Being Handy

111

As I couldn't afford to buy Daina things to show her my appreciation for the support she had been giving me over the past few years, I offered to apply my skills. She decided to get her first PC computer and I helped her shop around until we found the best pre-made fit for her needs and cost level. Getting it to her home, I put the components together on a small desk she had in her guest room and booted-up the computer and spent a little time reviewing its bios settings and pre-installed software. I then pared it down to what she needed and then gave her a copy of my original check book program, since expense tracking was one of the things she wanted to use it for, as well as preparing her quarterly student reports.

I guided her as she used the word processing software for the first time to prepare her next set of reports. When it came time to print them up she had a ratty photo copy of a poor photo copy of a school letter head page. Seeing this, I went home and created a new school letter head form for her with a group of mountains in the background using my desktop publishing skills. For her next set of student reports, the new letter head sheets made them stand out and look more professional.

As she would have handyman tasks at her condo from time to time, I would help when I could, such as installing a ceiling fan for her after she had seen the two I put into my own apartment. As I worked on it, I entertained her with my ability to mimic various music artists I liked and sang various songs in their voices. She enjoyed it and was impressed by my ability to change the sound of my voice, even for singing. Given her positive feedback, I took up the habit of occasionally leaving hoax messages on her answering machine to see if I could fool her with a new voice or accent I'd worked out.

She asked if I could make her an exercise step for her routine at home and, as I hadn't a clue what an exercise step was, she explained to me that it had to be steady as she would be constantly stepping up and down it. I realized it was more of a little platform than a stair type of step or foot stool and she paid for some scrap particle board at the local hardware store and I measured and cut it into three pieces by hand, two thin strips I crossed & mounted corner to corner on the underside of the square main piece. It was the height Daina wanted and very stable. She was very appreciative and the next time I was at her condo, I noticed that she had a collection of spices and jars of base ingredients inconveniently stuffed into a cabinet where she would have to pull most, if not everything, out to find what she was looking for each time. I saw she had an empty patch of wall at the end of her kitchen and offered to custom craft a 'spice rack' for her. She was willing to see what I could craft up but wasn't sure she would use it if she didn't like the look. More as a box of shelves, I measured the various sizes of her items to place on it and decided to make it tapered so the large jars would fit on the deep bottom shelf and the rest would become less deep until the final shelf would hold the smallest spice bottles. As with the step, I hand cut pine boards and then assembled them, this time with wooden dowels rather than screws so there wouldn't be any unsightly screw heads. Showing it to her and how I could secure it to her kitchen wall with the mounting brackets hidden from view, she agreed and it was soon in place with the jars and spices stacked in their new home and Daina had a new portion of a cabinet cleared out and available for other uses.

With her enthusiasm for these two projects, I looked around her kitchen to see if there was anything else I could do for her. She only had a limited amount of counter space and a large portion of it was taken up by her microwave oven. I noted an odd part of her kitchen where there was a row of high cabinets that spanned over her refrigerator, across a bare portion of wall until they spanned over the open area sink dividing her kitchen from the rest of the living space. I said I could build a suspended shelf that would fit under the bare wall portion of that cabinet span next to the refrigerator and she could place her microwave into it, clearing counter space. For Daina this was one project too far and she declined. Assuming she feared it would be made out of particle board or the such, I assured her I could get quality wood and custom stain it to match the cabinets so once installed it would look like a natural part of them. But the answer was ''No.''

Still, she had a birthday coming up and I did have a few pennies saved away. Assuming her refusal of the project was based on her not having confidence in my ability, I decided to go ahead and create the microwave shelf at my apartment, trim it, and stain it. It would be suspended by two side pieces that would slide up between small mounting gaps between two of the high cabinets with bolts crossing between the cabinet insides for support. On the nights I was over to her place for television shows or playing card or board games, she would often use the restroom before she'd drive me home for the night. I took this moment of time to pull out the tape measure in my pocket and plot the area where the shelf would be placed, and later bring stain sample slips to match against the existing cabinets to insure my work would match. As I'd hear her hand grasping the bathroom door knob, I'd quickly stuff these back into my pants pockets and act as if I had just been standing there doing nothing while she was busy.

