Tag Archive | Transsexual

‘Today Is A ‘Coming Out’ Day’

*(1970 06 00) Slim at Crater Lake (sitting) 62108991_353447288645822_7445126293500198912_n

‘Today Is A ‘Coming Out’ Day’

(11 Oct 2019)


I am already ‘Out’.

Lemme share about my experiences.  Maybe someone is new here, hasn’t browsed this ‘Slim and Me’ web-site or social media.  Or maybe you are familiar to my life.  Either way, I’ll try to use a different angle to write about things this time.

I was Out since at least age 3.  Perhaps I did not use Transsexual for my self, but I did know about two people:

 – Uncle Frank (my mother’s younger brother) was in Transition from boy to girl (as my child’s mind perceived it) and 

 – Christine Jorgensen’s name came directed at me during times when my parents were shouting at me about what I was doing (though I don’t recall knowing why her name was mentioned when I was a child at that time ). 

I knew that I am a girl, same as my sister Kathy.  Family frequently referred to Kathy and me as ‘The Twins’.  My only childhood definition of twins at that age was two siblings born at the same time – two girls or two boys, not one of each.  Being called a twin of my sister didn’t help me differentiate from my sister, it brought me to identify same as her.

Oh, family was humoured by me.  I wore Kathy’s clothes and we painted our nails.  Or I put on my teen cousins’ make-up and nail polish during visits to their homes.  The family gushed:

 – ‘Oh, Nickie!  What a cute little girl!’(1927 xx xx) Abie's Irish Rose (book cover - green) 51p7kbWYLGL._SX346_BO1,204,203,200_

That name – Nickie.  Here’s probably the first time that I shall have described in my essays how that came.  On the one hand, I hated Nickie because family used it as part of their verbal abuse against me.  Yet I came to want to embrace it when another reality hit.  Our father acquired child custody of Kathy and me following our parents’ divorce; he took us out of Public School and put us into Catholic elementary school.  My name at home, among family, among play friends, officially at Public School was Nickie.  No more Nickie at Catholic school, the nuns would not allow Nickie, the nuns forced me to use Nickolas.  No more Nickie – a name I began observing used by girls, not boys.  I resented the loss, I resented adults and authority denying another element of my girlhood.

Curious, I might not have sought a different name during childhood if the nuns had allowed me to continue using Nickie.  Instead, in my retaliation against authority, I explored innumerable girl’s names throughout 2nd Grade and 3rd Grade.  I decided upon Sharon by late 3rd Grade.  I told my mother first.  It was one Saturday morning during visitation as she cooked breakfast; we had quite a row in the kitchen.  I’ve asked Kathy many times; I’m surprised that Kathy tells me that she didn’t hear us where she was in her bedroom.  Taking it further, I don’t know what would have happened with my decision to keep Sharon – me as namesake for the other Sharon – a few years later.  Or maybe I would not have needed to have made it permanent and changed my name as part of Transition.  Small moments develop into major consequences.

(1969 06 00) Mincemeat and Nick - Grambling Apartment 64597389_2088241518143369_2973098609945346048_nLikely I would have changed my last name in any situation.

Life got difficult as I grew up.  My father was beating me for my Feminine Protesting, my female inclinations, my wearing Kathy’s clothes by the time when I was of older elementary school and high school age.  The worst was February 1971.  My family murdered my Uncle Frank a few months earlier to put an end to his Transition – to be done with him, one way or another.  I feared that this fate was happening to me that Thursday evening.  Crazy thought – I made numerous past suicide attempts and there would be other attempts wanting to end my life in later years, but there that night, that time and place, I really wanted to live, at least survive, somehow.

My teen years were living on that proverbial razor’s edge.  My father and I moved to Greece for two years during my high school.  I promised to control my Feminine Protesting, to cease wearing female attire, to study well; my father allowed me to grow my hair, tried to end his beatings.

(1972 03 00) Slim and Nick at Anatolia CampusI got lucky after I graduated from high school.  Dear Ol’ Dad took his two-years contract to teach at Brasil; I stayed home.  I had a fortuitous encounter with Denise, my next mentor; I promptly began my adult Transition at her encouragement.  That uneasy truce began to crack when my father returned home.  He snooped in my bedroom and through my privacy:

 – he discovered my Library books about Transition – especially Christine Jorgensen’s biography and books about the psychology and the sociology of Transition,

 – he found my correspondences with Transition programs, miscellaneous postal letters with Sharon as the recipient.

He resumed beating me.  What was I to do?  This was the 1970s.  There was no such thing as Domestic Violence as a crime back then.  I could hardly call the police.  Report my father?  The devout leader of our Catholic parish?  The respected Principal of our elementary school?  Police would have arrested me as an abusive son.

What if police did arrest him, prosecute him, sentence him, incarcerate him?  What was I to do still financially dependent upon him?

I finally gained employment and lived on my own.

My Transition still was not to be discussed.  Or, at least, family spread gossip among themselves making me fair game while they prohibited me from sharing my experiences and progress with them, such as:

 – I yearned to share my Transition advances at Christmas dinner 1979 (that year was one of the most momentous to that time).  This had been the first time in several years that so many of us would be together at one time and place; I so much wanted to share my joy with my family as a family.   Family shut me down.  That gathering was to be the last time when our father, Kathy, and I were together in good cheer.  If I recall correctly, the next time would be when our father was dying a decade later.

 – I showed my Diethylstilbestrol pills to my mother several months later; she laughed at me, she countered that she didn’t consider them real, she blathered to me that they were a trick, that they were candy.(2019 06 08) Inter-sex Don't Need To be Fixed 62175802_335193497131221_9095511818230562816_n


Our Transition is not always a direct route.  My detour was when doctors diagnosed me Inter-sex (1982) and offered a surgery six months later.  The hospital psychologist was not supportive of my Transition, provided no guidance to me how to explain my Inter-sex to family.

 – My father came cross-country to visit me for Christmas 1982, he saw evidence of my exploratory hospitalisation, and asked for details; I did not know what to say.  My father snooped through my box of medical papers while I was at work.  Not once did he bother to talk with me; instead, he made his own conclusions (wrong as he was).

 – I travelled to visit Cousin Nancy from Texas a few weeks after my surgery.  I hoped that I could have figured things out enough to share with her and her family.  Nope, there was no good time to talk seriously.(1984 06 xx) Grandma Thonus and Me on Mom's Sofa

 – I later tried explaining Inter-sex to cousins Carole and Bev (1993).  I gave an audio cassette tape and diagrams to them, they were from Dr. Paul MacDonald’s Inter-sex lecture to the University of Arizona Medical School (1974).  I hoped that they would comprehend Dr. MacDonald’s explanation of Inter-sex.  They didn’t seem to grasp anything – Carole is a college graduate (I don’t know her degree), Bev is a Pharmacist.


It’s all well-worn history when I finally managed to achieve full-time in 1985.  I had one interim situation during May when I stayed with my father at the home where I once lived with him during my years as a teenager.  This visit was home base for me to seek and secure my own home before I made my final departure from Utah.  I seriously considered presenting as Sharon during that two weeks or so, but decided that I should wait til I had my own home if this visit went bad.

My father hoped that I still was going through a phase when he invited me to my birthday dinner that July.  Nope.  I already had been living full-time for more than a month, my apartment registration was Sharon, my neighbours (including Clint) knew me as Sharon, my college enrollment and ID was Sharon.  I could not possibly do anything other than what was long overdue. 

(1986 xx xx) Golden Acres - HomeI presented Sharon to my father that evening – permanently, once and for all, no more part-time, no more denying my self to please Dear Ol’ Dad.  The subsequent 18 months was rough – he wanted nothing to do with me, did not communicate with me.  He refused my goodwill offer at his birthday (January 1986).  He was facing his denials.  All my years since the time when I was a toddler apparently did not prepare my father for this inevitability.  I am empathetic.  His wife denied a son to him and now his adopted son denied his son to him.

Our relationship settled into another truce by late-1986 – my father and I came together when the Mets played and won the World Series.  My father was becoming at ease with me, was no longer reticent about being with me in public.  Soon, he would frequently drive to visit with me.  He would pick me up from work, he observed how my co-workers accepted me, he made no slip-ups to them about my past.  We would go grocery shopping together, dine out together.  We were making progress together.  Those were among what few good times we would have.  We had a tumultuous Thanksgiving Day 1988.  He died of cancer the next July.

(1992 02 xx) Amber's DrawingI had one brief visit with Grand-Aunt Lena, Grand-Uncle Vic, Uncle Jack, Uncle Artie, Cousin Amber at their home (1992).  I was on exhibit for them – Look!  It’s Baby Sharon, she walks, she talks, she drinks, she wets.  I felt stiff, unable to relax, under their scrutiny the entire time.  Amber did present her drawing to me.

Last time when I saw Kathy was 1993.  It didn’t go well.  It has been downhill since that time.

Fast forward to family living here in town – Aunt Pat and cousins Bev, Carole, Gail, Jack.  They invited me, then they un-invited me, to Thanksgiving Day 1993.  That was the last time I heard from them til a series of awkward telephone conversations with Bev a few years ago.


(1972 12 00) Dad - Kathy - Nick (Vienna)For years, my ‘self’ perceived me as Transsexual.  Then came Inter-sex; then came doctors specifying that I am Female XXY.  I studied Transsex and Inter-sex at the University of Utah Medical School and then at the University of Arizona Medical School during the first half of the 1980s.  I had been especially familiar about my Transsex circumstance.  Adding Inter-sex was quite a new dimension to handle, accept, comprehend, alter my self-perceived consciousness.

Living stealth did much to suppress my perspective about Inter-sex more than Transsex.  During these past four decades, I gradually came to embrace my Inter-sex though my more commanding Transsex perspective told me different.  I ponder the reversal when I learned that Inter-sex persons generally remain as Assigned At Birth versus Transsex persons who generally change from their Assigned At Birth.

 – What if I knew about my Inter-sex during childhood?

 – What if doctors and family offered the opportunity to me to have Transitioned during childhood?

 – How different would I have perceived, accepted my anatomical anomaly if I knew as early as my childhood that I am Inter-sex?

 – What difference would have been my decisions during childhood?

 – What if I did not Transition, whether as a child or as an adult?

 – What if I declined my two ‘sex change’ surgeries and instead embraced what I called my ‘Half-and-Half’ and ‘50/50’ Inter-sex anatomy?

My anatomy has always been my ‘normal’ despite competing forces:

– My Transsex drive told me to make my anatomy biologically ‘normal’ to be acceptable to CisHet normative standards.

– My Inter-sex drive told me that I AM ‘normal’. 

No regrets.  Just questions.


I won’t belabour the point that two employers (Forest Service, State of Arizona) fired me because I am Transsexual two decades apart (1983, 2008).  You can read those details already written and posted at several essays here in social media and at my web-site.  Lemme make reference to this point that losing two careers was a life-altering situation leading to a drastic difference in my financial condition.  

– The Forest Service put me on track for promotion at least to grade GS-11.  My income at that grade would have led to an accumulated life-time income exceeding $2 million, maybe as much as $3 million.   Maybe I could have made GS-12?  GS-13?   SES?

 – Or take the difference in earnings between a woman and a man – that’s 60¢ for the woman to a Dollar for the man.  My prime earnings time frame as an adult man was less than a decade.  My earnings years as a woman spanned more than two decades, would have been more if not hindered, then derailed, by my last employer.

 – What if I waited to Transition male-to-female after my lucrative career of 30 or 40 years?  Many (most) people do that – they take full advantage of their pre-Transition Male Privilege throughout their lifetime; they avoid incurring this combination financial penalty being a woman, being Transsex / Inter-sex, being a Trans woman.

That income disparity means the diminution of life accommodations in home, transportation, comfort, travel, investments, retirement.

I lost one home, two cars, most of my personal possessions because of my Transition.  I live in a humble home needing multiple repairs beyond my means, my car remains un-repaired, my diet is from the grocery discard rack.

Thus, Dear Reader, is one aspect of my fiscal cost of Transition.  You need to know this if you are Transitioning young – that Transition from male to female incurs the difference between financial ease versus financial desperation.

I am fortunate.  I know several Trans friends – both personally and throughout social media – who are far worse than my condition.


I invariably read social media from many of you.  I enjoy learning from you.

Many of you and I are from a similar age group born during the 1950s. Many of you report having severe experiences of anatomical frustration throughout your childhood, knowing that you are a girl, afraid to reveal your thoughts to family, punished because of your behaviour. You describe minimal knowledge about Transsexualism til adulthood – 30s, 40s, 50s – you marry, have children, make a good career, establish a solid circle of friends, yet you are gripped by fear of disclosing your life-long secret to family and friends. You report your access to Trans resources is quite different from mine.

I was fortunate when it came to Trans; whereas, I lost the family, friends, career.(2019 06 07) Christine Jorgensen 61957188_297225101160272_6758831003961131008_n

 – Christine Jorgensen was a common reference in my household, maybe because her home and our home were within the same metropolitan area rather than cross-country.  Where your parents might only have received publicity of national distribution, living locally probably provided frequent daily publicity leading to daily conversation at home.

 – Uncle Frank was in Transition during the 1960s.  Sorry, I don’t know what was or would have been his female appellation, so I stay with what I do have for consistency.  Having one Trans family member was a clear bonus for my own Transition, even though I have only one specific memory of him – watching my father and him arguing at our front door til the city police came to arrest him.  His influence throughout the 1960s passed to me when I eavesdropped hushed conversation among the grown-ups.

 – My next mentor was Denise.  Our first meeting was totally serendipitous, a misidentification on my part.  Our second meeting was equally at random.  I’m not one to intrude into the privacy of others, so I didn’t want to push myself into her life.(1977 12 30) Stanford Reply (Name Covered)

 – Linda was a co-worker where I was employed as a civilian at a military base.  She was an electronics engineer auditor who made her two-weeks TDY to our Directorate facility.  I was one of three office clerks for the civilian head and his staff of both civilian and military.  Linda and I had our own work responsibilities and schedules that did not match.  We decided that socialising at lunch breaks together might not be a good idea.  She invited me to spend an evening after work with her, she was a font of knowledge who shared as much as she could with me, she provided additional resources for me.

 – Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ was one of a handful of Transition programs during the 1970s.  Denise made a referral to get me enrolled (1977).

 – Janus Information Facility was a resource agency that Linda told me about.  They provided literature that I could send to family and friends, they provided psychological assessments of my status, they provided lists of potential counselling and medical services to contact.(1978 07 00) Information for the Family (Janus) (Cover)

These were opportunities that blessed my path.  How could I not succeed!


Each of us eventually finds our way, finds success in our own strength.  We come to our own breaking point when we realise that we are a better person living who we are rather than living who others demand.  Perhaps this is another reason for antagonism from the Cis Community.  We might perceive that we failed, but it is in our strength that we succeeded. 

Our failure was that we could no longer live a facade, our strength was that we can succeed when we live as our truth.  Most of the world lives in their failure, jealous of the rest of us who succeed when we live true to our selves – ‘A free fish doesn’t know what it is to be a hooked fish’.

Nor is there failure trying to live suppressing our Trans.  One famous Trans woman talked about how she tried sports, she tried the military, she tried being the ‘lady’s man’ – failure, yes, because she was none of that.  As she put it humourously about her efforts to ‘be a man’, she had to settle finding her success being ‘super water boy on the football team’ because she failed doing what she was not.  Success was when she found herself through her strength – her Transition.

Innumerable encounters that I had with Cis people growing up and as an adult eventually involved some degree of Cis aggression against me.  I can see where it scares the Trans child, left alone, left without family and other support structures.  Gawd, I grew up scared!  Perhaps it was humanity’s internal compass telling me right from wrong because somehow, within me, I had a strength, a sense that taking my stand was me being stronger than any bully. 

As I alluded in my essay, it was likely that many (most?) of today’s Out Trans Community may not have perceived or were not aware of Trans persons when they were children and during their younger adult life.  There were few counted actual Trans people by the end of the 1970s reported among the medical community – I have found reliable sources reporting from 1000 to 3000; certainly that fails to include children and adult Trans people living on the streets beyond the realm of official numbers.  Today is drastically different.  We can read social media at least by one Trans woman or another on any given day who is reporting that she is beginning her Transition, beginning her hormones, having one surgery or another – quite different compared to the 1970s, 1960s, 1950s, etc.

Yes – there were the occasional references and inferences in American media.  I saw an episode of the 1950s’ ‘Burns and Allen’ in syndication a few years ago cracking a joke about a sex change for one of the characters, the popularity of ‘Some Like It Hot’ and ‘Myra Breckinridge’ during the 1950s and 1960s, ‘M*A*S*H’ (and Klinger), ‘Soap’ (and Jody), and Tom Snyder during the 1970s.  Their frequent context was Trans as an oddity rather than Trans as our humanity.

There was good news during the 1970s and the 1980s.  Publicity began to present more Trans people in a positive context.  Robert Reed portrayed a character in Transition in 1975’s two-part ‘The Fourth Sex’ episode of ‘Medical Center’.  Then more public presentation among the daytime TV talk circuit – Dina Shore, Merv Griffin, Phil Donahue, Sally Jessy Raphael, Jane Whitney, Joan Rivers, Jenny Jones, Geraldo Rivera.  These talk shows finally presented us as normal people, not a punchline in a stand-up routine or a gag in a TV comedy.  Unfortunately, by the 1990s, Jerry Springer made Trans into freaks and objects.

We going public were still relatively few, aware of the hazard that publicity destroyed one’s life and career.  Allow me to identify Maria; she was on a few of those named talk shows, we became pen-pals for a few years.  She reported to me that she lost everything for being public.  She cautioned me to remain stealth.  Maria, I really want to hear from you, hoping that you have been able to do well.

We are still experiencing being Society’s pejorative.  There is the ignorance of many who have little education about Trans.  Then, there are the pernicious others who know exactly what they are doing to destroy us; I’m still amazed at their weakness and hypocrisy.  Pat Robertson had positive support for Trans people as recently as 2013 when I heard him discuss the topic on his TV show; something between then and recent led him to turn on Our Community.  He embodies that failure, that lack of strength in truth.



And so goes today’s Out Day reminiscences.  Those experiences have been among my Trans experiences.

(2019 06 10) We treat you life family 62440894_825818261130533_1994170594186231808_nFamily can read this essay.  Perhaps you can put these events together in your Ah-Ha moment of recollection.  Or spread gossip among yourselves.  Or not.  I have no expectation that any of you will ever correspond with me.







Cousin Nancy from West Virginia, 

Cousin Nancy from Texas, 





Uncle Jack.

I certainly don’t expect you or any other family to bother about this.  After all, Bev, you accuse me of hiding in your bushes, waiting to attack you, because I am a ‘Monster’ (as you call me).

Please.  Gossip amongst yourselves.  Or not.

Kapung Khaf!


Thank you to all who are responding positively to this essay.

Thank you to all the Resources whose work contributed to this article.(2015 08 20) Decide to be a Girl11046480_376569759191961_3227315234969587031_n


Additional Resources:

Itali Marlowe – 20th Trans person murdered this year – murdered because she is Trans:

Nope – I was not confused.  I knew at least by the age of 3 – ‘I’m a girl! I proclaimed to family.  I didn’t necessarily know that that made me Transsexual.  Uncle Frank, who began Transition when I was age 4, made Transsexuality a normal concept at home.(https://www.refinery29.com/en-ca/gender-identity-isnt-too-confusing-for-your-toddler)

The Birth Certificate fight continues at Utah.(https://fox13now.com/2019/10/10/utah-supreme-court-orders-state-to-weigh-in-on-transgender-birth-certificate-issue/)

Trevor Project’s LGBT Handbook for Youth. (https://www.advocate.com/youth/2019/10/09/trevor-project-releases-coming-out-handbook-lgbtq-youth?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=youth)

AMA support for LGBT Rights.(https://www.ama-assn.org/delivering-care/population-care/why-ama-s-standing-lgbtq-rights-supreme-court)

Stealth at work.(https://www.marketwatch.com/story/half-of-lgbtq-americans-are-not-out-to-co-workers-2018-06-27)

It’s no surprise that an anti-LGBT Republi-con is charged with child porn and sexual abuse.(https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2019/09/republican-state-senator-charged-possessing-child-porn-sexual-abuse-minor/)

The USA Supreme Court wants to tell Trans persons what public restroom to use.(https://news.yahoo.com/us-supreme-court-just-sent-134534353.html)

The 2020 Election is important for Our LGBT Community.(https://www-m.cnn.com/2019/10/10/opinions/2020-election-importance-lgbtq-david/index.html)

Poland right-wing attacks against LGBT.(https://slate.trib.al/VYhadkH)

TERF Lesbian opposes LGBT and Trans Civil Rights at Supreme Court demonstration.(https://www.pinknews.co.uk/2019/10/09/lesbian-activist-linda-bellos-supreme-court-against-trans-rights/)

Transgender youth activist.(https://www.smh.com.au/politics/federal/transgender-activist-lashes-scott-morrison-over-gender-whisperers-comment-20191007-p52ya8.html)

Australian Trans Community seeks health care coverage by Medicare.(https://www.outinperth.com/renewed-calls-for-medicare-to-cover-gender-reassignment-surgery/)

Surgery leads to improved mental health.(https://abcn.ws/33g6fEV)

Adult support helps Trans youth overcome suicidal thoughts.(https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2019/07/just-one-supportive-adult-cuts-chance-lgbtq-youth-will-attempt-suicide-40/)

A preview of the USA Supreme Court presentation.(https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/supreme-court-gay-rights-workplace-equality-895565/)

Transcript of oral arguments in Harris Funeral Homes v. EEOC.






Thank you to all the resoources who make this web-site and page possible.

Please return for another essay.


‘Banging Our Own Drum, Singing Our Own Tune’


‘Banging Our Own Drum, Singing Our Own Tune’

(20 Sep 2019)


Dear Reader:

Allow me to tie together an accumulation of various loose end thoughts.

I’d like to elaborate on the questions that we of the Trans Community come to during the course of our Transition, as we complete Transition.   I propose these questions more specifically for the M-F Trans woman who has had all the hormones and surgeries that she planned.  Or maybe she decided to cease any further surgical events.

 – When do you choose to cease referring to yourself as ‘Trans’?

 – When do you consider yourself complete as a woman?

 – How do other women – Cis women – among your circle of friends accept you?  Trans woman?  Woman?

This is ‘Passing’ – one element of Transition.  This concept of Passing dates to the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s – the era of my adult Transition that occurred during the 1970s.  Passing provides that society perceives of us as a woman rather than as a Trans woman.  Passing is different nowadays.  Some of today’s Trans women accept it, some reject it. 

Some of us Pass quite amazingly well, even those who Transitioned after decades of T Poisoning.  Some of us think that others Pass quite well.  Some of us are closer to Passing than we realise.  Some of us will always appear Trans.  Some of us are our harshest critics who think that we shall never Pass.

Either way, it is in our innate sense that we had no choice but to Transition and endure whatever the consequences.


I consider that I Pass.  I don’t see Nick in my reflection in the mirror or in my current pictures.  Other people who don’t know me apparently perceive me as a woman; Society does not mis-gender me as a man.  I learned that I began to ‘Pass the ‘Passing’ Test’ by the way Society mis-gendered me as female despite every effort that I made trying to present as male during my late-Transition.  That is called ‘Male Fail’.

The sense of the terminology of Transsexual (and perhaps now Transgender) was applied to the person during their Transition.

Once you achieved whatever is your goal, once you accomplished your Transition, you dropt the reference of Transsexual.  For the M-F, you were now a woman without need to carry that extra reference as Transsexual.

My surgeries made me feel that I accomplished something.  I wasn’t certain if either were the last, but at least I achieved something momentous.

They both affirmed my Femalehood, definitely putting ‘male’ in my past.

Transition, as far as ‘bottom’ surgery went, was to the extent possible.  I obtained what my health insurance provided – relatively minimal considering the circumstances that that was Utah in 1983.

I considered FFS.  I want it.  Do I need it?  Can I afford it?

I made recent enquiries about FFS.  Ouch!  I’m looking at $35.000 for the immediate medical surgery aspects.  Then there is travel, out of town recovery residence, follow-up medical exams at home.  What happens if there are complications?  Adjustments?  This remains a far more complex decision than ‘bottom’ surgeries.

Self-satisfaction, self-respect, self-love come into play.  I must accept who I am, no matter what my outer appearance.

I must accept at some point that I am complete as Sharon, as a woman.

As one woman explained, if you broke your arm, then you refer to your self as having a broken arm only until you are healed.  You no longer explain your self to others that you have a broken arm, except as part of your past, once your bone is healthy.


Being both Transsexual and Inter-sex has its own complexity.  As Transsexual, I considered my 1983 surgery my completion event; it was not everything that I wanted.  That surgery permanently changed my medical record to Female; that result was more than I could have expected mere months earlier.  Yet my 1982 Inter-sex diagnosis caught me in the middle.  My Transsexual self told me that I wanted to be ‘normal’.  My newer Inter-sex self was gradually trying to convince me that I was already ‘normal’ – Inter-sex ‘normal’, my ‘normal’.

Post-op 1983, I was what I called myself ‘Half-and-Half’ and ‘50 / 50’.  I fought my internal struggle still wanting to be ‘normal’ as compelled by my original Transsexual identity, yet accept my new ‘normal’ according to my Inter-sex diagnosis.

I am ‘normal’ since my 2016 surgery; no regrets, yet sometimes curious what my life would be if I chose to forego that surgery.

Of course, there is that certain Badge of Honour wearing both the Transsexual and Inter-sex terms.  Our label keeps ourselves and others aware that we came through our own journey to maturity a bit different than society’s concept of ‘normal’.


Some of us will choose to reveal that we are Trans as part of our womanhood.

Cis women and Trans women have much in common, yet much divergent.

 – Cis women have their periods, concern for birth control and pregnancy, growing up with their own expectations as women in this society.  These may be wishful ideas of the Trans woman’s imagination.

 – Cis women likely have little concept about the M-F Trans experience – Dysphoria, socialisation as ‘boy’ / ‘man’, expectations of men in society.


Perhaps a weird explanation about us is that we see ‘him’ in the mirror though we’d rather see ourselves as her.  This transformation takes time – months, years.  It is gradual, sometimes slowly imperceptible, usually causing frustration that it can’t move faster to satisfy our impatience.  Then, one day, we do see our self, the woman whom we are.  She knowingly stares at us with a smirk and a wink.  At last we begin to enjoy our self; highly critical at first, eventually unconditionally.  It is who we are.  We are proud of our accomplishments.  Finally!

Lemme tell you about my first mirror experience.  I was travelling from Oregon to home at Arizona (July 1993).  I spent the night at a seaside motel at Port Orford.  I had to visit Mother Nature during the night.  The light inside the bathroom was not totally dark, probably a bit of Moon glow.  In my fog of sleep, I noticed what appeared to be a woman in my motel room bathroom before I could turn on the light.  Who is she?  How did she enter?  I felt an unease.  I managed to nervously turn on the bathroom light and prepare to confront this intruder.  OMG!  That stranger in the bathroom was my reflection in the mirror.  She is me!  This was probably the first time when I examined my self in the mirror.  This discovery remains vivid with me.

The second time that I remember having a mirror experience occurred four years ago – Summer 2015.  My focus was preparing myself for travel to Thailand for surgery with Dr. Chettawut.  I depended upon free Wi-Fi – at the Public Library, at the Fry’s grocery store, at Kinko’s copy stores – to accomplish innumerable travel and surgery preparation tasks on-line.  This mirror was at Fry’s; I was familiar with several local Fry’s restrooms, but this was at a Fry’s store new to me.  I opened the restroom door and saw a woman confronting me. 

 – ‘Pardon me’ I said to her.


Upon a second look, I realised that that woman is me – my reflection in the mirror placed opposite the entrance door.


