Squirrel Cage (36 page)

“Are you one of them?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes I am Sarah,” I replied.

“I don’t believe it!” Sarah exclaimed and then continued. “I’ve been talking to you for almost an hour and I didn’t even realize that you might be one of them.”
she
added most poignantly

“See Cindi, I’ve told you so many times before.
Even when you are with a group of benders, no one will assume you to be one.” I had to think about this. My digital switches turned on and off as the logic streamed through my brain’s program. Something opened my eyes. The ramifications were staggering.
Okay, yes, I could pass as female in a group of people obviously going through transition. But the fact that I was n
ot clocked on this day became
significant. For it was then and there that I had realized my folly. It wasn’t about being clocked.
There was a much bigger picture unfolding before my eyes.

I had been extremely selfish. I had hurt my best friend. I had treated her with discrimination, one of my own “kind”. She was not acceptable to me simply for her looks. What hypocrisy I had for my dear friend. Fortunately for me, she could look beyond my handicap and remained my friend even until now, two decades later. It should no longer matter which group of people I was with. It didn’t matter what people would assume or not assume. The thing that was important was compassion and love. I could be with a group of gays, transsexuals, or whatever. It didn’t matter. We were all people who had problems getting along in our society. I knew that it was time that I changed my attitude. I could no longer be ashamed to have a friend who is a
for I too, despite all appearances, was a member of the down trodden.

I had been told by my church leaders that I would be living a lie. But it was not the lie they led me to believe. It was a lie of ultimate hypocrisy; the betrayal of my own. Until now, I had been living the ultimate lie. I had been fooled by the feminine illusion I saw each day in the mirror.

I would need to grow up. I would need to learn how to deal with the phobias of the world and my own mind. I would learn to stick up for someone who was picked on. I would learn to be vocal for everyone’s rights and not just my own. I would learn to have a voice for injustice, to be a bit of a rabble rouser, and to find a spot in my soul to grow the seeds of love and compassion.

I became a citizen of the world that day. Sure, it took me a long time to get over my own phobias
… a
nd I still have some. But those are things to work on. Those are my problems to deal with. I can no longer tolerate active discrimination towards anyone, any religion, or any group of people defined by their unique problems. Hate is easily taught and learned. Love and compassion takes more, it takes active participation. You fight against the unbeatable. It is an endless struggle. I believe that these, love and compassion, are perhaps the most valuable traits a person can have.

I interviewed with Dr. Coats and Dr. Thomas a few months later. My direction was clear and indisputable.
My drive to perform well at work was staggering.
I had made new deals. I had set up a land sale for the company that made very good business sense.
We sold our outdated northern facility and moved into an updated facility which we would lease. It made terrific financial sense.
We did not have to lay anyone off. Workers in the northern plant had been down trodden for years. They now were enthusiastic. Production quality improved 81 percent. Reject rates dropped from 50 percent to 4 percent. The changes were monumental.

I started work on securing financing for my surgery. I took out three signature loans. One was from a loan shark company with a high interest rate.
That was okay.
I was convinced that I could get the insurance to cover the expenses.

My work on Dr. Coates’ panels and with Dr. Thomas’ therapy groups had given them additional insight into my soul. They did not need to depend solely on one hour sessions to determine my readiness.
They could see me socialize. They could see me interact with other people.
I told them about the suicide attempt voluntarily. We discussed in detail. I was convinced that I would be
all right
now. My convictions helped them understand and concur. They agreed that I was ready to make the change. They gladly provided me with my letters of recommendation. My MD provided the third required letter documenting my physical history and hormone replacement therapy.

This last letter was somewhat difficult to get. My MD had retired one month previous.
I had to chase him down at his home and ask for the letter.

“Of course, Cindi, I will write the letter for you. It is the least I can do,” he said.
He had to get my records from the office for reference.
His letter spans three pages of history. Man, did this guy keep notes!

All three letters were very complimentary.
All three were treasures of gold. They could not be lost.
They must quickly go with payment to Dr. Biber in Trinidad Colorado.

I obtained copies of everything. I then enclosed my letters of recommendation, my advance payment (which would cover all of the surgery and hospital care), and the form Dr. Biber requested.
I had filled it out weeks in advance.
I would look at it every night. It boosted my confidence. It helped maintain my drive.

Dr. Biber’s office replied immediately.
They had received my payment and letters.
I was to call them to set up a date for the surgery.

My surgery would be in three weeks! I was elated!.
On the very day that I received confirmation of my surgery date, I received a call from Dr. Biber’s office.

“I’m sorry Cindi, but Dr. Biber has had an accident at his ranch and we will have to delay your surgery indefinitely.
As soon as he is well, we will reschedule.
“I can send your paperwork and money back if you prefer to go to someone else,” she offered. I paused momentarily while I thought through the decision.

Dr Biber’s procedure would remove the urethra from the penis. He would then scrape all the tissue from the penis and invert it. He would penetrate the muscles in the crotch area and insert this sheath inside to create the vaginal cavity.
He would bring a nerve ending out to the surface to where the clitoris would normally be located.

