I soon found myself in our family doctor's office, getting my blood drawn and being poked and prodded while answering countless questions. Three days ter, his nurse called and we set an appointment to see him again.
To my surprise, I discovered that I didn’t have any testicles and what I thought was a penis was purely cosmetic. The doctor prescribed various tests to be done, including an ultrasound. However, the technician conducting the ultrasound “hmm’d and huh’d” throughout the entire procedure and refused to give me any information despite my persistent questions.
I was led back to the exam room to rejoin my parents and wait for the doctor. As I sit there pying on my phone as we wait for over an hour for him to reappear. When he does, he sits down with a heavy sigh, his face etched with concern. If I thought I was already beyond being shocked by anything more he could say, I was positively wrong. When he revealed the results of my ultrasound and other tests, I just about fell out of my seat.
He begins to expin, using the most basic nguage possible, that I’m intersexed. Then expin that intersexed means someone who is born with a combination of male and female biological traits. In my case, I have XX chromosomes with the external features of a male. He further expins that while it isn’t common, it isn’t that uncommon either since 1 out of every 10,000 babies are born intersexed. He goes on to crify that the ultrasound reveals I possess all of the physical characteristics of a female: ovaries, a uterus, and a vagina, but the addition of my non-functioning penis covering my vaginal opening is what caused them to confuse my gender.
He goes on to crify that when he first saw me, he originally assumed that I had gynecomastia, but considering the test results, my physical development as a female would only accelerate now that I’d entered puberty. He finished by stating that surgery was the only viable solution, as my current genitalia is non-functional. My parents responded by telling him that we’ll discuss it and thank him.
As we drive home, the car's atmosphere feels heavy and no one speaks, creating an awkward silence that hangs over us.
Well before I was ready, the movers arrived and swiftly packed up our house. As they finished their work, I said my final goodbyes to Chel. She embraces me and surprisingly, gives me my first, and st, kiss from her. My parents take turns driving as we try to reach our new home before the moving van does.
Once we settle in, I studiously ignore every attempt by my parents to talk about the situation by simply saying that I’m not ready yet. However, several days after their st attempt, I woke up due to the pain in my lower abdomen. It was unlike any pain I had experienced. The pain soon intensifies and I tear up and curl into a ball holding a pillow tightly against my stomach. At about 4 in the morning, the cramps begin and an hour ter, they become so severe that I scream. A minute ter, Mom comes in and asks what’s wrong. After I expin, she goes to get Dad. They carried me down to the car to rush me to the ER.
It's not hard to figure out what was causing the issue. Menarche, the beginning of menstruation for girls, and the whole issue is that my ‘penis’ was blocking my vaginal opening, as our doctor had warned us would happen. This led to a swift decision by the doctors and I was scheduled to undergo surgery for a penectomy and a vaginopsty.
Despite the morphine drip keeping my pain at bay, I struggled to sleep. Whenever I did manage to drift off, nightmares would jolt me awake. So, I spent the night and early morning figuratively tossing and turning, and trying not to completely lose it. Trust me, you'd be just as anxious if you were in my shoes. Imagine living your entire life as a boy, only to discover that you're not one biologically, and then being told they need to remove your dick.
◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇
The nurses come in fairly early, one sits in the chair beside my bed and asks questions as the others prep me for surgery. Then the anesthetist comes in to speak with me and asks the same questions again. Finally, Doctor Haier comes in and I answer the questions for the third time. Finished, I'm wheeled down into a brightly lit room. After they move me over to the surgical bed, I'm looking up at the ceiling with its huge lights and being asked questions about my favorite kind of music and bands.
Moments ter, I feel as if I'm floating, and then for me, the world disappears.
◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇
I sluggishly am dragged to wakefulness when I’m gently shaken and hear my name being called sounding like they are far away. I slowly blink my eyes repeatedly to allow my eyes to adjust to the bright fluorescent light in the room, and I feel someone gently shaking my arm.
“Ray, time to wake up sweetie,” a gentle voice whispers in my ear as I struggle to open my eyes. Slowly, my vision clears while I listen to the steady beep of a nearby heart monitor, and I see my mom's smiling face leaning over me. I attempt to speak, but my mouth is so dry that I only produce a croak. She offers me a gss of water with a straw and I gratefully take a long sip.
Slightly shaking my head, I attempt to clear the remaining fuzziness to figure out where I am and what’s happening.
As I come to, I hear a voice say, “Hey there, welcome back.”
Still disoriented, I manage to mumble out, "Where am I? What’s going on?"
“You’re in the hospital and you just woke up after surgery,” she patiently expins.
It takes a few minutes for the fog to clear from my mind, but then the memories come flooding back. I look down to see they’ve immobilized me from my waist to my ankles.
My recovery is a blur of sterile white walls and beeping machines. I spend the next 10 days in the hospital, my body weak and uncooperative. Every movement is a struggle, every breath an effort. Then comes the slow process of healing at home, where simple tasks feel like monumental feats. Even with the heavy doses of painkillers they prescribe, it takes another 2 weeks before I’m able to move around for any length of time without colpsing in pain. It’s another 3 weeks until I can walk normally, although even then, I can’t walk very far. Those days are a blur of pain and discomfort, which is only exacerbated by physical therapy.
