NOVEL WEB Summary notes on a followup experimental trial
Day 1:
“Hey, wake up” Ben just groaned, until I wafted the coffee I had made closer. “I’ve made coffee and if you want it you’re going to have to sit up and listen.” Unlike Ben, I’d made sure to chug a few litres of water before bed and had set enough alarms to get back in time for Custard’s breakfast. Consequently I was up bright and early and felt broadly alive. Besides, after last night's revelations I just wanted to get home and shave. I was only going to pause long enough to do Ben the courtesy of explaining myself to him, irrespective of how hungover he was.
“Fuck, sure, as long as it doesn’t require me going anywhere in the next fourteen hours or so.”
“Right, so first thing, I’m a girl, my name’s Amy.”
“Oh thank god” That was a comfortingly positive response, but also not the wild surprise I’d expected.
“Wait, why oh thank god?”
“Oh, after last night I just figured I was in for months of oblivious egg bullshit, this is a huge relief. I’m happy for you but please let me sleep.” That uh, yeah that checked out I suppose and I can’t imagine it got less obvious the more booze I’d drank.
“Right, glad not to let you down? Anyway, it turns out I have a daughter so I’m gonna go transition ASAP so I can go be her other mum.”
I was halfway out the door before Ben had finished processing enough to stutter out “I’m sorry what?”
“I said I have a daughter and I want to be her mum, c’mon man keep up”
Day 52:
All it took was a few phone calls, lying about how long I’d known and forking out the £250 to see a gender specialist and I now had the first of several very useful pieces of paper. Body dysmorphia. Recommended treatment: hormone replacement therapy. Referral to see a private endocrinologist in six months, for another £250. All I had left to do was produce a deed poll for name change and then to twiddle my thumbs for 6 months hoping a slot opened up sooner. I also had to come out to my entire family but how hard could it be?
The deed poll sounded like it should be a nightmare but then I learned that the UK has no centralised name change organisation, so literally any form with broadly the correct wording signed by you and at least one another is in fact a legally binding name change deed poll. You can literally just print them off. Who knew? You then just had to send them to your bank and GP and work and whoever and that was it! It took barely an afternoon to sort and then bam, I was legally Amy.
Day 147:
Six months it turns out can really drag, and worse, when you know to look for it, dysphoria can be kindof inescapable. I was not ready to socially transition yet and I was already doing all the semi-productive things I could face doing before I actually got my hormones. Laser hair removal was expensive but I’d forked out the cash anyway and dear god I want it to work, shaving is the worst. I’ve had exes complain about shaving their legs, but have they tried shaving the back of their knees? Fertility preservation I’d just had the appointment for and the backup sperm was now frozen. I’d bought some girl clothes too, but never worn them outside of my bedroom and that didn’t seem likely to change until my body did. That just left me with exercise, where I have abandoned all options other than cycling, the hope being that bigger quads, smaller arms and smaller shoulders should lend itself to a more feminine shape, not that much of that has materialised yet.
Similarly I’d not done a great job with much of my early transitioning to-do list. The makeup I’d bought lay barely touched, the thought of trying it with my persistent stubble too much. Voice training I knew I needed to do and practice but it was so hard to motivate myself to learn sounding femme when I was months away from even starting the process of looking it. I’d also come out to far fewer people than I’d planned, my parents still had no idea, my extended family still had no idea and Penny still had no idea. I felt even further from telling her than when I started. The only people I had told were a few close friends my age and the one brother that I liked, they’d all been supportive and lovely but none of it led to me socialising as or feeling like a girl.
But, things were going to get better and that thought alone made all the dysphoria and all the loneliness bearable, things were still on the up for Amy.
Day 193:
They moved my appointment forward! And it happened! And nothing went wrong! Plus, my GP was totally on board with doing shared care so I literally only have to pay for seeing my endocrinologist every six months. And just ten minutes ago, my GP injected testosterone blocker uncomfortably deep into my butt. I’m just sitting in my car staring at my estradiol packet and at the space missing for the ‘thursday’ tablet that I just dry swallowed. Obviously boobs haven’t sprouted out yet, which is rude and very unfair but ultimately manageable, because tomorrow, and every day after, there’ll be slightly more of me, Amy, visible in the mirror.
Day 255:
It’s been over two months on hormones now and for almost all that time I noticed essentially zero changes, other than perhaps my general horniness being slightly less all the time. That is until yesterday, when my nipples came to an agreement with each other and have completely lost their shit. They are sensitive and chafing and have been erect as often as not, which is exciting, because it’s clear proof hormones are working. It’s also terrible and uncomfortable and has forced me into wearing both a sports bra and a thick enough top to hide that sports bra in public, which might’ve been fine in winter, but during a July heatwave is just the worst.