There is no single way to do Transition, to live.  Each of us is in charge of our life, our revelation.  We must find what makes us happy, what makes our Trans support family happy for us.

Our focus is on our selves, on our Transition, sometimes excluding other people, other priorities when we begin our Transition.

We focus on ‘me’ more than any others around us.  We need to bring our attention to our Transition challenges.  

Our family and friends who have been our support might feel that we are rejecting them, rejecting their support – being selfish.


We can’t allow others to control us, not now.  This is too important to lose our focus.  If Transition is selfish, if others consider that our life endeavour is selfish, well, so be it.  This must be accomplished for us to find our maturity on the other end of the process.

Please bear with us.  Eventually, we adjust our perspectives and re-organise our lives with a better balance; Trans is no longer everything, though reaching our goal is on our mind.

We control when and how we define our selves.  We embrace our Trans-ness when the time comes, even if our revelation is difficult.  We drop it when we prefer our privacy.

We learn to adjust our decisions as we progress.  While Trans is who we are, we no longer feel the need to talk about it all the time.  Our attention shifts from the personal to the political – our Civil Rights, our Constitutional Rights.  We began to confront society’s Transphobics who seek to abolish our existence, our Rights.


Sometimes, all these years on, I still feel awkward introducing myself in female identification.  Not that I perceive my self as male.  Maybe this is the trade of my Non-Binary self in me that I discovered some time around 1977 during my Transition.  I frequently had night-time dreams of me moving freely among society from Sharon to Nick – this could change from day-to-day or even hour-to-hour.  I remember having a humourous dream attending college classes.  I arrived one day and one of my class-mates asked me who I was that day – Sharon or Nick.  I shrugged, ‘I don’t know’.

But just let something mistake me, mis-gender me, and that gets my proverbial goat.  I remember with clarity receiving my Social Security card as Sharon (1978), I remember receiving my driver’s licence as Sharon with that ‘F’ for the first time (1980).  My medical records documented me as Sharon and female since 1979, I’ve had three surgeries (1982, 1983, 2016) confirming me as female.  Those achievements brought a lifetime of euphoria.  Yet, in 2017, there it was – my medical record showing me as ‘male’.  AGH!  I showed this error to my physician and, politely as possible, demanded that this be corrected.


I don’t introduce myself to people as being Transsexual and Inter-sex.  There must be a reason to tell someone that I am.  I don’t have a habit of saying anything about it.  I don’t announce it as a grand acclamation.  I don’t find that disclosure necessary.  

I’m not soliciting for an intimate encounter when perhaps that specific disclosure seems fair.  But then again, I rarely meet new people outside the Trans Community where I am known as Trans and my history is public.

This introduction quandary is something quite individualised among the Trans Community.  Each of us determines what is comfortable to the situation and audience.

There’s no hiding this, and I don’t.  I shall always be Transsexual and Inter-sex.  Likewise, I always was, always have been, always will be Female / Girl / Woman.  I knew of this since age 3.  Family knew of this at least that time.  Various friends came to know this as I revealed it to them during the course of my life.

Related to this, there is Stealth.  This becomes a personal decision for a variety of reasons.  Frequently, Stealth is critical for safety in public settings where disclosing being Trans attracts violence, assault, murder.  Disclosing being Trans at work invites harassment and getting fired.  Don’t I know that!  Disclosing being Trans can get you evicted from your home where city, county, or state laws allow Trans people be refused housing.  Now, here at Arizona, our state Supreme Court ruled that a business open to the public can refuse to serve an LGBT customer.  Add more to that sign in the window:

 – ‘No shirt, no shoes, no F*gs, no Tr*nnies:  NO SERVICE!’


I admittedly don’t know your life, Dear Reader.

Nevertheless, allow me to tell you what may come.  Your thoughts will exclude your Trans history – possibly for days, weeks, months, maybe years.

For myself, that was my experience.  Dunno if it was because of living stealth or merely because I eventually put my Transition in my past, its significance diminished through the passage of time.  As the premise of this topic, I progressed from being in Transition, to being post-op, to being me. 

Days, weeks, months passed and I had no thought about my having been what I was – Trans.  I am only what I am – a woman.

Taking my daily hormones was not anything more momentous than taking my daily vitamin supplement.

Sure, I attended to medical appointments.  Attending to medical appointments specific to my condition were the only occasion that brought about the thought of my past experiences; other health care was for me as a woman.

So, too, went swaths of time when I had little thought about my anatomical anomaly – that I thought about it only when I had to attend to medical appointments.

In 2015, for my first time, I outed myself when I began participating in social media.  That was a rough start.  It was the time when TV was introducing new characters as Trans, one of them named Nick (I wrote about a personal backstory to that character in a prior essay, and other TV characters were named Sharon and Nick by the same producer in another TV show).  Gradually, the others at that chat room forgot about my being Trans, they eventually perceived me simply as Sharon, a woman, not Sharon the Trans member.  To them, I was as any other woman.

As I explained, I was living life unconsumed by this.  I had no Trans Community at that time – not in real life, not among social media.  I remember coming out of my Stealth during 2015 – I thought, ‘WOW!  I just met someone who is Trans!’ totally oblivious to the fact that I am Trans, grew up as a Trans child, began my Transition more than four decades earlier.  All those years, I gradually had begun to think less and less that I myself am Trans.

Being here at social media allows me to control information about my life.  I am comfortable discussing my Trans and Inter-sex situation with civilians.  I reveal only what I choose.

You can talk with me any time, any place.  Let’s keep it respectable. 


Sometimes saying that I am Transsexual and Inter-sex now makes it a political declaration, a statement of revolution and defiance in the face of opposition from Crooked Drumpf and his Right-wing Republi-con Christian Con-servative Evangelical Fundamentalist Taliban.

Some members of the Trans Community consider that it is important to be public.  

 – That being open educates the Cis Community, we are Trans ‘ambassadors’ presenting our positive image representative of the Trans Community.

 – That being public encourages others who are themselves trying to find themselves, who may be just starting, who may be early in their journey.

Allow my presence to become a role model, a mentor to others coming this direction.  I had my start same as everyone.  Then again, I was more than fortunate to have several Trans people help me throughout my life from the earliest of my memory.


Thank You, Dear Reader, for visiting today.

Thank you for checking in:

– T-Central.blogspot.com

– KiraMooresCloset

– Geraldine1000.

Please return for the next essay.


Additional Resources:

A Trans Woman speaks about hate crime:




For parents raising a Trans Child:


London ‘Pride’ event:


The importance of an out teacher as a positive role model:


Assistance for you seeking surgery and surgeons:



Physicians must be held to their Hippocratic Oath:


This should please Mary, my one-time Pinewood Class-mate friend turned Christian Con-servative school teacher from Lethbridge:


Turn-about against Christian Con-servatives:


Learn about TERFs:


Three articles about DeVos banning Trans Children from school:




Carson denies public housing for ‘hairy’ Trans Women:




‘Walking In Daylight’

*(1970 06 00) Slim at Crater Lake (sitting) 62108991_353447288645822_7445126293500198912_n

‘Walking In Daylight’

(07 Jun 2019)


Christine Jorgensen is a Pioneer of Our Community.

Many of we who lived during Jorgensen’s life have our personal experiences or stories.

Allow me to share mine.

My father made frequent, rude comments about Jorgensen throughout my childhood.  According to both my father’s DD-214 military record and Jorgensen’s published military record, there was a time when they both served at the same location.  I didn’t learn about this til after my father’s death – he died about the same time as Christine – so that became one question that I didn’t know to ask him throughout his own life.

  • Did my father know Christine during their military service?  How much?  For how long?
  • What about during the 1950s?  During the 1960s?
  • How did any of this affect how my father reacted to his wife’s brother doing Transition?  And to me doing my own Transition?

When he died, my father left evidence that possibly indicates that he had contact with either Christine herself, or someone in her family, or someone close to her.  I have corresponded with people who identified themselves being among Jorgensen’s inner circle.  I asked them to clarify anything.  The results have so far been inconclusive.

No matter.

The deaths of Christine Jorgensen, Billy Tipton, and my father at nearly the same time three decades ago create a lasting impression upon my own life experiences.

Speaking of Billy.  Surely my mother would have heard of Tipton through her careers in the entertainment industry:  she was a part-time movie and TV actress, she performed in Community Theatre at several cities across the nation, she worked in radio, she performed in radio and TV commercials – all during the 1950s through the 1990s.  What were her memories that she could have shared about him?

Thank you, Christine and Billy, for being Pioneers in my life.


From the article:(2019 06 07) Christine Jorgensen 61957188_297225101160272_6758831003961131008_n


#BornThisDay: Transgender Pioneer, Christine Jorgensen

May 30, 1926– Christine Jorgensen:

– ‘Remember, never throw away a chance for happiness too quickly… it can get to be a habit.’

Before freedom found Chelsea Manning two years ago, before the lovely Laverne Cox, before the late, great Alexis Arquette, before Chaz, even before Bruce Jenner broke the big news to Diane Sawyer and the rest of the world that Caityln had arrived, there was a little boy from the Bronx who became a lovely lady.

It was 1952 and Science was still a popular subject, unlike our own times. Engineers were able to build rocket ships, researchers could cure diseases, and medical doctors were able to turn a seemingly regular guy into a glamorous woman. This was an era before there was a T in the Equal Rights movement, before there was even an L,G, or B, much less a Q. In fact, Transgender wasn’t even a term yet.

Recently discharged Army Private George Jorgensen made headlines around the world when he returned to the USA from Denmark as a blond woman named Christine Jorgensen. Jorgensen shocked the world and freaked out most Americans. People were afraid and angry. They still are.

While serving in the Army, Jorgensen, who said that she had felt trapped in the wrong body since childhood, read an article about a doctor in Denmark who was experimenting with sex change and hormone therapy.

Brave Jorgensen was just 24-years-old when she made the journey to Copenhagen to meet with Dr. Christian Hamburger who diagnosed the young GI as “transsexual”. Hamburger prescribed female hormones and encouraged Jorgensen to dress in women’s clothing. Hamburger and a noted psychologist had to petition the Danish government for permission to perform the illegal act of castration for surgical purposes.

Hamburger successfully changed Jorgensen’s special stuff from male to female. Jorgensen chose Christine as her new female name in honor of her doctor.

Her transition made headlines when she returned to the USA. Curious crowds and eager journalists showed up at NYC’s Idlewild Airport to cover her return from Denmark. The December 1st, 1952 headline on the cover of the NY Daily News read:

Ex-GI Becomes Blond Beauty.


– ‘At first I was very self-conscious and very awkward, but once the notoriety hit, it did not take me long to adjust.’

Jorgensen was resourceful and like any true blue American she was able to take that media attention and turn it into nightclub engagements. With a straight face, she sang I Enjoy Being A Girl and Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered as part of her act. My city of Portland’s own Mary’s Club, the oldest strip club in the USA (Portland still has more strip clubs than churches) engaged Jorgensen with a gig as a go-go girl. Often the butt of television comedians’ jokes, she still always kept a sly sense of humor about herself.

Jorgensen didn’t hide away. She became the first, but certainly not the last, transgender American to grab all that publicity about her transition and run with it, so to speak. All network news broadcasts, every major magazine and newspaper, and every popular radio show covered her transition. Books were written about her. She smartly wrote her own: Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography (1967), a bestseller in 12 languages, adapted into a film in 1970. The memoir begins with this succinct first line:

– ‘Nature made a mistake which I have corrected.’

She got a record deal and released Christine Jorgensen Reveals, a spoken-word album where she was interviewed by comedian Nipsey Russell(not to be confused with the recently deceased rapper Nipsey Hussle). She even cut a few singles. Jorgensen made $12,000 a week performing her stage act in Hollywood. Other people who were considered “cross-gender” always existed, but no one had the guts to go public, become famous and make money until Jorgensen.

– ‘I decided if they wanted to see me, they would have to pay for it.’

Just like in our own 21st century, the U.S. government didn’t know how to handle a change in gender. She sought a marriage license in 1959 but it was denied because her birth certificate classified her as male. She had worked as a chauffeur, but her permit was revoked. She had difficulty finding a place to pee.

Jorgensen claimed that public reaction to her surgery was one of the first steps in the new sexual revolution of the 1960s. She said that she never regretted her decision. The public acceptance of Jorgensen as a woman showed that gender and the body were not always connected, and that gender was something that a person could create. This changed the world in no small way.

Jorgensen lived a quiet private life after her celebrity had run its course. She resided at the famed The Chateau Marmont in Hollywood, occasionally taking speaking gigs. Lovely to look at, smartly dressed, with a smoky, sexy speaking voice, she would have been perfect for today’s television reality programming. I am sure that here at World Of Wonder Productions, we would have had a place for her in our smart line-up. Maybe a cooking show. In fact, at the end of her life she said that her only real regret was not having appeared on Murder, She Wrote (an achievement that I did manage).

With the divine Divine at the first annual party of the Limelight disco in Atlanta, 1981, from Transcity via YouTube

She never married and lived alone. Jorgensen took her final curtain call in 1989, gone from that damn cancer. She was just 62-years-old. I like to imagine her still alive, living as the queen of the movement that she gave voice to.

– ‘Does it take bravery and courage for a person with polio to want to walk? It’s very hard to speculate on, but if I hadn’t done what I did, I may not have survived. I may not have wanted to live. Life simply wasn’t worth much. Some people may find it easy to live a lie, I can’t. And that’s what it would have been… telling the world I’m something I’m not.’


© 2019 World of Wonder Productions, Inc | World of Wonder is a trademark of World of Wonder Productions, Inc | Privacy


*(2019 06 07) Stone Wall 62200637_851680238530966_7534440559327313920_n

Allow a little bit of historical perspective.

Until at least some point during the 2000s, ‘Transsexual’ was the medical condition applied to and used only during one’s Transition.  When you completed your Transition (however you determined), then you were no longer ‘Transsexual’, you were (as for me) a woman.

