It seems likely that Ceri will lose a home and probably a mother. But could a google search come up with a solution. A Piece of Paper (Part 3) by Alys

“What are we going to do Mum?” I asked as I very carefully ate my brownie in the nearby Starbucks.

I was surprised at the care I was taking about eating my brownie. There was clearly something about wearing a pretty dress and makeup which had changed my usual habit of rapidly scoffing sweets and cakes.

“I don’t know love, he didn’t leave us a lot of options,” Mum replied as she sipped her Americano.

Earlier Mr Smithers had been adamant that even if Mum could get documentation that I was possibly trans, which was the purpose for the clothes and the doctor’s visit later on, he was not prepared to try and argue for a deed of variation for the will.

In the end he had been quite apologetic, “I’m sorry but the wording is very clear, unless Ceri attends the all girls school stated, that is Ysgol Santes Dwynwen, then all of your great aunt’s assets will pass to Swansea Cat’s Protection.”

“Maybe we should take the deal about the mortgage and forget about the school interview.” Mum suggested sorrowfully.

Mr Smithers, clearly concerned about our imminent financial plight, had even offered to personally pay our mortgage for the next three months to give Mum chance to sort out possibly getting some state benefits and finding somewhere new to live.

“Will you be able to get a job, Mum?” I asked as I licked my fingers of the last of the sticky cake.

“Who knows, maybe there is something I could do without having to walk much, but the unemployment benefit office seems such a nightmare,” she answered, “..remember my friend Jenny...that was so sad.”

We sat in silence for a few moments and I thought about Mum’s friend who had had such a terrible time trying to receive the benefits she was entitled to, with endless interviews and then harsh sanctions when she’d missed appointments because of late buses. Her suicide had even made the local TV news.

To distract myself from the sadness I was sharing with Mum I took out my phone and, after connecting to the Starbucks wifi, googled the school. All the discussion about it and I knew nothing about the place Aunty Eleri had wanted me to go to.

While I waited for the school webpage to load I asked, “Mum why did Aunty Eleri want me to go to Ysgol Santes Dwynwen anyway?”

She looked at me and a sad smile appeared on her face, “That’s the irony, it wasn’t so much she wanted to send you to this school, she just wanted you to have a private education.”

“Why?”

“She was convinced it was better than state education and she knew I was opposed to private schools in principle.”

“Why, Mum?”

She looked at me and then explained for maybe the hundredth time her arguments about private schools perpetuating privilege and inequality. The same point of view I’d heard many times when she’d discussed the issue with Aunty Eleri. I’d never really understood it before and I wasn’t quite sure if I understood it now. I did know though that I’d liked my Junior school and I’d liked going to the same school as all my friends in the area.

I wondered what they were all doing now. I looked out of the window at the beautiful summer sunshine and imagined them in the park having a great time playing six a side or cricket.

Then a new thought struck me, “But why a girls’ school, why not a mixed one?”

“Yes, that would have been so much simpler, I’m not sure maybe…..”

Suddenly I noticed something on the school website and interrupted, “Mum, look!”

She took the phone from me and read the short paragraph I’d noticed, “That’s interesting. Maybe…..maybe there’s a chance.”

“What do you mean, Mum?”

“Ceri, do you trust me?”

“Of course, why?”

“We need to do a little bit of shopping before this afternoon and then we need to have a long chat.”

**********************************

Three hours later we were walking from the cark park to Swansea Nuffield Health clinic. If I had felt odd before in my dress and girl’s shoes I now felt even stranger. The new training bra Mum had bought was like a strap across my chest, the clip-on earrings were pinching my ears and the pink hair ribbons were tickling my cheek.

We approached the front door and I could see my reflection in the sun drenched glass window. I looked a very, girly girl and it was a completely weird experience to realise that this pretty person coming towards me was in fact a reflection of myself.

We approached the reception and after confirming the details of payment for the private appointment we were ushered into the waiting room of Doctor Jason Williams the gender consultant.

The only other people in the waiting room were a young boy with very short hair and an older woman who was clearly his mother.

“He’s running a bit late,” said the woman as we sat down.

“Oh dear,” Mum replied, “have you been here long?”

“About a quarter of an hour, our appointment was ten minutes ago.”

The two women began a conversation about travelling problems and the weather.

The boy came over to sit next to me.

“That’s a nice dress,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“I’m Alex.”

“Ceri.”

“You trans too?” he asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

“I want to get puberty blockers.”

“What are they?” I asked without thinking how such a question would expose my ignorance.

He gave me a strange look and continued, “Don’t you know? To stop having puberty and everything. Half the girls in my class are wearing bras now, yuck.”

“Oh, OK,” I muttered in reply, not completely comprehending who he was. He looked so much like a boy so why did he want to be a girl if he hated the idea of wearing a bra?

Oblivious to my confusion he continued, “I wanted to play football with the boys but the school said I could only play netball with the girls.”

“That’s not fair,” I responded, “I’m on my school football team.”

He gave me a searching look, “How do you play football? Girls can’t play on our team, nor trans boys like me.”