When she would come over to my place, I would furtively scoot the pieces of wood and trim from my living room into my bedroom and pull the door to, so she wouldn't see the work in progress and misjudge the half completed shelf. And then it was done and I asked to borrow Daina's car on her birthday when she was working as I needed 'to run an errand'. In reality I placed the completed parts of the microwave shelf into the back seat of her car and brought them to her condo as, since her house key was on the car key ring, I was able to bring in the pieces and compression fit them into place. Not yet mounted with the securing bolts I wouldn't trust it to hold the actual weight of the microwave, but I wanted to let Daina see the finished product and approve the final step of drilling the holes for the bolts. If for any reason before that step she still didn't want the microwave shelf, I could simply pull it out of it's place hanging under the cabinets and take it home, leaving no trace it had temporarily hung there. After I picked Daina up at work, we first went to her place so she could change before we went out to eat for the evening and I settled on her living area couch and waited for her to notice the shelf. After changing her clothes, she briefly puttered in the kitchen for a bit and then was ready to leave.

She saw my big smile and asked if there was a makeup blemish or something on her face. In reality it was the fact that the microwave shelf had blended in so well with the existing cabinetry that she hadn't noticed it when she went in. But instead of telling her this, I lead her back into the kitchen while she looked at me and I asked her if she noticed anything different. At first she thought with me, but then I clarified 'the kitchen'. She glanced around and then suddenly gave a yelp. She briefly covered her mouth from the involuntary sound and then as she realized what it was she said, ''I told you not to.''

Before any anger could develop, I went up to the suspended 'U' shaped shelf assembly and pulled it out of its place between the cabinets to once again reveal that nothing permanent had been done, yet, and she could still have that space in her kitchen just as it had been. But now she could see it as it would look if permanently mounted and I slipped it back into place. She eyed it for a while and said she'd think about it during dinner. When we got back she had me take it out again, and then put it back in place. She said she wanted to see the microwave oven in it before she would make her final decision, but without the supporting bolts, I instead offered to hold the shelving in place as she slid the microwave into the space herself and stand back for another look. She was warming up to the idea but still wasn't convinced and so I noted that the supporting bolt heads would be hidden in the cabinets and so what I could do was mount it for a week or two and if she still didn't like it, I could remove it and the only thing left over would be some holes in between the interior sides of the cabinets that I could cover over with some faux wood grain patches.

Mustering up her courage, she agreed to let me drill the holes and physically mount the shelf in place. Then I slipped the microwave in and plugged it into the spare outlet behind the refrigerator. She tried the microwave to make sure it worked and noted it was easier to program, now, with the display closer to eye level. But she still wasn't sold on it...

The following week she felt the need to tell me, after days of having more free counter space, and a spare outlet with the microwave being out of the way, she had fallen in love with the shelf...! Hearing that, I was thrilled. When her friends and coworkers visited in the subsequent weeks and months she would point it out to them and eagerly compliment me and they in turn would appreciate it and she would come back to my apartment to share this news with me.

A year later she was still tickled with it and while it had been a gift for her birthday, a single day of a year, it had given her happiness for many more days than just that.

And reflecting on it as I type this, that success and her appreciation of it has tickled me more than most any other project I've ever done these decades since.

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Over Achieving

107

Focusing on College in July of Nineteen Ninety-Two, I was quickly the apple of the computer instructor's eye and I wowed and amazed him with my understanding of logical routines and computer obscurities. Going through the text book we came across the statistic that a company could only expect to complete ten lines of debugged code per day, per person, for any project. I felt that number was low, but the instructor pointed out it included systems analysis & designing, documentation writing, and testing time, not just the time it took to write the code. I still felt that was a little low and so the teacher decided to challenge me. Our first project was to write a stock tracking program, where the user would manually input various stock codes and daily numbers and the program would provide various averages which the user could use to decide if it was a good time to buy or sell. These were the minimum needs but we'd get brownie points if it exceeded those needs. Given the complexity of the task, he broke the class into two groups who would each work on the project separately... And then there was me: I'd be working alone. We had two weeks for the project and he wished us luck and offered to be available to provide any help required.

The following week I came in with the printed documentation I had finished for the program. I handed it to him along with a disk. He asked what the disk was for and I said, somewhat confused by his question as I thought it would be obvious, that it was the program. I also gave him my time sheet noting how many hours I had been working on it and when during the past week. I noted that I had averaged thirty lines of debugged code... an hour. He couldn't believe it and did the math himself assuming I had never slept, visited with friends, or eaten since he had assigned the task. Even with all of that factored in, he figured I had produced around three hundred lines of code per day. He made sure I remained as a group of one for all future coding projects during the class so I wouldn't just quickly put out the code and leave any team mates in the dust without them having a chance to code themselves. I thought that made sense.

