Pg..2

I understand why the caged bird sings.

"The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom."
As quoted from the famous works by
the renowned visionary
 Ms. Maya Angelou

Back to work? Well not quite yet. I called a meeting of all nursing department heads to inform them of my decisions and status.  I walked in to a room of light
waits that I had held in such esteem. It was a gathering of 20 plus professionals sitting around a huge oval table.  Enter, Courtney.  They didn't have a clue.  Some acted silly; some just looked down; some were tearful; and some interacted well and showed support and encouragement. I spoke for about an hour. Nice round of applause. Then came question / answer time. The questions were fielded carefully. The director of nurses and in particular the assistant tried to push me in to a corner when a dark skinned man (Physician) who spoke with an accent said, "I know a lady who went through transition and surgery. She continues to be an excellent professional in her field' and, 'In fact that is generally the case after surgery". His obvious knowledge and support rebuked any effort to blur the issues. Now that fine assembly of people was going to go back and prepare their employee's for my return. The rumor mill had already started weeks before my return. Even some patients heard I was coming back to work as they related to me, "We all heard them talking right in front of the patients in the dayroom". I still do not know where I found the strength to transition at my current place of employment.  I have hypothesized because I felt so much better already, no matter what anyone said and no matter how it might have hurt I was being who I am. Discrimination was subtle but abundant in my work place as was fear, anger and of course curiosity.  My position has always been, "What's all the fuss about. Life's a grin. I feel right for the first time in my life". I never did feel like I was "trapped" in the wrong body nor did I hate my body.  Rather, I only knew it wasn't right. I did not feel whole. There was this feeling of being female. It was in my head since I can remember.

God as my witness that first day back to work brought a constant parade of employees from other hospital areas walking through my unit to look at me. That continued for a few weeks. Despite the innuendos I remained firm in my resolve. I worked second shift so stress was less and my daily routine smoothed out. 
It's a good thing cause I wasn't going anywhere.  Administrative heads knew if necessary I would bring suit in the public arena if the situation ever required it. I must say in all fairness, many professionals in my peer group and level were trying and were often helpful and displayed kind understanding where they did not have to. It was most but not all, non-professional staff and only a handful of busy-body professionals who were so problematic. Of course what people say and do to your face can be different when you are not around. My job performance evaluations were always satisfactory if not exemplary. It had to become looked at as all in a days work so as to not get vested in negatives. I was blessed in that I looked female and did not require any sort of facial feminization surgery. It helped as one peer at work said, "You sure have the face for it". Thus my nurse / patient relationships never wavered. Some time later I switched units in to a nest of less than accepting non-professional co-workers. I was still on second shift and always treated well by members of the other two shifts. Knowing them for so many years helped my situation.  But this new staff of mine never knew me before beginning my transition. There were two good workers in the entire bunch. The rest were more in to gossip and spent more time getting out of work and complaining than doing their assignment. I did insist on good patient care and because I was hired to supervise, I did just that and acquired a new name, "Bitch".  Well at least they got the gender and pronoun correct. I worked with all its negatives, attended therapy weekly and monthly a state away for individual and group therapy. My life was pretty much work, therapy and shopping for a new wardrobe and my private life was busy with friends in-between. While transition has its social moments, I did not believe dating was a good move; too complicated at that stage of things. Along the way I freely admit I had some severe emotional dealings and had to take time off from work to work through them. Felt good to laugh again and feel it. Therapy is a good thing.

I feel it necessary to relate the college where I sat on the nursing board not only allowed me to remain on that board presenting my female persona, but also changed my college transcripts to my new name. I then received in the mail all my diplomas anew reflecting Courtney Josten as graduate. There were no questions from the dean of students but rather kindness and a caring manner toward me. It was this type of non-judgmental behavior which always came at the right time. Everyone wishes to be well received. Many of the collegiate staff I came in contact with and later worked with remain warmly remembered.

