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I'm not asking you how you are... I want to know Why you are...  ;)
I think that summer was when I learned about the meaning of bittersweet.

The victory of being able to appear to the world as girl was, if I look at it now, resplendent.  It was a relief, and it was a vindication. 

The pain, however, made it all bittersweet.

Dr. Greenberg's restrictions ended up being very necessary.  I generally spent all my time in bed, lying on the couch, or sitting on my donut-shaped pillow.  Walking barefoot across the floor with anything but feathery steps could cause me great pain on many days.  I took showers only, as sitting in a bathtub would have been way too painful. 

Dad's primary client, the one that made him quite success, asked him to handle their call-center in North Carolina as well.  He flew out there for a week, and then came back to Seattle to get his team set up to handle the additional load.  That meant even great commissions for Dad, but I hardly saw him all summer.  In fact, the only time I really saw him was late at night when the pain kept me awake.  He'd come home around 8pm or 9pm most nights, even on Sundays, and he'd find me awake in the living room playing video games.  Usually, Mom was in Jenni's room reading a story and cuddling up with Jenni.

Jenni had become nervous about starting a new school in a month or so.  At least, that's what she kept saying.  I didn't know why that upset her.  She'd only been in our old school for kindergarten.  I suppose if I hadn't been in pain or living on cloud nine about being Julianna all summer, I think maybe I would have noticed that the "incident" at our last school scared her.  Some kid said something negative about me, and we uprooted our lives.  It probably scared her.  I don't think Jenni remembers those years that well, but that's just how I look at it now.  I could be wrong.

My days were filled with pain killers, daytime TV, reading books, playing video games, trying to draw (which I was not good at), taking naps, being sleepless at night and being waited on by my mother.  For all of July and most of August, she brought me food, brought me drinks, got everything I needed and put everything away for me.  She combed my hair (not sure why), helped me step in and out of shower and kept me on strict schedule with my painkillers.  She also kept examining my crotch and made sure I kept the skin folds clean.

The worst part was that the tailbone pain also migrated to my hip joints.  As my hips changed shape, the sockets my leg bones met the hips also changed.  My legs bones, according to Dr. Greenberg and the three other MRI's I had that summer, were also changing.  But, they weren't changing at the exact same rate as my hips.  So, sometimes, it was like my legs were grinding in their sockets.  I remember one day when, no matter what I did, the tops of my legs just hurt.  There was no comfortable position that day.

By early August, if I remember correctly, things started to feel better.  They weren't great, but they were better.  I still couldn't do much, and was still on Dr. Greenberg's restrictions, but I wasn't in as much pain.  I could walk around the house a little more.  Mom even let me pick out a color for my new bedroom (I didn't go to store with her, I just picked from samples) and she painted it.  I chose a magenta/raspberry color, and Mom did all the trim in a bright white.  Mom also picked out a set of curtains, comforter and area rug that had magenta, purple, orange, pink and yellow stripes of varying widths.  I didn't know she'd picked them out.  When the room was shown to me for the first time, with the paint, the fabrics, and orange, yellow, pink and purple-painted wooden letters hung on the wall spelling out "JULIANNA," I cried.  I'd been sleeping on the couch for a few days and had not allowed to see the progress, and seeing the completed room made it all seem real.

My furniture had been painted gloss white as well.  And, in my closet were only some of the girl clothes that I'd had from playing dress-up.  My boy clothes were not in sight.  I had been wearing sweatpants, sweatshorts and t-shirts all summer.  They'd been clothes I'd already had.  My new room did not even contain those, except what I was wearing at that moment.

I vividly remember Mom opening one of my dresser drawers and pulling out a pair of pale blue girls sweatshorts and a pink tee.  She also pulled out a pack of multi-colored pastel girls briefs. 

That day in early August was, to that point, the best day of my life.
The Patch- TG Part 5
Things are progressing nicely, but with some pain. 

Comments are welcome!!!