Toward the end of the Summer semester came a surprise call from VocRehab. They had worked out a one month trial job for me at RMT. I would work at the complex on tasks they needed, but given the red tape of them being a national corporation, rather than my working there and being paid by them, and then them asking for reimbursement on my initial pay, VocRehab was going to pay me directly for the first month I worked there. I would be like a free 'independent contractor' for the company as they got to review my skills and decide if they wanted to hire me. I readily accepted the offer and my counselor noted that I'd need to get myself some formal clothing for my time working there. That threw me for a loop as I had none, but told him it wouldn't be a problem.

I asked Daina if she could loan me the money to buy a work wardrobe and I'd pay her back once I got my VocRehab check. Enthusiastically, she agreed and we were soon off to thrift shops in search of what I could find. Ultimately we got me about five short sleeved button up shirts. Given how light the material was, I would need to go back to the ACE bandage binding technique and even wear an additional white tee shirt under the work shirt to better disguise the presence of the ACE bandage, itself. Then we picked out a bunch of neck ties that would go along with the shirts and Daina, thankfully, knew how to tie them and showed me. Once again for ventilation, I hoped the short sleeved shirts wouldn't look out of place as I'd start the job at the tail end of August. While I still had trepidations about my ability to get a job at a corporation as I'd known in the past they would often require passing a physical as an employment requirement, I pushed that fear aside for now.

My work uniform set, I next had to deal with school.

I could take my Finals the week before the end of the semester and be done with my classes a week early so they wouldn't interfere with the start of my new job. But I would have to switch to night classes for the Fall semester to ensure there wouldn't be a conflict for the last two weeks of my one month trial job. Further, one of my degree requirements was to perform a 'work study' job. This would normally take place once I was reaching the end of my college time and just before I would get my degree. But as the opportunity was too good to pass up, I asked the administration if I could count my month at RMT as my work study requirement. Not only could I, but normally the best their students could hope for was a job copying diskettes as their work study so the College was thrilled that one of their students was going to be doing their time at RMT! Checking with the VocRehab counselor, he saw no conflict with it, either.

The next problem was my lack of a car. It turned out the local buses only ran during the daytime hours and the closest bus stop to the RMT complex was still a mile away. While taking the bus to RMT would be very problematic given the long walk to & from the bus stop while wearing my minimum layers of clothing, once night school started I'd definitely need a ride to & from College at a minimum. Daina offered to let me use her car, effectively I would keep her car overnight and then pick her up in the morning and take her to work, then drive to my RMT job. As the end of the school day came, she would work late on paperwork until I was done for the work day and then pick her up at the school. We'd have dinner someplace and then she'd drop me off at College allowing her to keep the car for any evening errands and then pick me up after classes. I'd drive back to her place and drop her off and I'd go home for homework and bed. While this plan worked on paper and we didn't have to worry about it during the first two weeks as I didn't have classes... Once the plan was in full swing Daina quickly chaffed at the sudden increase in gas costs and having to spend ten hour days in her classroom. She insisted and I agreed that once RMT hired me after the trial month, I was to promptly buy my own car.

I was heady with the thought that I would soon be able to buy myself my own car once again and no longer have to depend on free local bus passes from Vocational Rehabilitation.

When I arrived at RMT for my first week, I met the senior manager who had come up with the plan and was then introduced to the manager of the X400 messaging group who I'd be working for. He in turn introduced me to the 'team lead' who would be in charge of me and in return that team member took me to my empty cubical. It would take the next two days just to get the cubical set up and I used the time in between to tour the building alone with my little badge to defend me and spend some time under the skylight lit library area of the complex paging through the Digital Vax manuals; the machines I was told I was going to be working with once I had a computer terminal.

On the third day I was ready for my first assignment, the team lead looked through the 'needed code changes list' and assigned me to change a single line of an existing program. That took me a couple of hours, mainly just familiarizing myself with the system of getting the source code from the coding library and then compiling and testing my change before turning it in well before lunch time. I was ready for my next assignment. He had thought it would have at least taken me the whole day and asked that I come back to him after lunch for my next assignment.

While I didn't have cash to afford lunch, I did pocket a few dollars from my tiny savings to pay for my daily soda at their cafeteria, it was a gorgeous two story open area made of concrete which had an ambiance between a cave and a cathedral. I'd take a seat in a far corner and spend my time slowly sipping the soda and watch as the employees would trickle in for the lunch hour and socialize. Some would eat & run while others suddenly realized the clock after over an hour of socializing and rush to finish eating before parting from friends and returning to work.

