Easy As Falling Off a Bike pt 3081

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The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike, est. 2007)
Part 3081
by Angharad

Copyright© 2016 Angharad

  
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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
*****

I went to check on the children before going to bed, a practice I try to maintain as often as possible. The ‘dormitory’ with the collection of St Claire’s elite minus one, were all fast asleep. I tidied up the odd quilt and tucked Trish back in—her feet and legs were up the wall and she was lying sideways on her bed. Quite what she’d been doing in her sleep, goodness only knows, I certainly didn’t; but she flopped back into bed and remained asleep.

On reaching Danielle’s room, I thought I heard whimpering. I listened again and was sure I could hear something. I gently opened the door and she was weeping gently in her sleep, saying over and over again, “It’s not fair, I’m a girl not a criminal, leave me alone.”

I sat down beside her restless figure and stroked her forehead. “It’s all right, darling, Mummy’s here and I won’t let them hurt you. Just go off to sleep now and let Daddy and I do the worrying.” I imagined the blue light surrounding her like a protective bubble and after a couple of minutes, she relaxed and went back to more restful sleep.

I stayed with her for a little while to make sure she didn’t wake or dream again musing on the fact that in her sleep she saw herself as a girl, which makes me feel she made the right decision to live as female. I wasn’t sure how I felt at that instant, relief was one of the emotions I became aware of, glad that I could now believe I hadn’t tricked her into becoming a girl or coerced her in any way. She’d already told me that it was her decision to stay as a girl, then the life changing assault by Pia and the surgery to try and rescue some sort of sex organ. I shuddered when I thought about what had happened to both Trish and Danielle and how that could cause us no end of trouble if it was commonly known.

In my defence I could show that both children were happily transitioned into females and doing well. If it was still the case in twenty years, I’d possibly feel even happier, assuming I haven’t worried myself to death beforehand.

Thinking about how many there were in the house who were post op was frightening especially in the ammunition it could give tabloid journalists, who would only need to state that, following my own surgery, I convinced or arranged for Trish, Julie, Danielle and Sammi to follow me. As a cluster effect it’s almost unknown unless one is considering the ghettos of India or other third world countries in which transgender people seem to collect together for safety or financial reasons. That wasn’t the case here, well possibly the safety element, especially with Trish and Julie.

Remembering how both were almost captured by their original parent or parents, both were quite dramatic, especially Julie’s where her own father cut her throat. I could still see me trying to stop the bleeding as she looked on at me in total shock. Amazingly, her parents and she have come to a compromise in a having an occasional relationship. By rights they should all have died, Julie was slashed across the throat, he had a cardiac arrest and the mother had a cancer. She’d also been sexually assaulted earlier in her life which had driven her towards very black and white religious beliefs. I helped her to clear the cancer and her memory of such unpleasant recollections.

Trish’s mother didn’t get to have any sort of relationship with her daughter. She was just a sad woman who couldn’t cope with her child’s needs in terms of self identifying as female from a very young age. I mean she’s only twelve now and I first met her at five years old and she only ever expressed herself as a girl.

Danielle is obviously the one who is different and until I heard her talking in her sleep tonight was never quite sure about how she saw herself deep down inside herself. It seems, tonight at least, it was as female. I mean she did say the other day she had much more fun as a girl and had loads more friends than she ever did as a boy. Some of that might be because she goes to a school which is a bit higher up the food chain than her previous one, though girls, especially poor little rich ones, can be total psychos every bit as bad as boys, and these days that could include violence. The female of the species is becoming more deadly than even Kipling could imagine.

I considered how many women or girls had caused me grief. When I was forced to dress as a schoolgirl by Murray, or I chose to wind him up during the Lady Macbeth period, they sent me to play netball at the girls’ school. I was rubbish never having played it before and besides they all knew there was something strange about me, not sure if they all knew exactly what, but they certainly enjoyed bullying me, or most of them did. So I’m under no illusions about women or girls at the same time, I’ve also found some of them to be incredibly protective when they knew of my then vulnerability. Stella was particularly so. I suppose she still is, but we’ve grown together as a family, so she has more reason to be so now.

When I hear of the problems adopted parents have with their children, some children seem unable to deal with the fact they were adopted, I count my blessings. With the exception of Cate and Lizzie, all the others knew from the outset that we weren’t their natural parents but said they wanted to stay with us as our children and called us Mummy and Daddy before either of us were happy with the epithet. Then as time went on and we sort of gelled in our respective roles, we all became used to it; however, it remains to be seen if recognising themselves as adopted later in life, causes them any problems of self acceptance beyond those they faced as children.

Glancing down at my pretty little fourteen year old, her features further softened by the gentle light from the landing, I wondered what the future really held for her and the others and I hoped and prayed that I had helped rather than harmed them in rearing them. It’s one of those imponderables that is only answerable many years later. So far so good? Possibly, time will ultimately tell.

Before I talked myself into a massive worry session, I rose from the bed, pecked my daughter on the cheek and left her to sleep, wondering how much I’d get after what had wriggled through my mind like some horrible annelid. Looking for Simon in the hope of a reassuring cuddle, I found him already in bed and zonked—bloody typical.

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Comments

Soul searching

We do so much of it.

G

Hopefully, That's a Good Sign

littlerocksilver's picture

Danni has always been a bit problematic; however, since her forced physical change she has settled down, improved academically, and seems to have a very positive attitude about things. I know there is going to be some sort of meeting soon. I just hope she comes through this confrontation in a positive manner.

Portia

Self recriminations

Dahlia's picture

I often wonder if most of the post-transition women spend excessive amounts of time in self doubts, insecurities and what it's as to what was done and its end value. I know I do and it tears me up at times. Sadly the self sacrifices seem so extremely heavy and the losses unbearable. I feel at peace within myself with who I have become and how I present, so there is no doubt as to whether I made the right choice but GD it is hard to read on FB about the family gatherings and holiday get togethers which I know I am not welcome at.

Self pity party!! Anyone have a beer to go with the bitter pills I'm swallowing?

Dahlia

Nail. Head.

It is such a horrible road to hoe. For a lot of us, no biological children or no family, friends at all.

Years wasted in therapy transition, what have you.

There are few people I would wish this on but I am not so charitable to say I would not wish it on anyone.

There are people that horrible, you know?