Oh dear! I did say dating was too complicated. Well booooooooy let me say I should have held tightly to that realization. I am however, happy and so very appreciative of the opportunity God gave me. OK. So here's the deal..................
He came to work my unit as float personnel. It was one of those situations where you think, "I'm gonna marry him / her".  I even told a friend / co-worker those very same words. I am going to call him Jonathan. I fell in love and had not had my GRS. It went against everything I believed. I sure did wrestle with it for a very long time. The ugliest gossip mill was rolling. Of course my staff then became more ambivalent than usual. Always conniving and watching for anything they could report to the hospital D.O.N. (director of nurses) as A Courtney infraction. YIPES! Jonathan and I had a good rapport from the start. He was one of a few good employees on my unit / shift. If I didn't understand it before, this is where I clearly understood discrimination, hate, childish jealousy and the absolute vicious side of people. I swear, some people will say anything about you and or ask you anything. Meanwhile, some how in amongst all that rubbish, Jonathan and I developed a closeness but at that time not physical but for a hug. And yes he knew my history. And yes he knew I loved him and I was soon to have my GRS. And yes he is heterosexual. The ever malicious gossip mongers and militant staff which enjoyed knowing and sharing the worst about everyone true or embellished up on remained. My friendship with Jonathan only fueled their sick work ethic. I had my moments but then when most of the ugly talk is about you, sharing such corruption is rare. They even went so far as to try and get me fired. They never knew I was fully aware of their activity. Some people in my corner protected me and did not buy in to such unethical dealings.

1995 finally brought my surgical date. At that time, Harry Benjamin Standards Of Care only required one year of transition. I had fulfilled the requirements for transition for the next step, GRS. The few friends I had saw me off at the airport. I arrived to a beautiful recovery center and 16 gals (most having GRS) enduring various cosmetic procedures. It was to be one of the most positive experiences of my life. My GRS went well and I rehabbed at the post-op center.
During bath time I caught myself naked in the mirror and spoke right out loud, "Now that's the way I was supposed to be". The health care was perfect and they met all my needs and then some. I on the other-hand became acquainted with this most extraordinary cross-section of talented people at the post-op center both fellow-patient and staff. Warmly I recall when during my stay a seventeen year old girl (accompanied by her mother) arrived to the clinic for her GRS . After much education, and family counseling her mom came to the realization her child was male to female transsexual.  Imagine the strength, courage, understanding and love between this mother, daughter and family.  Amazing! For me, there was no fear or apprehension from the time I arrived to when I left. It made leaving bitter sweet. Healing and feeling very well, I flew home two weeks later. I get the impression some people think we actually complete gender reassignment on a "whim". Well considering all the therapy, travel expenses, ward- robe, and GRS this "whim" cost me 50 grand. Next came 8 weeks of healing and post-operative treatment before returning to the job. My surgeon also sent me the legal document designating me as female. Off to the records bureau I went with that document where my old birth certification was replaced with my new birth cert noting my having been born female. Legal !

There I was driving on to the hospital grounds feeling strong, positive, content and work ready. Of course work is work and while I loved nursing I did not like the staff sense of apathy and bitterly vicious expression. Oh heck I don't know.
How could I have even envisioned anything had changed there? Remember I had been living a away from work and its negatives for two and a half months. Returning to work was like I never left and I had to learn to deal with those
who disapproved of me or found me a delicious topic for nasty gossip. Like I always say, fight for yourself.  Never lose yourself in it. We are all aware there is some bad in life and work. But when you spend 8 hours in it, it becomes more than a run-of-the-mile type of atmosphere. When you are nursing, these childish distractions and activities on a continuous basis can compromise patient care.

Onward. Transition continues long after GRS. There does not seem to be much discussion about this portion of gender reassignment. However, it is quite relevant; more for some than others but relevant none the less. Revelation: I used to frequent a gay bar in town so I went to visit.  Albeit they all knew me and most had been what I thought were good friends, I was ignored. There were no "Hi how are you' or 'Good to see you". I was rejected. Poor fools. I am the same person I was just wrapped a bit different. Guess they may have felt betrayed. Still learning, I took a big gulp and broke in to a verse of, "It's A Hard Knock Life", and pressed onward. This is where I began to see those people who had been supportive of me prior to my GRS change toward me. Such a change occurred over a coarse in time but was no less ominous. At work, the straight guys seemed fearful and the straight gals more like invidious. Yes. There is a whole psychology behind that but I am not the one to explain. Would looking right off the Springer stage been more palatable? But I didn't and don't now. Their problem not mine.

Jonathan and I dated and had our ups and downs. Co-workers were always in there stirring the pot. During the downs I dated and met mostly frogs or is it toads. My-my-my. A whole mew world and I didn't think much of it. No romance. Was it destiny I should meet a nice man who worked full time, had a nice personality, sensitive, and interesting.  He had Macular Degeneration which means he was visually impaired and could not see what I looked like. It was now six months or so following GRS. I told him my history and we dated off and on for some time. Eventually I lost my virginity to a blind man who later just could not handle knowing my history without the ability to see me. He really did try over the months we were seeing one another. We parted on friendly terms.