His success rate was very high and he had been doing these reassignment surgeries longer than anyone else in the country.
His first operation would provide a functional vagina. The new vagina would need to be forced to grow deeper and larger by using a stent for years following if I were to consider having sexual relations. The
first
stent
was
a soft plastic covered expanding sponge which would later be replaced by a common sex toy, a dildo.

He offered a second plastic surgery to reform the pelvic skin to create folds and close off the top of the area to look quite natural.
I had never intended to go through with the second surgery because I knew that I didn’t care if it didn’t look quite normal.
I had seen the results of both.
Yes, the additional procedure made it look absolutely real. But with only the first, I would never be singled out in a shower room as anything but a GG, a genetic girl.

The procedure offered at Stanford University did everything at once.
Skin grafts were used to create a totally natural looking crotch with folds of skin to form the labia.
The urethra was trimmed short and repositioned.
A graft from the colon was used to create the vaginal walls. This method was very extreme.
It had more risk for complications.
It looked better and the vagina would be better equipped for sexual relations.
It
was
deeper and larger. Although it was significantly more expensive, it did not have to be paid for all at once, up front.
They did require a large deposit however. They would work with my insurance company to cover the remainder.

I could choose either. I didn’t really care how my new vagina would look. I could not imagine anyone looking at it. I should have considered medical professionals who would later examine me. But I did not.
My primary concern was complications with the urethra.
The urethra descends from the bladder. That is the pipe through which the urine travels. This little pipe can not be nicked or damaged. This little pipe must not plug up. This little pipe could not be replaced. If I had complications regarding the repositioning of the Urethra, I could have some serious health problems. I did not know if damages could be repaired. This was my primary concern.

I decided to go with the surgeon with the most experience.
If I wanted it to look perfectly natural, I could return for additional expense.
I would settle for “okay” as far as looks and sexual intercourse were concerned.

“How long will
Dr. Biber
be out? I asked.

“We don’t know for sure, but we think it will be a few months,” she answered.
I anticipated a wall of gloom to descend upon me.
I thought that depression would streak through my veins. But it did not. I knew that I would need to hang on a few months longer in that crappy little job. I thought that I could. I had made them money had I not?
I had a discrimination suit ready to go with all kinds of memos did I not? I had never threatened them. It was not my style. If I were left to do my job, I could do it efficiently and continue to make them money.

“I’ll wait until he recovers” I said.
I was not happy about it, but I knew that this was a good decision.

I learned through the grapevine that Dr. Biber had his accident while working with a horse.
He had a broken bone in his leg somewhere. The details were sketchy, but I knew that broken bones could heal.

Trish was coming to the same point in her life that I was. She would be ready a month later.
She made the decision to go to a surgeon in Texas rather than wait for Dr. Biber to continue working. Her time came and I drove her to the airport. I picked her up when she came back.
I remember her waddling down from the jetway with a donut pillow in her hand. The pain was obviously excruciating. But her face beamed.

One month passed by, then it became two.
I learned that Dr Biber was doing well and planned to return soon. In the third month, I received a call.
My surgery would be perfo
rmed on March the first.
March one
would be
come
my “new” birthday
, one which only I would ever appreciate
.

The time passed quickly.
I had to gear up my group and prepare them for my absence.
I had to get leave and have it approved. I knew that I should try to get pre approval from my insurance. They denied the request.
I put together a package that read like a legal file detailing medical necessity, quoting court cases, and my medical history.
I knew that I would have to fight this. I knew that it may take a long time to resolve. But I also knew, regardless of the outcome, that I would survive.

“But what are you going to have done Cindi” Lucy our HR director asked.

“How long have I known you Lucy?” I queried.

“A very long time Cindi” was her reply. “Have you ever known me to talk about my personal life here at work, to take a personal phone call, or to needlessly socialize?” I asked her.

“No,” she said.

“I’m only asking what I always ask Lucy” I said. “At work, I work. I leave my personal life at home when I come here. And I leave my professional life here when I return home,” I concluded.
Oh yeah, they knew.

I felt that I would need 4 weeks off. The doctor recommended
at least six
. But I could not afford to do so.
While I would receive disability payments for the time I missed, that amount wouldn’t even cover my rent. I had to return to work just as soon as I was able.

My travel plans were set. You don’t fly into Trinidad. I would fly to Pueblo Colorado and take a one hour bus ride to Trinidad. Trish arranged to take me to the airport. I offered to take a taxi because I didn’t want her to have to miss work. She was really struggling with her house. It was in foreclosure. She gave me a big hug as I departed down the runway. “I’ll call you,” she said, waving me off.

The flight was short compared to the long bus trip down old roads, I recall. I also remember wishing how much I wanted my mother to share in this event with me. I wanted her to dote on me as she always did when I had previous surgeries for my back side. I wanted her to call me every day. But I knew that it was not possible. I did not know how the news would be received or if it would spread on the winds of gossip and eventually prevent this most precious event from happening.

As we wound down the country roads I reminisced about how many times in my life I had wished for this very thing. Now it would happen.
Now and for the rest of my life, I would be Cindi.
No one would ever take that away from me again. No one would challenge the
Squirrel
to invent ways to deceive and betray.
I would always need to keep some secrets I realized as I thought of my children.
But th
e world would meet Cindi Jones.
There would be nothing physically binding me to the old world of David Steele. In my mind, I would be whole.