Think of it as if you broke your arm.  Your physician would only log into your medical record that you are being treated for a broken arm only during your treatment for your broken arm.  Reference to your broken arm is no longer a current condtion once your broken arm is healed.

My medical records document that process.  My Internist stopt using ‘Transsexual’ on my documents once I made it to full-time (1985).  It was like receiving my graduation certificate when I received a copy of my first medical record where it reported me as simply ‘Female’.  No more ‘Transsexual’ qualifier to my status.

Frustrating nowadays.  My current medical Team Sharon insist using either ‘Transsexual’ or ‘Transgender’ on my medical records identification.  I told them that neither apply, explained the history, and that at least I’d rather that they NOT use ‘Transgender’ because I never changed my Gender, I only changed the presentation of my Sexual Identity.


Additional Resources:











Dear Reader:

Thank you for visiting today.

Thank you for reading the articles.

Thank you for paying tribute to our pedecessors.

Thank you for slogging through my ramblings.

Thank you for browsing through the Additional Resources section for additional information about this essay and the articles.

‘Thank you’ to the Resources who make this web-site possible.

Be nice to one another.  Keep your words and actions kind and decent; no insults, we are better people.

Please return for another essay.



‘Breaking Out The Loose Ends’


‘Breaking Out The Loose Ends’

*(1969 xx xx) Slim - Muffin - Charlie (Side yard)

(24 Apr 18)


Greetings, Wai, Sahwdee Khaf, Yasou.

I am overdue for a post to this web-site.

Much has been happening – life – allow me to share some moments that I hope are of interest to you, Dear Reader.


I found Mary G a few weeks ago – my Pinewood school-mate and Prom date for 10th Grade and 11th Grade.  We are doing well catching up on old times.

Here’s one of her favourite songs:

It’s good.  Give a listen.

*(1972 xx xx) Dad-Slim at Anatolia campus

In terminology during the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s when I was young, there we these.

‘Pseudo Transsexual’:  Someone with a mental development of a sex different from their assigned sex, but has minimal desire to change from their assigned anatomical sex.  ‘I want to be a girl.’  ‘I want to be a boy.’

”True Transsexual’:  Someone with a mental development of a sex different from their assigned sex and is determined to change it – consistently, persistently, insistently.  ‘I am a girl!’  ‘I am a boy!’

‘Feminine Protesting’ tantrums:  When a boy insists that she is a girl.  ‘Masculine Protesting’ was for a girl who insists that he is a boy.

‘Gender Dysphoria’:  A mental condition when identity is incongruent with anatomy.

(1972 03 00) Slim and Nick at Anatolia CampusSome people insist using ‘Transgender’.  That is becoming an umbrella term that actually does not apply to many it purports to include.  Its literal meaning is someone who changes their gender identity.  My gender identity has always been female, so ‘Transgender’ doesn’t apply to me.

‘Transsexual’ is used by some to report that they changed their sex anatomy.  Technically, this also doesn’t apply to me because I always have been a genetic female.  It was my birth room doctor who erroneously assigned me to ‘male’; it was my family who forced me to ‘present’ as male based upon that faulty assignment.  It was one of my doctors during Transition who diagnosed me female due to Inter-sex in 1982.

‘Trans’ tends to be used as both short-hand and as a way to better include ‘Transgender’ and ‘Transsexual’.

Some people currently scorn the use of ‘sex change’, I don’t.  It was a common term that I recall from my youngest days and into the 1980s.  While maybe in detail it is not what happened to me from my perspective, it is a simple term to explain what I did as perceived by the outside world.

(1973 02 xx) Kathy-Nick-Slim at Thasos‘Hermaphrodite’ was in common use until some time recently.  It fell into disfavour, but I have no idea why.  I have seen ‘Inter-sex’ being used as far back as 1974.  I am fine using either term for myself.


I don’t have value in chiropractic.  As to what it is – I consider it as little more than a massage.

My dad had kidney cancer from at least 1963; it’s what killed him by 1989.

I often wonder if my dad’s prescription pills that I was downing in October 1968 (trying to commit suicide) were pills meant to treat my dad’s kidney illness.  He was hospitalised in January 1969.

My earlier suicide efforts were kinda dumb – the ‘I’ll show you’ sort.

When my dad and I stayed at his sister’s home (Summer 1967), I would sit on the railroad tracks near their home, I hoped a train would hit me.  None came.  I didn’t know that the rail was a commuter line – morning and evening rush hour only.  D’oh!


Skip to 1980s.  My dad’s illness was hitting him.  He continually complained of ‘back’ pain.  I was employed in the medical community – health insurance utilisation review.  I was honestly concerned for my dad’s health.  He went to chiropractic; he refused to see medical doctors or cancer doctors as I tried insisting.  His chiropractor obviously failed to recognise my dad’s true reason for ‘back’ pain – his kidney cancer that was spreading throughout his entire anatomy.

As Lisa told me, my dad was teaching class one day (January 1989).  He suddenly collapsed right there in his classroom.  Emergency ambulance took him to the hospital, doctors finally examined him, they told him that he had six months to live.

You and me – we compare our dad’s timeline to our own.  I am at my dad’s timeline same as when that hospital doctor told him that he was terminally ill.


My Thai Experience friend sent this URL to me:

I tried to listen to that Dr. Bowers’ video.

‘Try’ is the key word.  The audio volume is almost nothing – I have my device’s volume full blast, but can barely hear her.

It is frustrating!

Whoever edited this didn’t bother to check the volume levels.

*(1970 06) Slim - Crater Lake (sitting - portrait)

I have been experiencing back pain – or at least perceiving pain at my lower back – during the past three weeks.

The frustration is how that pain – or at least the perception of a sensation that my mind interprets as ‘pain’ – comes and goes with no connection to anything.

My back feels okay lying down, getting up, walking, moving, bending – small twinges, but quite okay.

Sitting initiates paralysing ‘pain’ – I can barely move when I try getting up – it is absolutely excruciating – YOUCH! – the pain hits.  But once I walk, move, bend, stretch, then I have no disabling pain – just a twinge.

Lying down on my back, I can move, bend, and no pain.

This is frustrating!

I think that I am hungry and want to eat, but when that pain hits, I lose all interest.  I have barely eaten much these past weeks: a couple burritos from the fast food joint, Dragon Fruit, four apples, two Dragon Fruit, three pears, a can of sardines, yoghourt, and three cans of pineapple.

I went to my clinic’s Urgent Care facility.  They took X-ray views of my back and sides to determine any injury or deterioration of my spinal cord, vertebrae, discs.  No real issue there.  My X-ray established that I can eliminate vertebrae, disc, and spinal column injury or damage.  The doctor supposed that my pains are muscular and prescribed muscle relaxers.

It is not as though I did something to stress a muscle – no over-working, no excessive movement.

Two days later I began experiencing diarrhea that continued for five days.  But I had a colonoscopy less than 18 months ago; my Primary told me at my appointment from last week that there is nothing wrong with my bowels.

Along the way I saw network TV news reports about e coli poisoning spreading through the area.  I read about e coli from a handful of reliable Internet web-sites and wonder if this is what I have.IMG_0296

I clean fruits and vegetables as reasonably as possible – skin fruit, too (banana, orange, avocado).  I wash eating utensils and dishes. I wash after using the toilet.

I read that it helps to soak fruits and vegetables in baking soda before a final wash.  I bought baking soda the other day, mixed some in a bowl with baking soda in some water, soaked some items.  We’ll see if that helps clean better – if this was e coli from tainted food.

The only event that I can determine is that perhaps an e coli infected person touched something on the city bus and that I touched that infected surface.

A friend suggested seeking chiropractic treatment.  I don’t have value in chiropractic.  As to what it is – I consider that it is little more than a massage.

My dad had kidney cancer from at least 1963; it’s what killed him by 1989.  He was hospitalised in January 1969.  I often wonder if my dad’s prescription pills that I was downing in October 1968 (trying to commit suicide) were pills meant to treat my dad’s kidney illness.


Skip to 1980s.  My dad’s illness was hitting him.  He continually complained of ‘back’ pain.  I was employed in the medical community – health insurance utilisation review.  I was honestly concerned for my dad’s health. He went to chiropractic and refused to see medical doctors or cancer doctors as I tried insisting.  His chiropractor obviously failed to recognise my dad’s true reason for ‘back’ pain – his kidney cancer that was spreading throughout his entire anatomy.

As Lisa told me, my dad was teaching class one day (January 1989).  He suddenly collapsed right there in his classroom.  Emergency ambulance took him to the hospital, medical doctors finally examined him, they told him that he had six months to live.

I compare my dad’s chronology to my own.  I am now at a time in my life corresponding to my dad’s life when that hospital doctor told him that he was terminally ill.  These are heavy thoughts for me to ponder; I can barely comprehend my dad’s thoughts.

*(2015 08 20) Decide to be a Girl11046480_376569759191961_3227315234969587031_n

Quite simply put, no one goes into fits when a child with apparent female anatomy says that she is a girl; similarly, no fuss when a child with male anatomy says that he is a boy.

But just let a child self-identify different than how their birth room doctors assigned them and whole populations want to deny civil rights, go to war, kill.

You likely said to people when you were a child – ‘I’m a girl’ (when your doctor assigned you female) or ‘I am a boy’ (when your doctor assigned you male).  No one sought to beat you for it.

Well, when I affirmed to my family that I am a girl – at least as young as age 3 – my parents beat me, my sister beat me.

But they were inconsistent.

We would go visit relatives here where I grew up.  I made a bee-line to the bathroom, put on my teen cousins’ make-up, and was greeted with: ‘Oh, Nickie, what a cute little girl!’.  Then my cousins, my sister, and I would all go into our cousins’ bedroom, play records, and I would dance ‘like a girl’ to their amusement.

My school where I attended Kindergarten and 1st Grade had no issue when I used the girls toilet.  The only time I ever got in trouble being in the girls restroom was when my girl friend and I got caught throwing wet toilet paper at the ceiling and walls.

When I wore Kathy’s clothes, I got punished for taking them without permission, not for wearing them.

First time I was forced to use male toilets at school was Catholic school beginning at 2nd Grade.  The nuns would have none of me dare use the girls toilet.

*(1977 12 30) Stanford Reply (Name Covered)

I took time to ponder the past four decades. It all fits – it is all interconnected.

  • Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ accepted me in 1977.
  • Forty years ago this month was my first medical appointment to obtain clearance; my physician approved me to proceed with Transition

I have few of my own experiences to compare that are typical of the ‘vanilla’ M-F Trans person.

One was wearing women’s undies – full-time beginning when my dad and I lived at New Mexico (1977 – 1978).

I first bought my undies and female attire through the Sears catalogue (1977) – separate orders from that which my dad made, but scheduled for the same pick-up date.  We ordered many items from that catalogue.  I was the one who drove to pick-up our merchandise.

I didn’t have the nerve to go as Nick to buy in the store.  No urge to browse lingerie specialty shops for me.  I still buy undies, bras, slips at the intimate section at Target or K-Mart; it’s just utilitarian to me, not erotic or sensual.

My Transition was long ago; I can’t consult with my diaries because they were stolen (2014).

I got to start thinking about 1979.

A pivotal year!  Gawd, yes!  That year – 1979 – was so pivotal.

I had my medical appointment with the local physician (January).

  • What if I chickened out?
  • What if I said that all I wanted was a general physical exam now that I had health insurance?
  • What if I failed to present my Stanford papers to him?
  • What if he tossed me from his office?
  • What if he didn’t offer referrals me to get my counsellor? That led to my Internist? That began my estrogen?



I had no idea what to expect.  I was honest with him – I told him that I didn’t obligate him to be my doctor unless he could do it, but rather use his connections to help me find someone at Flagstaff.

I was scared about work.  I feared that I would need a doctor’s letter to verify my appointments and that they would reveal my medical privacy.  My work supervisor never required any verification from me.  I suppose that she knew anyway.

(1978 07 00) Information for the Family (Janus) (Cover)I visited with Kathy and my mom that February.  They both were overhearing my telephone call to a counsellor.  I overheard them later talking about me.  That is okay, I was always glad that you heard – it forced my family to comprehend my initiative even though they refused to talk with me about it.  That was when I heard my mom say her words to Kathy – that she was ‘one and done’ with Kathy, that she is not my birth mother.  That truth freed me.

That Summer 1979 was my first Forest Service vacation.  My dad drove to New Jersey, Kathy drove me to the airport, I flew to meet my dad at New Jersey, we stayed one week, we drove home the next week.

My Estrogen was beginning, it was working its magic.  My personality was suddenly quite different; little bothered me during that time because of my new-found euphoria.  I also felt good physically – upstairs and downstairs.  You know – same as Cis female puberty.

I wore T-shirts that trip – the same that I had been wearing before ‘E’.  My lack of self-consciousness, lack of new self-awareness, hardly realised how much I might have been showing upstairs.  I didn’t think much about til I was there in New Jersey.  Maybe my T-shirts were now too tight?  It was too late to pack something different.  At least I remembered to pack male undies.  How could I toss my female panties in the wash at my Aunt’s home before leaving New Jersey?  Can you imagine her wailing about that discovery!  That was probably the last time when I wore male undies for such a duration.

My dad most certainly must have known that something was, um, developing.

I so much wanted to share my news – with my dad, with family.  Nope, family was out, I couldn’t take that chance and start an argument where I had no place to go for safety.

I was the one who made driving music – usually I would dub a mix of genres and artists that my dad and I both liked.  We could play the cassettes when we drove through radio dead zones.  But something was very different about the music that Summer 1979.  The only male performance was Paul McCartney’s ‘Back to the Egg’.  All the other artists were female:  Blondie, Suzi Quatro, Shocking Blue, Heart, Jan Park, Dana, Patti Smith, Genya Raven, Janis Ian among what I immediately recall.

My dad refused to talk to me during our alone time.  Maybe it was fear – my dad was afraid for the inevitable that he saw was happening right before him.  Maybe he was trying to be sincere when he kept telling me to ‘talk to a priest’?  That started when we lived at New Mexico (1977).  But that priest was absolutely anti-Transsexual.  I knew because of his sermons. He didn’t say ‘Transsexual’, but it was part of his weekly diatribe.