Part 4 didn't get a lot of Faves, probably my worst ever for a TG story.  Is there something wrong with this story????    
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We moved 45 minutes away from our small home in Seattle to a rental house outside Bellevue in Carver Hill. 

Carver Hill promised a shorter commute for Dad to work (not that I understood that at 9), and larger houses.  And, it had schools that had already dealt with 'the patch' with clear cut policies of acceptance.  Not that Seattle schools didn't have a policy, but our particular Seattle school apparently hadn't dealt with it or failed to implement it properly (not that I entirely understood that at age 9, either).

You'd think I'd have great concerns about moving, but I didn't.  My friendships in the old school were, as I see it now, tenuous at best.  And I had the great hope that maybe, maybe, I could change my identity sooner than age 11 if this area was more tolerant.  I didn't express that to my parents, but I had real hope.  And that hope had me happily moving into the Carver Hill house and leaving Northeast Seattle behind.

The house was a large 3-bedroom, one-story, L-shaped house that was halfway up a slowly-curving street that ended in a cul-de-sac.  It had a large, open floor plan between the living room, dining room and kitchen (that had solid wood floors throughout), two and half baths and three bedrooms that either looked out over the backyard (which sloped down and away from the house 100 feet back) or the uphill that was the sideyard.  The driveway curled up in the front of the house and fed the two car garage that made the house an L shape.  In the morning, sun came in the tall windows in the living room, dining room and kitchen, warming everyone as we ate breakfast.

It was during the move, though, that my lower back started to hurt.  I didn't know what to call that part of my lower, lower back, so I called it the "butt bone."  At first, my mother gave me a light dose of ibuprofen for a few days.  But it came right back as soon as the ibuprofen wore off.  She had me do stretches, tried having me sleep somewhere different for two nights (the living room couch, amid the boxes of things we had to find time to put away from the move).  It just continued to hurt.

On the fourth day, we were back at my doctor's office in downtown Seattle.  He did a thorough physical examination, ordered bloodwork,  and sent me for an MRI.  He also prescribed a prescription strength ibuprofen.  Then, he told us something that, I guess, I had noticed but hadn't really thought about (again, being 9).

"Did you notice the extra skin around your groin?"  I remember him asking me, because no one had used the word "groin" with me before, and I only understood it by his hand motion.  I think I answered with a shrug.

"Your body is trying to grow girl skin over your boy parts.  There's a flap of skin starting to grow over your scrotum, and there's a small flap forming above your member that will eventually start aiming it down or covering it.  We cannot allow it to completely cover everything, or you won't be able to pee.  You also need to keep those areas clean so you don't develop any type of skin infection.  I want you to let your mother check you every couple of days.  You just keep everything clean, and if the skin flap gets too big, we'll look at other options."

I didn't know what he meant at the time, as I was a bit euphoric about the fact that my body was trying to cover my boy parts.  But, my mother gave me a bit of a lecture on the way to the MRI provider about making sure I kept my skin clean.  She would, she told me, be checking on me.

The MRI I don't remember very well.  It wasn't scary, but lying on table hurt my "butt bone" as I hadn't yet taken my prescription ibuprofen.

The results were back in 3 days, and my doctor (Did I tell you his name was Dr. Greenberg? I don't remember) called to tell us that my tailbone was changing.

The structure of a girl's hips are different than a boy's, as is the width of their sacrum and, in most cases, the tailbone direction is different.  In boys, the tailbone curves inward a bit further, and in girls it doesn't to allow for a birth canal.  My tailbone and hips were undergoing changes as I grew, and it was going to painful for a while.

So, my summer prescription was: ibuprofen, no running, no jogging, no jumping, no jolts, no bouncing, no bike riding, no roller coasters and only sparing car rides.  They even gave me a donut-shaped pillow to sit on that took the pressure off the tailbone.