I suddenly realised who or what he was and how I was undermining my carefully constructed image as an authentic transperson. I racked my brain to think of some sensible way to respond. Then I had an inspiration, “We have girls and boys football in my school.”

“Lucky you,” he said.

I was saved from any further uncomfortable probing by the door to the doctor’s office opening and our two waiting room companions being ushered inside.

I waved Alex goodbye and then turned to Mum and whispered, “I didn’t know there were girls who wanted to be boys.”

She explained what she knew about the various aspects of being transgender and then we both sat silently waiting for the appointment. I was beginning to get very worried about how the story Mum had coached me with would stand up to a doctor’s probing. I’d already almost revealed myself to a teen trans boy just in a casual chat. I wished Mum had never had the piece of paper, I wished I was out with my mates, wandering the high street, buying some sweets and just having a laugh.

Then I thought about losing my home and maybe losing my Mum and I felt a new resolve and knew that I had to do my best and try and convince Dr Williams.

Just over 30 minutes later it was our turn to see the doctor.

Dr Williams was a friendly looking man of medium height, possibly slightly overweight maybe in his late forties or early fifties. I always found it hard to estimate the age of adults but he definitely looked older than Mum.

He was wearing a slightly rumpled pinstripe suit and was looking a little tired. He took a sip of coffee as we walked in and gestured us to the two chairs in front of his bit wooden desk.

“Good afternoon, both, so sorry about the delay, we had to squeeze in an extra appointment earlier, a bit of a personal crisis, family rejection and everything, all very sad.”

He took another gulp of coffee and then continued, “Would either of like some refreshments, tea, coffee, coke?”

Mum indicated that we were both fine and so the Doctor continued.

“It’s so nice to see supportive parents coming to me with their children, so let’s make a start. Now when did you make the appointment, when was it?”

He looked at his computer screen and raised his eyebrows a little, “Only yesterday, that is rather recent. I see we only have the few sketchy details so I’m going to need to ask you quite a lot of questions.”

“That’s fine of course,” responded Mum.

“So this is Ceri,”

Mum and I nodded.

“And Ceri is…” he checked his screen again, “..biologically male.”

Mum assented.

“Do you mind if I ask Ceri some questions directly Ms Jones?”

“That’s fine, of course.”

Doctor Williams swiveled a little in his chair and looked at me, “So Ceri, can you tell me how long you have wanted to be a girl?”

I looked at his probing eyes and remembered the answer that I’d been coached to make to this exact question, “I don’t just want to be a girl, Doctor Williams, I am a girl.”

He smiled at me, “Yes, of course, I must apologise for my choice of words. Thank you for your answer.”

He turned back to Mum, “Now if you can give me details of Ceri’s childhood.”

They spoke for maybe ten minutes going over the details of my real upbringing and a fake one that Mum interweaved into the history. She then moved onto how the possibility of me attending a girls’ school had suddenly come up and how I was hoping to transition while at school. The sound of the computer keyboard and the murmur of the adults voices was quite sleep inducing and I felt my eyes beginning to close.

Luckily Mum noticed and while the doctor was distracted typing she poked me hard in the thigh. I jerked up in my chair to find the doctor looking at me once again. He turned back to Mum.

“Yes, there is clearly a lot of evidence in Ceri’s life so far of gender dysphoria and today’s presentation is a very clear, unambiguous statement of Ceri’s preferred gender.”

I noticed a slight smile on Mum’s face, which disappeared in an instant. She was clearly very hopeful.

“So Ceri how do you feel about being able to live as a girl all the time?”

I summoned up as much fake enthusiasm as possible, “That would be great.”

“So I will need to have at least another three appointments with you and your Mum before I can make a clear diagnosis.”

“Then Ceri you’ll be able to have some puberty blockers to stop all that horrible facial and body hair developing.”

I could the disappointment developing on Mum’s face. We couldn’t wait for another three appointments.

“The usual protocol for cross sex hormones is 16, so that would only be a few years for you to wait to feminize your body, develop your breasts and everything.”

I couldn’t stop myself and uttered an almost involuntary “16?”

Doctor Williams took my response as one of disappointment at having to wait too long to get breasts rather than one of horror that it would have to happen before I finished school and escaped from this whole nightmare.

“Well, don’t be too disheartened it’s very likely that the protocol will be amended in the near future and 14 or even 13 might be possible.”

At this stage, before the potential nightmare worsened, I was grateful for Mum interrupting and asking, “I was wondering if you might be able to give us some sort of diagnosis today. We really need something to show the school at Ceri’s interview next week”

Doctor Williams sat back in his chair paused before replying, “Ms Jones, it would be completely unprofessional to make such a life changing diagnosis on the basis of one short interview.”

My mother blushed in obvious embarrassment, “I’m sorry Doctor Williams I didn’t mean to suggest that, but it would really help us if you could find a way to…..”

Mum realised that the doctor was staring at her and faltered in her explanation.

There was a moment’s pause and the Doctor Williams spoke, slower than before, each word being delivered with gravitas.

“In addition, Ms Jones, I find the fact that until today there has been no medical involvement in Ceri’s life to be a little unorthodox if not a little suspicious. I wonder if someone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes, so to speak.”

End of Part 3