My dad and I drove cross-country mostly in silence.


I think that it helpt me that I hardly fell susceptible to lures from advertisements.  Certainly having older female cousins and an older sister presented female role models and female realities to me – clothing styles, make-up, hair fashion, hygiene.  I as much grew up as a girl presenting as a boy – an unwilling F-M.

I wonder what people do today.  I submit that you Newbie transitioners only become aware of advertising targeting women when you begin your Transition.  You try figuring what real Cis females do.  You see that advertising – newspaper, magazine, TV – selling the ideal woman.  You don’t know what to think because female life is new.  You suddenly see all that junk and you get that false notion that women do what is shown in those ads.  Lingerie stores can attract the Newbies – someone new in their Transition.

I see Trans women walk around in gaudy clothes that do not match – as if they figure that when the label says ‘female’, then they wear it.  Nope, not like that.  Female sense for everyday attire is a simple match of clothing and accessories.

Some M-F Trans persons appear – at least to me – as though they have not bathed in a week, washed their hair in the past month, no sense of self and presentation.  But I am reluctant to judge because I don’t know where they are in their life – maybe they are in crisis, maybe someone taught them badly, maybe they don’t know better.

Others know how to dress appropriately – tops, skirts, jeans always match, always well-groomed and bathed.  You are pleasant to be with.

My best time was from 1985 (when I went full-time) to 1989 (before my dad died).  I was in great physical condition, I cared about my self.  My clothing was fashionable; my wardrobe during my work life was reasonable office conservative – plain matching tops and skirts, nothing flashy, no low-cut tops, no skirts or hems above the knee.  My dad’s death put me in a downward spiral that I have been fighting for 30 years.

My current attire is what could be termed comfortable.


I found this album on YouTube a few days ago – music from my Transition past that I really miss (it was stolen by those crooks in 2014).  I dubbed my album to audio cassette back in 1979 as driving music for my dad and I.

I could sing along with it when I had my singing voice.  I just began my Estrogen when this album came out (1979).  The opening track – ‘Something happening to me …’. Yes!

I played Jan Park again when I was outside on my patio washing a couple towels and a sheet the other day.


Another album from my past in 1979:

I used the intro of that song for background music on several productions I did at the radio station where I was a DJ.

Allow me to share some of the lyrics, how I felt them, how I re-worked some of the lyrics to fit events in my life during 1979 when this album was released:


‘The smaller the town, the more the rumours fly around and they stab you in the back.’

– Small-town people, small-town employer – the rumours of my status, my co-workers with their hurtful gossip.


‘When you’re 17 …’, ‘Read between the lines …’

– I am a Janis Ian fan, had most all her albums, relate this to my interpretation of Ian’s ‘At Seventeen’, ‘Society’s Child’.


‘Makes you realise living in a town this size …’

– But the small-town people and co-workers didn’t even know my name, they never ‘knew’ me.


‘You know it made me see ..’

– They were never fooling me.


‘The stab in the back and the rumours in fact …’

– Are more than in my mind – they were quite real, quite painful.


‘I found the truth …’

Telling me to be!  Not going back.


‘The girl is back …’

– You can say I’m going ‘home’ – somewhere else will be my ‘home’.  You could say I’m never calling that small town, that small-town employer, my ‘home’ though I left with many emotions from there.

Many reasons why I stopped there when I drove the moving truck from Utah to Tucson (1985).

I could have easily filled up gas at Flagstaff and drove right through without stopping.

I had to see if anyone still knew me five years later.  Nope.  No one recognised me.

The woman at the diner downstairs from where I once resided didn’t bat an eye at me, not one sliver of recognition.

Nor the filling station on the corner.  I could have gone to the Whiting Brothers that was cheaper, but the guy at the filling station knew Nick every day for two years.  All he saw of me Sharon in 1985 was some crazy bitch who has no business driving a truck – about what he was cursing at me when I drove to the pumps.

(1985 08 xx) Pima CC ID - (1988 xx xx) DES IDI travelled there sometime later – don’t recall what year other than likely before 1989.  I went to my former Forest Service employer pretending to be a tourist seeking information.  OMG!  Lydia was still working the reception desk.  My heart nearly beat me out of my gourd.  All the days Lydia and I talked during lunch and break for two years, not even Lydia, a decade following Nick’s departure, recognised Sharon.

I also saw a few others during the few minutes there, I currently don’t recall whom.   They didn’t recognise me.

Most all those co-workers were phonies.  They considered Nick only as a foul rumour – queer, f*gg*t – words they spoke behind my back when they didn’t know I was listening.  Or maybe because they knew that I was listening, but they were too cowardly to tell me to my face.


This came into my Facebook feed:

I noticed it is from ‘Ehipassiko’ – that was the first Trans web-site that I found three years ago, but haven’t checked in since maybe two years ago.


Well, I don’t know.

Is it me?

Is it them?

I met many people these three years since I put my stealth in my past – people at Trans support groups.

Then I look at all the people I met doing TV for more than 20 years.

People from work.

I have only one friend in my life from all these years.

Am I that unpleasant to everyone else?

Maybe my self-isolation stunted my capacity to socialise?

Certainly outsiders could surmise that I am weird if maybe my Transsexualism complicates my presence that they don’t understand.  But they do not know that I am Transsexual and Inter-sex.

Certainly people at the support groups can’t use my Trans and Inter-sex against me.  They are hardly in a position to render that judgement against me.

Yep.  Support groups played their role in my life and now it is time to move on.

We’ll see what happens with other social ideas.

This past Saturday morning was the Phoenix Electric Auto Club meeting.  I decided to ditch this month.  Maybe next?


I agree that the past is done.  My past made me who I am today.  I would be someone else somewhere else if I had a different past.

Just one tweak, for example.(2002 xx xx) Estrogen Warnings (p 1 of 2)

If I left Tucson that fatefull December 1999 Sunday evening a few minutes earlier (or later?).  I was being sociable with the gas station attendant, wishing him Merry Christmas in case I didn’t return til next year.  Five minutes earlier (or later) and that bus might not have hit me.


Experiment with your estrogen if you think it will work.

I have been amiss – off my estrogen and progesterone meds – these past two, three weeks.  I had none during the 10 days prior to my blood draw.  I figure that will test where I am without all exogenous hormones.

I still have not made much effort to keep current.  I don’t totally care right now.  But it’s not just prescriptions.  I have also ditched vitamins and supplements.

That is not to mention lack of interest in food.

*(2002 xx xx) Estrogen Warnings (p 2 of 2)

Religion makes a difference to people.

Some can’t get past their dogma that lets them abuse and beat a Trans child or other Trans family member (such as mine).  Other families allow the opportunity to learn with the child.

You are accurate about the life-or-death option.  My family chose that they would rather have me a dead ‘male’ than a living daughter.

My mother beat me quite severely when she had custody of my sister and me.

When our dad got custody, then he was the one who beat me – sometimes hitting me for 30 minutes and more.  Kathy used to keep score of the time and tell me how long.

The reason why my dad and I travelled to Greece was directly following a beating.  We had a real bad argument the first Thursday of February 1971.  He literally pulled at my right arm trying to dislocate it all the while taunting me to scream.  ‘No one will hear you.’

The next day, he came home from work and told me that he applied to two foreign schools – one at Afghanistan, the other at Greece.

Pinewood hired my dad.  There you have it.

All through Spring 1971, my dad warned me that I better keep my mouth shut, ‘or else’.  I did have arguments with my dad while we lived there at Greece, but I also had the sense to take in the experience.

Nowadays, not one local ‘family’ member has anything to do with me.  I occasionally send texts to them asking to visit – no reply.  My Cousin Bev recently unfriended me from Facebook.  Kathy does not correspond with me.

I can’t say that no ‘family’ will communicate with me.  Relatives from West Virginia occasionally text me.  Cousin Nancy posted some harsh comments to my Facebook page recently.  And there is her older brother Cousin James.

I am the only one in ‘family’ who is Left of Ghengis Khan.  My ‘family’ are long-time Republi-con.  Bev’s older brother made the rounds in his state’s politics – himself a loyal Republi-con appointed by Republi-con governors to be director of various state agencies to impose Republi-con ideology.  He ran the state Republi-con Party, or whatever it was.

My sister Kathy and her family are among the infamous ‘1%’.

Sometimes I try excusing my ‘family’.

My dad received the Bronze Star for combat in Korea.  God only knows what he must have experienced the couple years when he was there.

My mom was an alcoholic.  She frequently told me how she was bullied at school as ‘that little Mexican girl’ so much that she quit high school early and found comfort in booze.  She was okay sober, but deadly on booze.

Our dad goaded Kathy to beat me or else he would beat her.

Crazy family.

There was no such thing as ‘domestic violence’ when I was growing up during the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s.  Besides, even if there was, what was the point?  I was a child during my mom’s custody; my dad presented evidence of abuse and beatings to the Family Court, but they ruled that my sister and I had to remain in our mother’s charge – susceptible to further beatings during her drunken rages.  I lived dependent upon my dad til 1978 when the Forest Service hired me; if I had called the police on my father and they arrested him, prosecuted him, sent him to prison – then what was I to do?

I so understand people who have been demoralised by family abuse.  It is a trap with no escape.


Most all politoical candidates pose to their electorate:  ‘Elections have consequences’.

I pose that same point to you, Dear Reader.  Liberal or Con-servative.  Democratic or Republi-con.

We don’t elect candidates in a vacuum.  No candidate is perfect – same as the rest of us.  Thus, our choice is not merely the individual candidate, but their political party, their political platform, the history, the following – all part of those ‘consequences’.

There are people in my life who claimed to hold similar perspectives as mine, yet they are Republi-con, they campaigned for Crooked Drumpf, they tell me to wait and give him time.  Others now claim that they preferred a different Republi-con candidate.  Does not matter.  You failed to consider the consequences of your vote.

() Supreme Court Guts Voting Rights ActThese people remain absolutely blind about Hillary Clinton.  They only know their Republi-con Party line:  hate Clinton, love Crooked Drumpf.  They have no motivation to recognise that their Party lies to them.

Some are starting to peel away, deny that they ever supported Republi-cons or Crooked Drumpf.  Yet they are not taking concern for the consequences of their vote.

People change only through their own initiative.  Some will not examine themselves, they refuse information contrary to what they hold as their truth.


Barbara Bush.

Sorry, I don’t feel mushy about her.  She was mildly defined as a Feminist during the 1970s.  But both husband George and boss Reagan read the riot act to her in 1980 – either fall in line politically, ‘or else’.  She abandoned her principles to surrender to George, Reagan, the Party.

I have no respect for her doing that.


So here I am – I am at this place in my journey because of what I did 40 years ago.  I wanna laugh.  I wanna cry.  I wanna celebrate.

With you – friends, family, support group members, strangers on the city bus.

Or without you.

*(2016 01 19) Bangkok Central Train Station (Ildi)

Dear Reader, allow me to spend my time outside on my patio enjoying the Spring weather, the fresh air, hearing the birds chirping and cooing.  I would like to socialise with the human species, but find it difficult as long as the rest of it considers me that misfit outcast.

Thank you for visiting today.  Please return for another essay.  Meanwhile, enjoy the other compositions here at this web-site.








(11 Mar 18)

*(1970 06) Slim - Crater Lake (sitting - portrait)

Let’s get right to beeswax.

I am a misfit in today’s world of Trans, Transsexual, Inter-sex, gender identity, sexual orientation, anatomical ambiguity.

I shall express what might be taken by some as harsh words, others will comprehend my direct honesty.  Please accept that we are all in the same boat – a lifeboat – and that we need to work together to paddle to shore right there in view, not allow others who are paddling their own direction take us further out to sea.

I think that I shall also post the essence of this composition to my Facebook page where members of my ‘Friend’ list include members of support groups where they are likely to see this essay but who otherwise don’t read this web-site.  The explanation of that statement will become clear.


TDOR is a gathering for people from various support elements who pay a vague homage to dead strangers from far away cities, towns, states, countries – like Native Americans of the USA recognising Columbus Day.

(2017 11 20) TDOR - Light on the Flag 24204945_1773307756303415_12806820_nThough I doubt that I heard of it til 2015, TDOR is reality to me.  My mother’s younger brother Frank was Transsexual.  My family had him and his wife murdered and made to appear as double-suicide.  Local police were not interested investigating the death – any death, any cause – of a ‘Tranny’ in 1970; if his wife was dead, so much the better to clean the slate.

I really appreciate all that is done with this TDOR effort of awareness.


I had no ‘coming out’ to family.  I was already ‘out’ among them my entire life since the beginning of my memory – in this reality, since at least age 3.

As a child, I was openly putting on my teen cousins’ make-up when we visited their home throughout the week.

  • ‘Oh, Nickie, what a cute little girl!’

Eventually, my father was beating me for wearing my sister’s clothes during my childhood and teen years.  He probably expected to beat it out of me.  Some success he was, eh.

I told barely a few people from my circle of friends by the time I went female full-time forever (June 1985); the few whom I told were disaster because all whom I told dumpt me – eventually – like the plague warmed over.  I merely disappeared from the rest of them.

(1985 08 xx) Pima CC ID - (1988 xx xx) DES IDLisa, my apologies; we are one odd circumstance – our relationship / friendship remains a mystery to me.  I didn’t tell you; I have not told you directly, so far.  Instead, I realised the apparent possibility that my dad told you.  Or maybe you figured it out when last we met in person (May 1985) – you previously saw me in 1978 while my appearance was still reasonably ambiguous female, you never saw my male interlude, my 1985 appearance was post-Transition post-op female.  By the cues during our conversation when last we talked on the telephone (April 1989), you seemingly had long known; you addressed me as Sharon right from the start, not Nick.  I am the one left puzzled not knowing whether you still accept me.

That light that brings hope from other past friends arrived when Brad (‘Dasahori Kids’) invited me into his realm – he accepts me.  I held my breath about others of that Dasahori past – they accept me.  Then the makings of an idea.  I extended my efforts to others of my Pinewood years.  Those who responded accept me – my Efharisto to you who know who you are.  I must allow the realisation that those who don’t reply are the ones who don’t accept me – you who know who you are, for sure.