It has in fact been bad enough to force my hand on coming out to people. Work received an email this morning which will at least let me wear the cute summer dress I found that I actually look okay in, I’ve even been outside my house in it now! My parents received a text message at the same time and if all goes to plan they’ll read the message, have their knee jerk reaction, get over it over the next ten hours and then we’ll have a reasonable conversation about it this evening, what could go wrong?
“Hi Mum, hi Dad, did you get my message this morning?” Deep breaths Amy, it’ll be okay.
“We only just got it now, I was at work and didn’t check my phone.” Fuck, right, mum was sixty, of course she didn’t check her phone often. “We’ve been talking and we really just need to know if you’re sure, it’s such a big decision and you’ve made it so quickly.” It might not be okay, but anxiety brain has, for once, prepared quick answers.
“I decided this literally a year ago, not recently, I’m already on hormones and I’ve had no doubts” There, concise and measured, what complaint could they have?
“Ali-”
“My name is Amy, that was in the text, try again.”
“Amy, we know you had troubles making friends as a child we just don’t want you to think that being transgendered would fix the problems you have.” What? My brain ran through at least the top two hundred worst things they could say, them mentioning a mild autism spectrum assessment from when I was ten came entirely out of left field. Why are they like this?
“Two things, one, I never said it would help with the mental health issues I at no point mentioned, two, it literally has already helped me be more comfortable when socialising”
“If you’re sure, I want you to know that of course we support you, we just don’t want you to get treated badly by people like we know transgendered people often are.” This one my brain was ready for.
“Your response has been by far the least positive of anyone, if you’re worried about people treating me badly then stop, as you’re the only ones doing it.”
This time I actually had mum stumped for a bit, for long enough in fact that dad spoke up for the first time. “So uh, are you going to date boys now?” A classic question from one of the most awkward men alive.
“What? No, ew. I like girls.”
“Okay, uh, so how does the treatment work?” Finally, out of what I hoped would be the only awful part of the conversation, we now just had to deal with regular parent-child awkwardness.
To cut a long and terrible conversation short, my parents were not overly supportive, they were in fact as critical as they could be while keeping it thinly guised as concern and avoiding argument. On the plus side, coming out as a lebian went well, they barely noticed!
Day 433:
Things are looking up for Amy, really up. My initial plan of slowly replacing my wardrobe over the course of a two year transition fell apart very quickly. Once I worked out styles I could wear, and started feeling like a girl wearing them, I went kinda nuts on the shopping. Years of repressed shopping urges came out all at once and I’m now the proud owner of enough outfits for my new years resolution: no more boys toilets, no more boys clothes, no more boymode, I’m a girl, I love being a girl and I’m not pretending otherwise ever again.
Helping that resolution is that I kinda look like a girl now too! Boobs are small but growing and I’m just eight months in, plus a padded bra goes a long way in compensating, for now. Laser hair removal isn’t finished yet, but daily stubble is a thing of the past and consequently daily makeup is a thing of the present. My hair has grown out too and there’s so much of it! My voice work is coming on too and I can do it all the time now, but there’s still loads of phrases I used to use that either sound weird in my new voice or just sound far more posh than I actually am. Regardless, sounding like a weird girl or perhaps a slightly posh girl is much better than sounding like any sort of boy.
All together, even though I don’t think I pass yet, some other people do! And in another year, especially if I go for the surgeries I’ve been saving for, I won’t just pass, I’ll look hot, I’ll look the way I want to.
Day 896:
I think I’ve finally ran out of excuses, the hormones have pretty much run their course. I’ve just recovered from BA and with only the exception of GRS I’ve had all the other surgeries I wanted. I look like, feel like, act like, sound like and am a girl. I pass. I love how I look. I smile when I look in the mirror and I’m happy, heck, I’ve even got nice boobs now. I’ve done every last task and errand that I could, there’s nothing left to do to justify putting off telling Penny. I need to do it and I am ready. If she’ll let me, I’d love to meet my daughter, although I’d understand if they said no. It’s been over two years since our last text and the likelihood of her still being single, let alone being interested in someone who ignored her for so long, must be zero.
Even thinking about it is causing me anxiety, I’ve not dated since I’ve known I was a girl. I decided I had to tell Penny before even trying, but it means I am very rusty. Not that it seemed to matter in my first week being Amy, I suppose. I guess I’ll just return to the dating app and see if we can pick up where we left off. What was our last message?
Penny: So, uh, you fancy a date cutie?
Well, I could start with an apology, or I could go try something slightly higher risk. From my impression of her, I’m pretty sure she’d find it hilarious. Screw it, why not?
Amy: Hey, sorry for the slow reply, I was a bit busy, but a date sounds lovely!