but she did not want to live with me. She told me that the scandal would put too much pressure on our relationship, and we would end up hating each other.

I understood. My plan was to move away to somewhere where they didn’t know me and start life anew as Michelle. We filed for a no-fault divorce and divided our assets. She kept the house, and I kept my money. Her mother had died last year, and she had an income from renting her house as well as the job as a personnel manager. She would be fine.

When I told my children what I planned, my daughter said “cool”. My son said that he would never call me mum but said if it was something I needed to do, then he would still love me.

It took me 6 months to sort everything out. We had one last “normal” Christmas. My family got me gifts that I would need in the coming year. My son got me a makeup kit, my wife and daughter got me jewellery.

I moved out to a small flat in Brighton in March. I said an emotional goodbye to my wife on that cold frosty morning and set off to the flat that was to be my new home. I slept as Mark for one final night then Michelle said hello to the world.

I dreamed that night. A song that I used to play in my car kept playing in my head. The lyrics sort of made sense when I woke.

Take all your chances while you can
Never know when they'll pass you by
Like a sum a mathematician cannot solve
Like me trying my hardest to explain
It's all about your cries and kisses
Those first steps that I can't calculate
I need some more of you to take me over

This was my chance. I was taking my first steps today.

If I had the chance to start again
Then you would be the one I'd come and find
Like the poster of Berlin on my wall
Maybe there's a chance our walls might fall
It's all about your cries and kisses
Those first steps that I can't calculate
I need some more of you to take me over
It's all about your cries and kisses
Those first steps that I can't calculate

Now I did have the chance to start again. Thanks to nearly dying that day I had re-evaluated my life. I wasn’t sure if what happened was a dream or real, but I was glad I experienced it.

I need some more of you to take me over
I've no idea 'cause
I can't calculate
How to start again
How to start again
How to start again
How to start again
It's all about you.

Michelle was going to take over now. It was her time.

I took my time getting ready that first morning. I spent hours in the bathroom removing every trace of body hair. I wrapped the towel around my upper chest. I thought I had better get used to these little differences. I planned to start taking hormones as soon as possible and to have breast augmentation.

I opened the top drawer of my new chest of drawers I paused to gaze at my underwear. The underwear I planned to wear for the rest of my time on earth. I had all sorts of knickers. Plain cotton, frilly nylon, French knickers, I had even brought myself some silk vintage Janet Reger knickers and a slip. Michelle had sixty years of catching up to do.

I chose a pair of pink full cut nylon knickers with an inch of lace around the legs. I wore the matching bra that I filled with mastectomy prosthetics. I chose some 20 denier black tights, a dark purple blouse and a calf length black skirt.

I took my ginger shoulder length wig and pulled over my own hair. Sometime soon I planned to get hair extensions when my own hair had grown a little more. Now the moment of truth. I walked over to the full-length mirror beside my bed.

Michelle stared back at me. She wore an expression of shock and surprise. She had been imprisoned in Mark for sixty years. Finally she was released. Even without makeup I saw I looked feminine. I felt so “right”. This was how I should have always faced the world. I was finally “me”.

I sat in the chair in front of my vanity mirror and cried tears of joy. It felt like I was being rewarded for years of service. I could now be me. The potential of my new life swam around my head. There were so many things Michelle wanted to do.

I waited until the tears stopped and set about making up my face. I had spent the last six months watching and reading how to do this. I made a mess of it. It took three attempts until I was satisfied. The makeup smoothed away Mark’s masculine edges. I just stood and gazed at myself. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I recalled all tiny moments in my past where I snatched a few fleeting minutes in some borrowed clothing.

This was my life from now on. Looking, living and acting like a woman. I was Michelle now.

I wasn’t naïve. I knew there would be a mass of problems along my coming journey, but my journey was beginning. I chose a pair of black ankle boots with a small heel, and a black quilted coat. I picked up the last few vestiges of Mark from the bedroom floor and headed out the door.

Michelle was ready to say hello to the world.

The lyrics are from one of my favourite songs. Chances by Athlete.