I came from a long ago generation in the universe of Transsexualism.

Neither proven nor disproven is my tentative Christine Jorgensen connection through my father.  I do know that, according to my father’s DD-214, both he and then-George served at the same military base at the same time; I am missing documentation that they ever met, or knew each other, or inter-acted in any way.  I found a handwritten note in a small wooden box with news article clippings – a box that my dad left to me at his death.  That handwritten note was the name ‘Jorgensen’ with a New York City address and telephone number.  There were likely dozens of Jorgensens at New York City during the time when my dad wrote that note – when my dad was a police officer during the 1950s.  My father made frequent disparaging remarks about someone named ‘George’ while I was growing up – his responce to my feminine protesting tantrums; I knew little, if anything, about Jorgensen during my childhood.  I found someone who claimed to know the Jorgensen family (2015); I asked for her assessment, but her enquiry was inconclusive.  I’m stuck calling this a set of questions that remain for which I seek the answers.

(1977 12 30) Stanford Reply (Name Covered)I suppose that I could declare that I began my Transition at age 3.  Instead, I mark the official  beginning my Transition when I became the age of legal majority in 1974 – the year when I turned age 18.  There were few of us who were out / semi-out / quasi-out / closeted child Transsexuals who Transitioned upon reaching age 18 during the 1970s – there were less than 1000 medically-reported cases of Transsexualism in the USA when I began in 1974 (with all my due respect to countless others:  brave people on the streets, those Transitioning ‘under the table’, anyone doing whatever they could outside that damned ‘gatekeeper’ suppression).  I made the Stanford University Medical Center’s ‘Gender Dysphoria Program’ in 1977.

I led an otherwise unassuming life of stealth.

I am now in my 60s.  Our numbers – we of early first- and second-decade generation from the 1950s to 1970s – are thinning at this time of our life, at this time in our contemporary Transsexual history.


I have been doing much soul-searching.  A support group Board member ‘asked’ me, with the entire group assembled, to leave the SOFFA session of a recent support group meeting (I perceive it as being evicted).

The support group’s President led the concurrent Trans-female sessions that day, had plenty of time between sessions, had plenty of time after sessions, yet took no effort to explain why this happened to me when I tried to get her attention – her nose firmly planted in her computer screen.

I shall talk to one of the SOFFAs – both a Board member and a Facilitator – in private either before or after a future meeting and hope that she will give a straight answer to me; an explanation in private from someone in charge of that SOFFA meeting seems the least of a courteous option for them to do.  Another option for me is to make a formal point of personal privilege at a future Board meeting.  Any evasion, denial, refusal will be its own answer.

I perceive of myself an anachronistic misfit outcast of current support groups on multiple points – all beyond my control – all a curious circumstance that violates the very concept of these support groups.

  • #1:  I had at least one family member who was / is Transsexual
  • #2:  my current age (62)
  • #3:  that I was an out Transsexual child all my young years since at least age 3
  • #4:  when I began Transition (1974)
  • #5:  the age that I use when I define when I began Transition (age 18 – the age of one’s individual legal consent)
  • #6:  that I am genetically and biologically cis-female (Inter-sex), unlike the others whom I humorously, respectfully term ‘vanilla’ Trans (genetic cis-male whose self-identity is female).

One support group dissolved more than a year ago.  I doubt that I would have bothered staying active with one current support group had I not made friends with someone who attended that support group, but she no longer attends that group herself for reasons that I am now finding true.


Is this ostracism among local support groups?

I participate with two remaining Trans support groups but feel as that misfit outsider because of my facts as I presented them (above).

Few, if any, other people in these support groups began their Transition more than a decade ago – so I don’t fit with them.  They don’t welcome me.

Others may be in my older age group, but they are NB – newbies – in Transition.  They don’t welcome me.

I meet with the SOFFAs (Significant Other, Family, Friends, Allies) because I feel the better possibility to help them rather than the Trans members who seem to prefer to clique among their own; but that doesn’t do well because those SOFFA people are there for someone newly in Transition.  Now they don’t welcome me.

No support group participants socialise with me with any regularity – either during the meetings or outside in our private lives – because of my misfit circumstance.  They don’t welcome me.

I participate in an LGBT support group.  Their focus is more on the L,G, and B, though there are a few of we T and I.  Same as the Trans support groups – I don’t fit.  I do identify as Lesbian, but I lack a partner to join with me at the meetings.  Few cis-female Lesbians seem to hold an interest for this cis-female Inter-sex Transsexual Lesbian.  They don’t welcome me.

Another mark against me is being Inter-sex:  I am genetically and biologically cis-female; it was my exhibited anatomy, my external ambiguous genetalia at birth.  Doctors assigned me male at birth (AMAB), my family forced me to live and present male as a child and teen (either ignorantly or deliberately).  There are other Inter-sex people among the support groups – they are F-M; I sense that they don’t accept me because I’m F-M-F (or whatever!).  Instead, they are teaching me about caste bigotry among the Inter-sex.  Apparently my Inter-sex is not as good as theirs – they are biological parents, my anatomy rendered me absent the capacity of reproduction as either female or male.  Or maybe they are enjoying the fruits of their new-found ‘male privilege’?  They don’t welcome me.

I also sense that being Inter-sex – a genetic cis-female – outcasts me from M-F Trans circles whose participants are that ‘vanilla’ Cis-Male to Female Transsexual.  Allow this attempt at a bit of literary licence mixed with a touch of inoffensive insider humour to present an otherwise clinical description.  Any or all may apply in varying degrees:

  • M-F ‘vanilla’ Transsexuals are genetic cis-male phenotype,
  • their gender identity is female,
  • they have / had functionally-working cis-male anatomy,
  • they enjoy(ed) using their cis-male anatomy despite their dysphoria about it,
  • some experience ‘pain’ or dysphoria toward their female genitalia after undergoing SRS / GCS,
  • some told me that they quit ‘duty’ because that experience – the intimately cis-female vaginal experience – is ‘pain’ to them.

Some post-op M-F told me directly, others post to their cyber presence, that they enjoyed masturbating as cis-male on the morning of their bottom surgery.  Could they be ‘Pseudo-Transsexual’?  ‘Vanilla’ M-F Transsexuals do not welcome me.


About that recent Trans support group meeting.  I entered the room for the SOFFA family group.  Someone whom I thought was a ‘friend’ abruptly ‘asked’ me to leave this SOFFA session – she curtly told me to go the Trans-female session, she told me that I was not welcomed to participate in this SOFFA session.  She provided no explanation.

I am a Board member of this support group, I am a trained and active Facilitator for this support group’s meetings, this status grants every authority to me to attend any meeting as I determine for the good of the organisation and for the membership while fullfilling my duties; no one told me that I was a detriment to the SOFFA meeting – either before, after, or since.  Disregarding those points and according to the expressly declared policy of this support group, I also have the right to attend any session of my choosing while a member in good standing; not once has anyone ever told me that I am otherwise not a member in good stead.  Nevertheless, I raised no fuss or objection as perhaps I should have or could have; I participated in the two sessions with the Trans-female group and I said nothing of this rejection during either.

(2015 08 10) Chettawut Clinic Confirmation Letter - 25 Aug 15 - Name covered DOC052317-05232017173247-0001Why was I evicted from that SOFFA ‘family’ meeting?  Okay, I know of no current ‘family’ member attending this support group or experiencing their Transition.  I am a ‘friend’ and an ‘ally’ to this support group and to the local Trans community.  Hey, I am also a long-time member of the greater Trans community:  I’ve been alive longer than most other members, my Transition began and ended long before most other members have been alive, I’ve been post-op longer than most other members have been alive, I did a ‘revision’ surgery long before others did their original bottom surgery, I’ve endured discrimination and bigotry more than most will ever comprehend.  Am I not good enough?  Isn’t the whole point of our Trans support groups to learn from others’ experiences, to accept the Trans (and Inter-sex) person into family, friends, society, not render them as outcast?

There were people of this support group who originally perceived me as cis-female only until I introduced myself as the trifecta:  cis-female, Inter-sex, and Transsexual.  Why would these same people deny my participation in this same group now that they know me as such?

How will the people in that room demonstrate the decency to explain to the general membership what they did to initiate my departure if I come to decide to not attend future support group meetings?

Maybe it is as I submit – people come to these groups until they got what they needed and then they moved on.

Maybe that is as it should be – we get what we need and move on to life beyond the support groups.

Maybe it’s my time to move beyond these support groups if I am no longer a welcomed participant?

I did not need these support groups for my own self, but rather I sought to contribute my decades of insight to the groups.  One Board member told me that I am ‘irrelevant’, that my presence is no longer welcomed.  So be it.


Steve Dain warned way back in the early 1980s that there are many in the Trans community who assert themselves as a self-elect group.  Seems we have enough of that nowadays with Jenner and all these wannabe celebrities crawling out of their woodwork.  Where were they 30, 40, 50, 60 years ago when they could have been contributing for our common support?  Those who are old enough were hiding, were enjoying their ‘male privilege’, while we fought their battles.  Those who are young today are standing on our shoulders and taking credit as if they did it all on their own.


I am making efforts to improve my life, not remain bogged down by weights.



Dear Reader, allow me to spend my time outside on my patio enjoying the warm Spring weather, the fresh air, hearing the birds chirping and cooing.  I would like to socialise with the human species, but I find it difficult among those who consider me that misfit outcast.

This is the ‘Year of the Dog’, this has been my ‘something to bark about’.

Thank you for visiting today.  Please return for another essay.  Meanwhile, enjoy the other compositions.


Update (20 Mar 18):

I found a post to a Facebook page in my Facebook ‘feed’ promoting ‘Laverne Cox IS Barbie’ – a ‘pioneer’.

Whoa, Nelly!

I made the ‘comment’ that Christine Jorgensen IS one true ‘pioneer’.  Another post supports my position.

Unfortunately, two opposing comments re-state the lines of that originating article:

  • that no one cares about we old or dead forebears,
  • that they don’t perceive the existence of old or dead people as ‘pioneer’ for today,
  • that their today community wants some celebrity of today, not an actual ‘pioneer’,
  • that this person of today is their ‘pioneer’ – ignoring that their ‘pioneer’ would be nowhere without we the old and dead forebears who actually ‘pioneered’ every step in the path these new-comers walk.

With all due respect, ‘Laverne Cox IS’ Ken.


Thank you, Dear Reader, for bearing with this essay.

Please return for whatever comes next.



‘TDOR, Uncle Frank, And Cousin Steve’


‘TDOR, Uncle Frank, And Cousin Steve’


(20 Nov 17)


The annual ‘Trans Day of Remembrance’ is 20 November.

The world community calls attention to the fact that there exist people in their cause of hate who choose to murder too many Trans persons among our Trans community.

We seek the time when this commemoration no longer requires current recognition, but only for the past – that the world community no longer targets members of the Trans community for assault and murder.

TDOR has been happening for many years,

yet there I was myself, you know me, the news junkie, having little knowledge that TDOR existed before last year.  Both national network news and local news make scant mention of it, if at all.  If all members of our own Trans community don’t know of TDOR, then how can we expect non-members to be aware!  Let’s see about whether and how much the national and local news report this year’s events.  (Up-date 21 Nov 17:  ‘Cronkite News’ was the only local coverage for this market – they interviewed one of our members.)

This will be only my second attendance at TDOR.  I barely knew of this event until last year though I have been transsexual my entire life.  I submit that my lack of awareness is because of said paucity of the publicity distributed among the population in general – the world beyond the Trans community has no concern for our well-being, therefore no concern for those whom they murder and no concern to publicise the slaughter of our Trans community members.

One of the elements that really bothers me during the reading of these names is the number of ‘Name Unknown’.

  • How can that be?
  • How can a family or social circle allow someone of their own to be murdered as ‘Name Unknown’?
  • How can a legal system and news process be satisfied that they have done their job concluding with ‘Name Unknown’?!

I can’t imagine the cruelty in the finality being solely identified as ‘Name Unknown’.  I dread that thought, that people I know – family or friend – could  be so callous as to not care for me, my whereabouts, my safety, my life that they would not bother to report my absence and search for my remains if dead.  That anyone is allowed to be ‘Name Unknown’ is appalling.  May I request of our Trans community that, from now on, anyone who is left as ‘Name Unknown’ be given a name by which we remember their lives.  It is the least we can do.

The sole local news coverage in this metropolitan region was ‘Cronkite News’ shown on a variety of local PBS TV stations nationwide.  Absent were the network affiliates of ABC (KNXV), CBS (KPHO), Fox (KSAZ), and NBC (KPNX).  (Up-date 21 Nov 17:  Nor did I see any coverage on any network news program either leading to this day, yesterday or the day after; I did not watch every minute of every broadcast, but surely there must have been some mention in light of all these accusations flying through our nation.  For shame!)


This Editor shall elaborate here that this commemoration strikes home personally (see: ‘In My Life …’, 19 Apr 16).

My Uncle Frank was in transition during the 1960s.

He travelled cross-country to visit our family sometime during the early 1960s (when my family was still intact).  I recall Uncle Frank at our front door; my dad had him arrested when he arrived at our home dressed in female attire.

Uncle Frank’s name was not to be spoken in our home, his existence was to be denied, all while growing up.  Kathy still refuses to acknowledge Uncle Frank and Cousin Steve as recent as today.  ‘Names Unknown’ to her.

The records show that Uncle Frank died in 1970.  My family plotted his murder; they made it appear as suicide.  In those days, the local police were more than happy to not bother to investigate the ‘suicide’ of a ‘pervert’.  The story that my family told to me was that he jumpt to his death from his bedroom window.  As how I knew it, Uncle Frank, his wife, and his three children resided in a typical split-level New Jersey home – a fall from a bedroom window might stub your toe or break an arm if you land most awkwardly, but it is hardly lethal.