When I learned my mother was out of town and suffered a severe heart attack and then had emergency by-pass surgery, I of course drove for hours to be at her side. She refused to see me. So, all I could do was drive back home.

In came Jonathan again. I enjoyed his friendship and I thought that was all there was to it. But this time he was serious. We became inseparable. He asked me to marry and we became engaged. Boy were we the buzz at work. I put my heart before my head. I knew his former wife was diagnosed with Bi-Polar Disorder and was a real passive aggressive person. I knew he and his former wife were swapping mates. She married Jonathan's best friend. I knew his former wife also accused Jonathan of abuse resulting in divorce. Sigh....and I knew Jonathan had a former girlfriend whose kids accused him of sexual abuse. I had not seen any behavior like that and he freely discussed it with me. We married in September of 1997 all nice and legal too. This is significant as it is a clear statement to men, "just because you fall in love with a post-op transsexual and marry them does not make you homosexual." Jonathan is not gay. It says, if you are comfortable in your sexuality and self, what the person you love may have been is not a part of the equation. The word at work was we had to get married because I was pregnant. Some said the marriage was not legal but it was. We soon got custody of his middle son who suffered with ADHD and was on medication. He did fine without meds in my observation. So I arranged for him to see the best pediatric diagnostic group in the state. It was expensive with multiple trips across state for an on-going battery of tests. In the end, the boy was diagnosed Dyslexic. ADHD and Dyslexia can co-occur. However observing the young lad I saw no ADHD behavior. His speech was garbled and rapid and his reading skills were poor at best. This alone gave cause his pressured speech during conversation with or listening to him read. The doctors said his intelligence varied from 3rd grade all the way up in to the second year of college.

Next came my mothers death. I was notified via my employer which passed on the message relatives had left for me there . No opportunity to say goodbye and no one called and left a message for me relating her current illness. Just makes no sense at all. Interesting point here. She did not acknowledge me when I began transition until after here death when her obituary read survived by a
son and then gave my birth name. As I will always be her son, I just think the statement, "survived by one son" would have been fine and satisfactory. Putting my given name in the obituary caused me many problems on the job and outside of work. Enough said.

Our boy was our focus. Now in mainstream 11th  grade high school, we arranged for him to attend a vocational college free. This would ensure his future ability to be productive and support himself. We were so proud of him. As he had multiple felony charges against him where his mother lived, none of this would have been available if we had not taken custody. When our boy turned 17 we came home to find he had been taken or kidnapped. Apparently his mother took him and hid him for which the judge jailed her. We did not get him back. It devastated Jonathan. I had a breakdown and was prescribed Paxil. Then Jonathan's colors showed when he took his foot, placed it to my chest, and pushed me down a flight of stairs. In addition Jonathan was not being a husband in the physical sense but hat a fetish for porn movies. I also heard he was sleeping around. The court took a dim view of this physical abuse and he was placed on probation and counseling.
 

I quit the hospital after 30 years and did not look back. I have never regretted that decision. Jonathan and I moved to a small town. The physical abuse stopped as it meant jail for Jonathan. So he replaced it with emotional abuse. Sometime later we learned Jonathan's son had moved back with his mother where he raped his little sister. Having been found guilty he was incarcerated and remains in prison today. After a year of emotional stress I experienced one of those Whitney Houston, "I Will Always Love You....but I'm not what you need" kinda moments. My hero; my prince and I divorced nice and legal also. As for Jonathan, I couldn't just throw away the love in my heart and like the song says, I will always love you remains but like many things you learn to live with, you stuff it back in your heart and life must go on never hearing from or seeing him again. I have managed. In the end I speculate he probably loved me and there was that possible novelty aspect. The problems with the kids were devastating to us both and provided distance as often happens in similar situations. The docs kept shoving pills at me and Jonathan dealt with life in his own way. Ineffective coping frequently breaks relationships down to nothing; Divorce. With time you forgive and dwell less on the negative and remember the good times. I know myself and take responsibility for my failings which certainly affected the union. I failed him as much as he failed me. In its brevity, I am blessed to have had the marriage and step children. I didn't expect to live this real life experience ever. When good, it was the best and there I felt loved for the first time in my life.

Artist: Wilson Phillips / Song selection: "You won't See Me Cry"
Written by Wilson Phillips, Glen Ballard
You Tube
Listen while Wilson Phillips sings best what I could not speak.
 

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