But, as things seemed gloomy, Dr. Greenberg brought some light.  The last thing he said on the call, as we all listened on the speakerphone, was "Now, Mom & Dad, Jules is doing well.  She's actually ahead of schedule.  She's not far enough along that we can legally have her declared female.  But, she could 'present' to the school as female and be asked to be treated as such.  I know the Carver Hill schools will acknowledge student who identifies as a different sex, and the teachers would treat her as Julianna."

My parents, of course, said they had to think about it and ended the call.  But, I think when they saw me sitting on my donut-pillow, looking (as I must have) ever so hopeful and pitiful, they agreed:

I would start the new school in Carver Hill as Julianna, if only in name and dress.

That would pretty much make the summer of pain and restrictions worth it.
I've said it before, and I'll make the offer again:

If anyone of my readers wants to contribute a chapter to one of my unfinished stories, or even take over a story completely, I am okay with that.

Why?

Because I have two jobs, both of which require my brain to be in full gear (at one job I am an analyst, the other one I am a site builder, SEO adviser, business adviser and, occasionally, a recruiter) ... and I don't foresee that changing any time soon.  At all.

So, I know I've let a lot of you down.. and I'm sorry...

But if someone can breathe life into one of these babies, please send me your ideas.

Thanks!
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: strong language)
Unfortunately, we did not take a family vacation that summer where I could wear my new bathing suit.  The last week of school, my 3rd grade year and Jenni's 1st grade year, we had a little problem.

During that last week of school, another 1st grader name Tyler Durham decided to share a word with his classmates that he'd learned from his 5th grade brother:

As in, "Jenni, my brother says your brother is a.. a.. faggot!"

That was bad, but Jenni's innocent, instinctive response ended up being worse: "My brother isn't a faggot. He's turning into a girl!"

Well, that news shot home to many parents.  First they were upset that a 1st grader was sharing the word "faggot" with fellow students. But then, by the last few days of school, a parent of one of my 3rd grade classmates put 2 and 2 together: my chin-length hair that was always sculpted into a boys style with a lot of styling gel; my skinny build only having stayed skinny while I grew taller over the last year; the obstinate way I refused gender classification in kindergarten; the way I was only really friends with girls (the few friends I had); my features and skin no starting to look softer; and then Jenni's outburst in an attempt to defend me from a word she didn't even understand.  A phone call was made to the school and to the schoolboard.  By lunch time on my last day of school, my parents and I were in the principal's office.

The principal and assistant principal explained to us that that several parents were concerned about which bathroom I should be using, and some parents suggested that I not be allowed to get too friendly with the girls, and that there had been several calls that my parents should have to register my status with the school district so that all parents can be aware.  The principal stated that the school district did not agree with these parents.  We were not required to register a status with the school, and they were on our side.

I'd never seen my father so mad in my life.  His swarthy face, inherited from his French sea-captain father, was dark.  He stood up, and asked them (I'll never forget this) "When these parents called and demanded that our child be asked to 'register' his 'status,' what did you say to them?"

The principal stuttered a bit.  "We told them that we would look into.. the matter and advise them if there was anything they needed to be concerned about."

"And, is there something for them to be concerned about?"

The assistant principal, a lady named Ms. Bass who I'd always liked, interjected.  "No, sir, I mean, we obviously don't know what prompted this from the other parents, but if your son was going through a procedure that would change his gender, then..."  she trailed off.

"Then, what?"  My father asked, sternly.

"Well, then, at whatever time your son's gender is officially changed, we would like to be notified so we can assist the staff in helping students through understanding this change."

There was a pause before my father spoke. "Ms. Bass, have we indicated to you that my son is going through a process to change to a female?"

"No, sir."

"Have we asked for any special accommodation from the school for the process that my son is allegedly undergoing?"

"No, sir."

"And, as a public school, are you allowed to treat a child differently than other children based on his or her sex?"

"Of course not, sir."

"So, on what should be an enjoyable last day of school for my son before summer break, why are we sitting here in this office?"  My father asked.

"Mr. Mordeaux, we just want to let you know that other parents are calling, that they might be contacting you, and that we are here to offer any assistance you or your child may need."