My family told me that Uncle Frank’s wife died soon after – supposedly despondent at her husband’s demise, she also took that same ‘suicide’ tumble from their bedroom window. This was another improbability.

The deaths of the two adults orphaned their three children.  My family told me that the two daughters went to live with their paternal grandparents and that Cousin Stevie was sent into the state system – foster care and / or adoption.

As I recall, the last I may have heard from or seen Cousin Stevie was mid-1971 before my dad and I travelled to our two years at Greece.  I have a specific memory of talking about Cousin Steve in the car of my father’s older brother and his wife.  From them is where I got the story of the whereabouts of Cousin Steve in placement with the State of New Jersey.  I have a recollection visiting the two-story home of my maternal grandparents and seeing my female cousins making their new home at that location.  My imperfect memory senses that Cousin Steve and I might have also met there our last time when we saw each other, but he was treated as though he was not wanted at this home.  My father told me to forget about Cousin Steve, Kathy tells me to forget Cousin Steve – put them in the ‘Name Unknown’ list – but I never have forgotten Cousin Steve and never will forget Cousin Steve.

I frequently ponder the circumstance that perhaps Cousin Steve’s family could not bear with him as he was also going through his own childhood transsexualism as mine.  His grandparents refused him, his aunts and uncles refused him.

I presented at other posts at this web-site that my dad frequently whined that he wanted to adopt more children than me.  My question persists:

  • ‘Then why did you not also adopt Cousin Steve?’.

If it was because the laws of that time prohibited a single father from adopting, then certainly my mother who was re-married could have adopted Cousin Steve.

No matter.  I doubt my father’s resolve because he used his threats to return me to the system to try to keep me in line; a lot that did, eh.

Allow me, Dear Reader, to pose to you my continued effort to seek the truth, to learn whether what my family told me is true or merely family fable.

My Uncle Frank was born Franklin Thonus at Passaic County, New Jersey.  He died in 1970.

I have used the Internet to conduct several records searches for the news accounts, obituary, or police reports of Uncle Frank.  Those sources lead me through multiple pages of gibberish, but never any actual results.  Those sources always demand payment to use their site to collect any meaningfull information.  Rip-off!

My Cousin Stevie was born Steve Thonus at Passaic County, New Jersey.  His current age would be in the late-50s.

I likewise have used the Internet to do numerous name searches for Steve.  There are many people with that name and close age.  The problem is that these sites also lead me through several pages and end with a demand that I pay money to them for some vague proposition that they will finally provide that last nugget.  No way do I fall for those web scams!

Maybe in the parlour game, people connect to Kevin Bacon within their proverbial six degrees of separation.  With that in mind, maybe someone coming upon this site or through this tag will either be Cousin Steve or know him and will bring him in contact with me at this site.

Beware! you trolls of fraudulent purpose.  I, of course, hold specific details that only the real Cousin Steve can confirm.  Anyone either claiming to present leads to Cousin Steve or claiming to be him will be required to undergo a grueling interrogation; I shall weed out you phonies in less than a handfull of questions.


I sent a brief text to Kathy today.  I reminded her that today is TDOR.  I commented upon the death of our Uncle Frank.  I asked her – for the umpteenth time – the whereabouts of Cousin Steve.

I doubt that she will soften her heart at this latest summons.

She replied to my text with, ‘I have no idea what a t’dor is.’ (sic).

Aw, c’mon now, Kathy, you can do better than that!

You tell me that you have been a nurse since the 1970s – a career of scientific enquiry.  Can’t you take 10 seconds to browse your computer for TDOR and learn something?  Why can’t you learn to spell the acronym better?  I guess it figures.  There was never a newspaper, never a radio, never a television for the news during the few times when I visited Kathy at her home.  How can one live in a world of seven billion people and not open yourself to some of them?  In this larger political scheme of things, Democracy demands that ‘informed electorate’; no wonder this one-time great American nation that began its move to Democracy as recently as the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s gave way to the collapse that began during the 1980s.

Kathy made no comment responding to my questions regarding both Uncle Frank and Cousin Steve.


This year’s TDOR commemoration now also comes personal to my own existance.

I wrote in my prior blog that I was assaulted and attacked by a criminal (‘Why Not Treat Us As Human’, 16 Nov 17).

  • Maybe he was a typical patriarchal male misogynist?
  • Maybe he discerned something about me being transsexual?

He did taunt my sexual identity.

  • Why did he consider me transsexual?
  • Why does he hold animosity toward the Trans community?
  • How is he influenced by these current politics of Crooked Drumpf?

If I should perish due to my injuries, then I become another person whose name is added to this list.  This is not a position that I thought I would find myself at this time of my life.


I was an out transsexual child during the 1950s and 1960s when that whole idea was rare for adults, let alone for children.  I was among the one-in-a-million with the other transsexuals in this country by the time I reached adult age.  Some sources put the number at only 1000 cases in America by the end of 1970s.

My dad and I were in the midst of one of our many crises by the time I got to 9th Grade.  I was changing to Kathy’s clothes every day after school.  Maybe our neighbours observed me walking Slim while dressed in her clothes and they told my dad?  My dad repeated to me during that fatefull school year that Uncle Frank was among the reasons why he needed to take me away from those bad influences of my mom, her family, Uncle Frank’s transition.  My dad threatened me to the same fate as Uncle Frank.  My dad took me to Greece.

Maybe my family murdered Uncle Frank on their impulse to retaliate against him for influencing me?

Think of the possibilities if Uncle Frank remained alive.  We would have corresponded, met each other, compared notes.  My ‘feminine protesting’ tantrums might have brought me to flat-out demand to transition to female during either 9th Grade or 10th Grade with Uncle Frank’s help.  My body naturally feminised during those years, I would have passed female, I would have received the medical care necessary.


Maybe Uncle Frank influenced me?

I was openly female-identified to my family throughout my childhood – a transsexual child – six decades ago, or thereabouts.  I can barely perceive male.  I can barely recall male.  I can’t see my life as male.

When I turned age 18 is when I count beginning my transition.  That was four decades ago, or thereabouts.  That was as young as legally possible in those days.  The medical system denied to me my right to my hormones until February 1979 – at age 22 and one-half; I went to full-time hormones shortly after turning age 23 by late-summer 1979.  That seems almost ‘yesterday’ to me.

You who join us on this path – whether Trans yourself or a devoted SOFFA – know and share our mutual understanding.  You’re doing this, too.  You get it.

Youth and body type have their advantages; I had one of those – youth.  I feminised during my teens that surely upset my family who imposed their male upon me.  Starting young means that you have endured less ‘testosterone poisoning’.  I wish that others could have had my fortuitous opportunities to transition young if that is what they wanted.  I hold no regrets other than what I now see through 20 / 20 hindsight that I could have done better.

Recall my chronology (in brief):(1977 12 30) Stanford Reply (Name Covered)

  • 1974: Met Denise, my mentor, in stealth (my first transsexual, other than Uncle Frank)
  • 1977: My mentor Denise referred me to Stanford University Medical Center; I began my correspondences with Stanford
  • 1978: My first transsexual medical appointment to attain approval to Stanford; corresponded with Janus Information Facility; name and sex changed at Social Security Administration; my first counselling
  • 1979: Accepted for regular counselling and approved to transition, accepted for transition medical care, began hormones (Norinyl, Diethylstilbestrol)
  • 1980: Legal name and sex change, began full-time female (uni-sex styled) attire
  • 1981: Denied continued hormone treatment and counselling by the gatekeeper medical community of Utah
  • 1982: Inter-sex diagnosis – genetic female
  • 1983: Restored to transition hormones (Premarin); first surgery; employer changed my official appointment designation to female
  • 1984: Male-fail mis-gendering
  • 1985: Female full-time forever.

I would say that such a life seems almost un-believable, some crazy plot in a fictional novel, if I had not lived it.  Yet here I am.  It is believable.  I have been living it, I bear the scars from it – then and now.  My ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures and my Stanford papers are about my only evidence for me to document that I previously presented male, that I rode this journey.  I compare both – Nick and Sharon – knowing that that is really me in transition.  Me male to me female.

I can recall each day of freedom when I first began full-time.  I arrived home – alone – to my apartment at the conclusion of a busy day, threw myself on my bed, and let out a quiet cheer.

  • ‘Yes! I did it!’

How I wanted to share my enthusiasm with family and friends, but I had none.  My family and my ‘friends’ rejected me.  Among my feelings of great joy was great hurt that my people abandoned me – their deep abandonment continues today.

Nevertheless, without them, I counted my days; those days became weeks, weeks became months, months became years.  Now I am fortunate to count decades.

You in transition comprehend this mutual experience.  If only we could bottle our exhilaration to taste its sweetness throughout life and share it among those we love and appreciate.

I prefer to participate with the SOFFAs at one support group.  I enthusiastically support the newbies and present my self to them a hopefull future.

We, through the time of my era, were generally obliged to participate in transition programs; they were usually sponsored by a university medical center.  Transition programs (mine was Stanford) impressed upon us the importance of blending into society – ‘strealth’ as they now call it.  We old-timers set the opportunity for you Trans children of today who become celebrities because you are Trans.

Finance matters – some of us had to search for coins in the seat cushions while others got it paid by their parents.  I was lucky to have had a good job that provided sufficient income and decent health insurance.  It also helpt that the ‘EXCLUSIONS’ section continually became irrelevant to me as I legally changed my name and sex, my medical record reported me as female, and my employer changed my designation from male to female.

In this season of Thanksgiving, I am forever gratefull for the bounty that came my way.

My transsexual perspectives of 40-some years ago are different than those of current Trans people – whether they are transitioning late in their life or are Trans children.  Not all have an easy transition – then and now.  We of my era could be subjected to ridicule, yet curiously, the general public paid little attention to our presence.  We went through our process with a society different than today’s.

We Trans must manage our own before we can expect the outside world to respect us.  There had been a movement toward openness, but I fear that those now in charge of our American government and their regressive political climate are imposing changes for the worse.  Some members of our Trans community brought this upon us much the same way Jews of Hitler’s Judenrate, Judischen Altesterrat, and Schutzstaffel chose to collaborate with NAZIs.  That era of NAZI-ism and Fascism persisted from the 1920s to the 1940s; on that timeline, we shall experience this in America until the 2030s – or later – when you continue doing nothing – when you persist colluding with the enemy.  Follow Hans von Dach Bern into total resistance.


I feel conflicted.

You have seen here, Dear Reader, that Brad welcomed me into the fold of our ‘Dasahori Kids’ Facebook page.

I am now also accepted to my ‘Pinewood School Alumni’ Facebook page.

I present myself to the Pinewood School Alumni web-site only as Sharon; I make no mention that my past identity to them was once Nick.  I am not hiding my past; rather, I see no point forcing any agenda, I shall not deny my past if anyone asks.  Actually, I posted a picture from my school days, I mentioned the years when I attended, that my dad was a teacher, I identified where I resided on the school campus, I listed a few of my school activities, I mentioned school-mates in my social circle.  I also make reference both to the ‘Dasahori Kids’ site and to my own web-site.  Certainly people can do an Internet search.  Anyone who knows those ‘clues’ knows who I was.

As yet, the only alum who have corresponded with me did not know me personally during my two years at Pinewood.  I first wrote to the sister of a school-mate who was my prom date, then I wrote to the sister of my team-mate for the 1973 International Model United Nations.  I await posts from people who knew me directly.  According to the latest list as of when I last browsed that site, there are only a few who did know Nick and they have yet to read my entries.

Has anyone otherwise realised that I was Nick?

Maybe I have been too circumspect?

No problem.  I can write a post to answer questions and come clean in short order.


It is getting into cold and flu season here in the US of A.

Allow me to recommend soup to fend off illness and ease your pain.

  • Chop and cut some garlic (good to prevent those sick days), carrots, red potatoes, red onions, celery.  Spice as desired with any or all of:  rosemary, fennel, cumin, tumeric, curry, chili powder, cayenne.  Why not add chicken.  Cook them in your slow cooker.  There you have it – fresh chicken soup, the universal cure; better than canned chemicals.

Serve this with some grated cheese on top.

Or …

Add a dollop of yoghourt and wrap it in a flour tortilla as a combo vegetable and chicken burrito.  A kinda vegetarian gyro to our Greek cuisine.



Sad notes to report.


Malcolm Young (64), guitarist for AC/DC, died of complications from Alzheimer’s.

For those about to rock – we salute you and thank you for all the great music.


We also learned that 1970s teen heart-throb David Cassidy (67), of ‘Partridge Family’ fame, is hospitalised and suffering from total organ failure. He awaits a possible liver transplant.

You made us happy.

Get well.

(Up-date 22 Nov 17: David Cassidy succumbed to his illness.)


I saw it on the over-night news as I was fading back to sleep.

You know, Dear Reader, the story of my name and how I came to be Sharon (see: ‘In My Life …’, 19 Apr 16).

My friend put it well – Sharon Tate is smiling at final justice come her way.


A great big Kapung Khaf thank you to ‘T-Central’ for picking up this web-site in their reference:

Take a browse at ‘T-Central’ for their diverse writing.


Kapung khaf, thank you, Dear Reader, for bearing with me on this personal journey today.

Please return for another post at a future date.



‘Leap Year Day’


‘Leap Year Day’

So went another Leap Year Day – this in ‘The Year of the Monkey’.

Shine on!


To be both inter-sexed and transsexed is both a curse and a blessing.  Perhaps my life would have been better if my parents allowed me to transition as a child; there were many points in time when that change would have been seamless.  On the other hand, I did get a chance to experience my life as a sex that was not me – and learn from that experience.

Though I transitioned during the 1970s and I endured two operations in the 1980s, my past is as much a part of my present as it will be my future.

We of the ‘baby boom’ era endure people who are less accepting than those of younger generations.

Sadly, many family members will reject you; some to your face, many behind your back when they think you are not looking.

My family experiences were total rejection.