I’ve had to see our doctors several times as I heal and they all commented on how well I am doing. Although they allow me more freedom to move around as time goes on, it’s 2 months before they clear me to resume my normal routine. I’m also referred to a therapist to help with my adjustment and I have to admit that I like her.
The conversation my parents hold with me about a new name is something I can’t say I enjoy. I understand because it isn’t as if I can go by Ray anymore. They suggest names like Ange, Charlotte, Lucy, Megan, and more, but none of them feel like me, you know? I ask to hold off on the decision for a day and hide out in my room. However, a little ter, I search through countless girls' names online, trying to find one that sounds like me. Finally, I stumbled upon the name Rei. It just clicked for me. No adjustment to a new name, no awkwardness, none of it. The only thing I’ll need to do is make sure I spelled it correctly.
With that decided, I curl up in bed with my tablet to read an online novel I follow.
During breakfast the next morning, I tell Mom and Dad about my decision concerning my name and Dad replies that he’ll hire an attorney to file the paperwork necessary to change my name and birth certificate.
Later that morning, I’m lying on my bed reading again when Mom comes up, knocks, and then opens the door to poke her head in. “Rei, you need to get dressed, we’re going shopping for new clothes,” which makes me grimace.
For now, I've been making do with my sister's hand-me-downs, though only some shorts and I’m still wearing my old T-shirts. Mom bought me a few pairs of underwear and some camisoles to wear as well. I was mortified at first, but after trying them on, I found them to be much more comfortable than the tighty whities I used to wear. The soft material of the camisoles helps prevent the rough material of my T-shirt from irritating my overly sensitive nipples.
The first time my sister handed me a skirt and tank top, I wanted to throw up, but after Mom snapped, “Just put them on,” I found them surprisingly comfortable, although a bit drafty below the waist.
I even enjoyed the sensation of the skirt swishing against my legs as I walked. However, the main reason I've been wearing these clothes is because my body has changed so much that my old clothes no longer fit and David’s would probably fall right off me. So here I am, wearing hand-me-down short shorts, skirts, dresses, and blouses. It's also good practice since our new school requires us to wear skirts as part of the girls' uniform.
Now that I’m able to freely move around again, my mom and sister began helping me with the basics: walking, talking, sitting, gestures, and the like. I never realized how different all those are for girls, until now. Then there’s the hygiene issues and learning to deal with them as well.
Fun stuff, right? Not!
Getting up, I walk over and open my closet. Looking over the few outfits I’ve been given, I grab a red knee-length summer dress, panties, camisole, ankle socks, and my sports shoes. Then walk over to my bathroom to shower.
After stepping out of the shower, I quickly dry off and take a moment to examine myself in the mirror. It's startling how much I've changed since I st looked at myself. My face is still recognizable, but my features have softened and my eyes seem rger with longer eyeshes. My cheekbones are more defined and my lips are fuller. Suddenly, it dawns on me. I bear a strong resembnce to Mom in her younger years.
Despite being only 155 centimeters tall, the doctor assures me that I’m of average height for someone my age and gender, though I’m a bit smaller than the other girls I’ve seen. I’m slender, but not excessively thin like some girls I've seen, and I’m well toned, not just skin and bone due to taking Karate and the other exercise we normally get. Given the move and the fact that my mom and sister insisted that I not cut my hair, I haven’t had a haircut. So my hair is now below my shoulders, and it’s much thicker and silkier than it used to be.
As I look down, I notice that my breasts have begun to fill out and are quickly developing into more than just buds with hypersensitive nipples. They are still small, they don’t even fill my small hand, but they’re undeniably breasts. My areos have also increased in size, now three times rger than before. And my nipples are much thicker and a little more pronounced.
My waist has slimmed down, accentuating my hips and giving me a bit of an hourgss figure. I turn around and look in the mirror at my butt. It’s filled out and become noticeably rounder, taking the shape of an upside-down heart. There's no denying it; I’m definitely a girl. A rather attractive one at that. If I were a boy, I would probably find myself attracted to me.
I let out a heavy sigh as I scrutinized myself in the mirror. My eyes trace my body from top to bottom. It's unsettling to see myself like this, but I know it's something I have to get used to. The decision may have been made for me, but now I am what I am and there's no turning back. This new version of myself is both daunting and disconcerting to see.
I sigh heavily and shrug slightly as I think, ‘ I simply have to deal with this. There’s no other way.” Returning my preparations, I finish drying my hair, then blow dry and brush it out, and put it up in a ponytail. After I dress, I head down to meet Mom.
We arrive at the mall and much to my embarrassment, head straight for a lingerie shop. I quickly object, “Mom, please, I can't go in there.”
She bends down to look me in the eye and quietly says, “Stance.”
I quickly bring my feet together. Just to crify, when she says 'stance', she means me standing with my legs together. She has come up with several shorthand reminders for me whenever I slip up and do something I shouldn't
“Rei... Listen, Sweetheart, I know it's uncomfortable, but we don't have a choice. Not only do you need to get accustomed to this, but we also need to measure you so that we can buy some bras. Camisoles are fine for lounging at home, but you're getting bigger, and they won't be enough when we go out in public."
I’m well aware that I need to get over my hang-ups because this is just a part of being a girl. However, it's not all that easy to just throw away 12 years of male programming, even though, in some ways, I’ve always been more feminine than the other boys.