"This could have been handled with a phone call to our home.  Our son is our son.  At this point in his life, he is a he.  Should he decide to transition to another sex at some point in the future, we will notify you once it is a legally recognized change.   Until then, this is a private matter.  Whatever is between a student's legs, most especially the legs of a child, is not something that other parents need to be 'advised' about.  And, if you feel that you DO need to advise other parents as to what is between my child's legs, let me 'advise' you that I will have a lawyer up here so fast it will make your head spin."

"Mr Mordeaux, we just-"

"We are leaving, and Christian is coming home with us.  We will take him to get his belongings from the classroom and then we are going home.  If private citizens have a question about my son, they can contact us directly.  We're listed in the phone book."

"Mr. Mordeaux, we're just trying to help and to partner with you."

"There is nothing to partner about."

We left the room with that statement.

------------------------------------

I actually didn't need to go back the classroom that day.  I quietly told my father that I had everything I needed, so he and I went out to the car while Mom went to pull Jenni from her classroom.

I sat in the back seat, watching him brood in the front seat.

"Dad?"

He had his head down, looking at the steering wheel.  "I'm sorry.  I know that was probably embarrassing.  I just will not have your life become the center of a phobia.. circus.  I will not.. let the other parents put you through a nightmare because they can't come to terms with.. modern society.  While you're still a boy, you will use the boy's room.  When you become a girl, you'll use the girl's room.  Period, end of story."

"Thank you, Daddy."

He picked his head up.  "What?"

"Thank you. I was scared in there.  You protected me."

He sat there a moment, looking at me in the rearview mirror.  "You're welcome, Julianna.  I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy."

------------------------------------

Two days later, we made a decision as a family: we were moving.

After we got home from school that day, there were two messages on our answering machine.  One was from the pastor at the church we used to go to (he said he wanted to 'chat' if we needed to do so), and the other was the parent of a girl from my class.  Mom and Dad did not return either call. 

That night, at dinner, the phone rang two more times and we did not answer it.  No one left a message.

The next day, the phone was ringing at 8:30am.  It was a local blog writer who wrote about transgender issues, and he wanted to speak to me.  My mother said that there was nothing for any of us to say on the topic.   There were four other calls that morning, none of whom left messages.  By dinner time, the house phone had rung around 15 or 16 times that day. 

That next morning, Dad sat us down together and hooked up his laptop to the flatscreen TV in the living room.  From there, we all picked out a few rental houses we liked in a town about forty five minutes away.  I hated our house, and our neighborhood, and was ready to move.  Jenni, however, started to cry.  She blamed herself for the whole thing.  My mother just held her and whispered in her ear that Jenni had honest and defending her family.  There was no blame, Mom told her, and that change could be a good thing.

Jenni smiled a bit, and then she rejected a house on the screen, a house that Dad liked, because the third bedroom looked too small on the screen.

Dad assured her that it wasn't too small.

She assured him that it was.
I'm not asking you how you are... I want to know Why you are...  ;)

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TGfascinated
TGfascinated
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:iconnikon-aj:
NIKON-AJ Featured By Owner Sep 14, 2014   Photographer
Thanks for the Favourite
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:icona1993:
a1993 Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2014
how are things?
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:icontgfascinated:
TGfascinated Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Ummm.. well... they're interesting....  you?
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:icona1993:
a1993 Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2014
Things might be looking up if i get a casual christmas job
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:icontgfascinated:
TGfascinated Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Do you have a lot of those near you?
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:iconteikiatsu-samurai:
Teikiatsu-Samurai Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2014  Student Digital Artist

Welcome to Transgender-AgeTf

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:icontgfascinated:
TGfascinated Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks!!!
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:iconc10artfan:
C10artfan Featured By Owner May 28, 2014  Hobbyist
hey long time no speak, how're you?
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:icontgfascinated:
TGfascinated Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
I am, in a word... slammed.

How are you?
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:iconc10artfan:
C10artfan Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2014  Hobbyist
I'm alright thanks. Slammed?
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