Maybe it was the finality.  Maybe they failed.  Maybe they perceived me making irrational statements rather than rational commitments.  It must be tough for them to reconcile that I have been post-op more than 30 years while they remain in denial of that fact.  Last December, I reminded both my sister and one cousin (local to where I currently reside) of my change; they continue refusing to accept reality.  Neither will allow me to visit them and neither will allow me to contact their adult children.  My sister has denied to me the opportunity to contact her children their entire lives; I have no idea what they know of me.

Both my immediate and extended family accepted me only when I presented my self to them as a lie though they knew the truth at least as long as I remember.  Once I presented my truth to them, they abandoned me.  So much for family.

All my family knew about:

  • my feminine protesting tantrums throughout my childhood and into my teen years,
  • my cross-dressing in my sister’s clothes and my experimenting with make-up of my older female cousins since age three,
  • my declared female name by age eight, and
  • my stated intention to begin transition at the earliest adult age possible (which I did at age 18).

Those were among my list of rational commitments; all kept.

I placed all the signs open and available to my family:

  • they either saw the signs and refused to accept them or
  • they were blind to what I presented in front of them.

They were in denial.

There was no formal or official ‘coming out’ to a family who already knew my expectations.

The real issue for family were two questions:

  • ‘When will it be the last we shall see Nick as a male?’ and
  • ‘When will it be the first we shall see Sharon as female?’

My eventual presentations occurred at different times because of family members scattered across the USA; due to geographical proximities, my sister was first, my dad was second, and my mom was last.

Aunts, uncles, cousins, and others saw me (or not) as time went on – all knowing in advance that I changed – and they rejected me.

One cousin, who had been more of a sister than my sister, was a curious bit.  She saw me twice since being post-op though I presented as Nick / male to her during my ‘male fail’ era:

  • at her home at Colorado (1983) and
  • at her wedding at Texas (1984)

I have to know that she knew that I was already post-op female and nearing female full-time forever in every way by those two visits.  I felt that I could not present to her at her home because I was invited as Nick / male, not as Sharon / female; it would not have been proper for me in those days.  Nor could I have appeared as Sharon / female at her wedding; that was her time, not mine.

This cousin is a member of a far-right-wing Christian Conservative religion; her church publishes anti-transsexual literature.  She began sending her church brochures to me during 1986.  Perhaps I could take my cousin’s brochures at value and not change from female to male.  Fair enough; I followed her demand and stayed female.  Nevertheless, she wants nothing to do with me.

I also visited with my mom during those same years – post-op yet still presenting to her as Nick / male.  She knew to a great extent where I was along my transition.  She knew of my pills since 1979.  She saw how I appeared more female than male.  She certainly did spread gossip among her side of my family.


I have a curious ‘coming out’ experience to a former girlfriend from the mid-1970s; rather, I have yet to personally come out to her though she knows of my change.  She last saw me during my end days of ‘male fail’ (1985).  Since then we talked a few times on the telephone with me identifying myself as Sharon, not mentioning my past identification as Nick; they were odd conversations indeed.

My permanent residence is at Bisbee, Arizona, approximately 250 miles from where I temporarily reside at Phoenix.  I planned a meeting with her at her home near Bisbee; that was about 20 years ago.  My effort mis-fired when she was not home and I spent that time visiting with her mom instead.  I did not tell her mom.  I’m sure by her expression that she was quite puzzled who I was when I related past events that her daughter shared with Nick, but here I was presenting to her as Sharon.


Otherwise, people who knew me ‘before’ are no longer in my life – they chose to reject me.  I have not come out to people who only know me as Sharon / female since my ‘after’.  I consider my status as any other private medical concern that is none of their business, this web-site being the exception.

I had two boyfriends and one Lesbian girlfriend in years past; none knew.  But then, we never went quite far enough for me to consider disclosing my situation to them.

The lesson here is that standard: YMMV.  Every person and every relationship is different.  You may experience good results where others experienced failure.


(1970 06) Slim - Crater Lake (sitting - portrait)



‘Farewells Are Not Forever’; ‘Re-visit Vestiges of Vestigial Cells’


(18 Jan 16)

I made my fond farewells to my new friend Li Qian Yang. She departed on her flight to her home-town at China this morning at 5 am. (https://www.) (youtube.com/watch?v=PXOPSG8UX70) (https://www.) (youtube.com/watch?v=WirhDbybswc). OMG! I arrived at that same LAX Runway 24R to meet her – same as in this second video.IMG_0168

We met 8 Jan 16.

Qian is a very good person who means well.

She taught me to write my name in Mandarin (Li Yuan En is my name in Chinese).  Look, we have the same surname Li.  We are family.  Of the seven billion people on Earth, I found my sister.  How great is that!  She taught me a little bit of how to speak and write Mandarin during our two weeks together.  Now I understand the accent marks and Mandarin inflection.

I am concerned for you, Qian, and your health.  You are young – age 23 – and you have that invincibility of youth that can lead to danger.  Please, if and when you read this, take care of your self.  I shall be writing to you; you will have my next e-mail awaiting you upon your arrival home.  I want to be certain that you live a good life.  Maybe someday I can come visit you at your country.

You, Yann, and me will be our special trio – HUGGSS and ‘Dee-lie-shun’ to us three forever.  Now I am with Ildi and Evelyn.  Ildi and I planned our schedule for this week and shall be seeing more sights on Tuesday and Wednesday – lots of photography, walking, and temples.

The two other girls with the colored hair keep to themselves at their cottage – we do not know who they are.  I say ‘Hello’ and ‘Good morning’ to them but they look at me with facial expressions as if they do not comprehend a word I am speaking.  (Up-date – 22 Jan 16:  They are Louise and Rose, two extremely shy young British women who prefer keeping to themselves rather than join the rest of us.)


This came up again at a message board where I participate – the possibility that one day transsexuals would have their full desired anatomy of their identified sex.

There is one angle where my inter-sex comes in handy compared to ‘vanilla’ transsexuals – my system is finding enough endogenous estrogen to match ‘normal’ values and my estrogen cellular receptor sites know how to make the most of that chemistry.  In a pinch, my chemistry is ‘normal’ female and I can go without ERT; other ‘vanilla’ folks are fatedly dependent upon ERT.

Don’t presume all is well with my natural chemistry; it needs work, too.  It is how I got where I am.

My endogenous estrogen hit only 41 last March 2015 following 13 months off meds, then 241 for my July blood draw when on 1 mg estradiol per day, then the latest blood draw at the end of December 2015 collapsed to 31 still on 1 mg estradiol per day.

My endo told me not to worry because my levels are okay for ‘normal menopausal female’ – I am age 59.  But I can’t imagine my ups and downs are ‘normal’ when I register ‘normal adult female’ one draw then ‘normal menopausal female’ the next draw.  Does menopause happen that suddenly?  Or is this how menopause hits – low, then high, then low the next?

I’m in for that ‘bumpy ride’.


I knew an inkling.  I did some studying as part of my pre-transition and early transition while residing at Arizona.  Small-town public libraries were lacking (1974 – 1978).  Northern Arizona University (Flagstaff, Arizona), a forestry university, hardly had a medical school library to satisfy my inquisitivity (1979 – 1980).

I then attended to research and independent study at both University of Utah Medical School while I resided at Utah (1981 – 1985) and University of Arizona while residing at Arizona (1985 – 1986).  I was a busy beaver in my youth.  There I spent many evenings and weekends after my regular day job with the Forest Service; I was doing independent research on transsexualism and stem cells – for personal and selfish reasons in the beginning.  I was studying and researching ways to activate vestigial Mullerian systems in M-F transsexuals (and inter-sex females).

  • (1)  devise a way for the gonadal tissue (testicles, ova-testes, ovaries, or dysgenic gonads) to reverse the hormone from testosterone to estrogen, or increase the estrogen output, or modify the hormonal output to mimic estrogen and
  • (2)  develop ways for the hormone receptor sites to activate better with estrogen or any other endogenous pro-estrogenic compound.

I asked why can’t doctors use stem cells to invigorate vestigial genital systems for transsexuals:  Mullerian for M-F and Wolffian for F-M.  That is the transsexual’s dream – or at least it has been mine – to culture those lost or incomplete genital systems instead of transplants which are dangerous and pointless to a degree.

We are all developed from female phenotype in utero; it is the spurt of testosterone that separates female into male at the end of the third month.  Every body has both Mullerian Duct and Wolffian Duct systems to start during our embryonic stage.  The various hormones reduce one system for another – and this is where the inter-sex states happen.  Wolffian Duct Regression Factor halts the male system in females and Mullerian Duct Regression Factor halts the development of the female system in males.  That process is mixed up for inter-sex people; all ‘normal’ people have these vestigial remains of the other system at some extent or another.  With your vestigial Mullerian Duct formation, we could use stem cells to develop your upper third female anatomy.

The point being was – as with inter-sex and with what I was also trying to determine with transsexuals – how to encourage one set of action while suppressing the other.

Gonadal tissue has three basic options:

  • under-production,
  • ‘normal’ production,
  • over-production.

A side issue to gonadal production is the quality. What quality is tuned?:

  • failed quality,
  • ‘normal’ quality,
  • hyper-quality.

Then there is the famous hormonal receptor site. Is it tuned to:

  • estrogen,
  • testosterone,
  • both,
  • neither.

Is the hormonal receptor site tuned to receiving:

  • less than normal,
  • ‘normal’,
  • greater than normal.

How does this system have the capacity to read and act on weak or failing estrogen?

How can it convert testosterone signals to estrogen action?

How does it reject even hyper-estrogen stimulation to normalise level?

Can you, Dear Reader, see what I was trying to do?

My questions began with

  • ‘What happened with the female anatomy (Mullerian Duct) in the male and the male anatomy (Wolffian Duct) in the female?’.

More questions flowed; more hypotheses developed.

  • ‘What can medical science do to awaken those dormant structures for the inter-sexed and transsexed?’

Researchers and biologists and anatomists devised prospects to assist patient re-generated lung tissue, liver tissue, kidney tissue as an aside to the organ transplant programs that I also was studying.

My questions to the transplant studies included:

  • ‘Why take the risk of transplant and rejection when we can develop one’s own system to re-generate the failed organ?’
  • ‘Why not apply that regeneration to Mullerian / Wolfian tissue?’

I explained how it is possible using stem cells – at least I am among those who established the theoretical feasibility yet found no corresponding lab work.

Much of the next steps that remain are the supportive medical community to get things moving; that was as much my battle.

This is not pie in the sky.  This has been happening since the 1960s with other organs – liver, kidney, lung, heart, bone, blood vessel, nerve, you name it.  Some research has been quite advanced while other research has been slow.  Nor was I any original one who came up with the ideas but I sure tried to push its practicality during my time.

  • Kidney – ‘Yes’.
  • Lung – ‘Yes’.
  • Liver – ‘Yes’.
  • Genital structure – ‘H*ll No!’ was their reaction.

This research on reproductive systems is highly politicised; less for re-generating heart, lung, liver, etc.

Such feigned outrage from the political class and their minions!

No one would take my ideas – sex – ooh – can’t deal with that.  Okay, fine.  My ideas, study, and research applies to any other organ or systems.  As long as there remain cells in the patient’s body and stem cells to apply to the patient’s own cells, there can be organ and tissue growth with proper chemical and biological action.  This occurs in other parts of the animal world.

The crooks who ransacked my home (2014) messed up my records and files – stealing some, destroying some, leaving some.  AGH!  My five years of notes were all hand-written – there were no computers for this back then.  So if you don’t mind, I can’t re-write my dissertation in 20 minutes or less.  Nor did I make copies.  What is gone is gone forever until the next person develops the follow-up theory and resolution.

I read last year (2015) that some organs have been successfully cultured and harvested for transplant.  Fact is, researchers have been working on re-growing uterine tissue on scaffold structures to implant into the donor patient.  Success is variable.  These are replacement tissue transplants of the patient’s own anatomy rather than vestigial structures (the next step).

Okay, I lacked all the years of post-graduate expertise of chemistry, biology.  Does Bill Gates know absolutely everything to build the computer and write code?  Probably not; instead he hires computer experts who can do each task while Gates and his team oversee the enterprise.  That’s where I came in – not the chemist, not the biologist, but the one with enough ideas to be asking the questions and developing those ideas until the trained experts with greater knowledge could take over.

I certainly did not have all the answers; I meant my work to add one more piece to the puzzle in the elemental idea that it can be done so that the more experienced in the medical community would fine-tune my ideas and make them real.  It is their turn to do the lab work to continue those next research steps.  Not much has advanced since I got hit with all that rejection and nowhere left to take it.

I achieved results of my studies on inter-sex states and transsexualism at medical schools (1981 – 1986) researching to develop ways to use either our own or fetal stem cells to grow our vestigial Mullerian or Wolffian systems in M-F or F-M patients.  It is a dream of many, if not most, transsexuals (both M-F and F-M) to have the actual, full anatomy, not the limited GCS / SRS results.  The medical community treated my efforts with disdain and disrepute.

If you would have wanted them, you would have had it all: your testes would have transformed to ovaries (or at least functioned as ovaries and emitted endogenous estrogen), you would have Fallopian tubes, a uterus, a cervix, a real vagina, real labia, real clitoris, real crura and cavernosa.  Stem cells would have gradually transformed your anatomy same as any developing female.

Don’t tell me ‘No’ and ‘It’s all stupid’.  I got ideas about organ transplants in 1963 when I read a news magazine reporting how China devised a way to transplant a hand on a man who lost his hands.  You may have seen a recent news story from late last year (2015) about a little boy who got a bi-lateral hand transplant operation.  He can thank that 1963 first-time operation – his current operation was ‘routine’ compared to that initial 1963 procedure that took days to operate and months and years to resolve.  That boy does not consider the 1963 Chinese surgeons ‘stupid’.

I do not know what, if any, research has been done by anyone else since my days.  Suffice to say, nothing – or else I would not be writing about this to you my fellow ‘truth-seeker’ – you would be experiencing a full compliment of female anatomy grown from your own vestigial Mullerian cells while you were in transition.  Do you get it?  My research would have led to changing the entire sex-change system.

So what remains of my six years work sits in boxes in storage collecting dust. I hope the medical community is pleased.