When I returned to the team lead, he simply handed me the rest of the 'to do list' hoping that would keep me busy for the rest of my time. When I turned in all the completed work to him at the end of the week, he pointed out he meant 'for the rest of my time during the trial month', not for the week as I had assumed. He didn't know what else to assign to me and I had three weeks left to fill. He said he'd find something for me by the next week and I could leave early for the weekend. As Daina had needed the car for work during that day, I walked to that nearest local bus stop a mile away. Once I was there, I was soaked through with sweat and was glad I wasn't having to make this walk twice each day.

The following week I came in and the team lead had decided to stump me. They had always wanted an X400 message dump utility for debugging purposes but never had the time to create one. Thus my job would be to create that utility from scratch. He wished me luck and told me where to find documentation on the X400 message interchange file format.

The X400 messaging format was how companies exchanged eMails with each other over the developing internet. While internal messaging formats were often just text files, the X400 message format had to take in all considerations as to what sort of message might be passed through the internet. Not just text, but voice, telex, faxes, etc. As a result, the file format for a message was complex, if not convoluted, and the freakiest thing I had ever seen. Not only was the message dump utility going to have to be complex as well, it would also have to serve as my learning tool to come to grips with the file format itself. On the second day I asked if I could have sample X400 messages to use for testing. They got that data to me by the end of the day. By the third day I realized I wanted more time to work on this each day, but as I was tied to borrowing Daina's car and keeping to her schedule, I couldn't return during the evenings to keep working with the sample data. I asked if they had an option where I could dial in from home? They did and since I already knew Jeff had a spare Digital terminal I could borrow for a few weeks, I was soon spending my hours at home working on the same code I was working on during the day. Knowing by my third week I'd have to accommodate college classes into my schedule, I made a weekend long effort to finish the utility.

I returned Tuesday morning, after Labor day weekend, and asked the team lead if he'd like to review the output of my utility. He assumed I meant review the proposed output of the utility and said I could bring a copy to his desk, instead I arrived with the program on a disk. It took him a moment to understand it was a working program I wanted to show him and then he gave it a try. He was impressed that it was already a working program, but felt the output was too technical in nature: 'Priority = Normal, From = Bob'. He felt it wasn't readable enough. The output had to be readable, but when I asked him what that would be, he didn't know. I'd have to just work it out for myself and then he'd let me know if it was good or not. Returning to my cubicle I easily foresaw days of frustration coming up with a new output format for him to nix and my returning back to the drawing board to try again.... and again.... and again.

Instead I got the idea of attaching my FlexBase code library to it. A system I had developed in the early eighties to serve as a universal online site code base, it worked on the concept of 'you draw-up the format you want an online page to display and it would determine all of the logical needs to fill it in' for each unique user. In this case I married in the form based logic and allowed the X400 message dump routines to fill the variables with the message values. This took me almost three whole days to complete and test and then another hour making the first form template for the output. I took this new, 'more readable' output to the team lead. While he thought it was better, he still had some changes he wanted to it. I left and went to my terminal, tweaked the form template and reprinted the message data and was back at his cube within ten minutes with the updated print up and a huge smile on my face. He assumed I had made this 'example page' by hand and gave some more recommendations to tweak it. I didn't let on and returned to my cube, tweaked the form, reprinted and was back at his cube. He liked that one and asked how long it would take for me to incorporate these changes into the program. I told him I already had and this was the actual output.

I treasured that look on his face. Jaw agape, eyes wide, reading his mind that if he hadn't already seen the speed of my work the previous two weeks he wouldn't have believed it. But even knowing that it was still hard for him to accept and he asked me how I could have changed the output of the program so quickly. I told him of my FlexBase code library and showed him the template form it used and he tweaked it himself and reran the program to see the updated, instant results. In High School my coding skills had been admired, but as I was a 'big fish in a small pond' I really couldn't gauge if I was truly that good, or simply the best looking dog given what little competition I had. I knew my time at RMT would be my first true chance to find how good my skills really were, and it didn't disappoint!

The team lead asked for my source code and told me I could leave early for the weekend. The following Monday he came to my cubical with a huge smile on his face. He pointed out that he had a Masters Degree in software development, that looking at my code Friday afternoon he had become so impressed by it that he spent the rest of the weekend going through it for fun. He admired the logical structuring of my code and my use of tables to drive the code flow, not to mention the output coding which allowed the easy to modify template. He thought this was some of the best code he had seen in his life, and he was highly recommending me to be hired as an employee by the company. He gave me a copy of his letter of recommendation and his manager was reviewing it as we spoke.

For the rest of the week, more and more high level employees and managers paraded into my cubicle to see me run the code, promptly update the form with their suggestions as they watched and reran the program affirming their requested output changes. By the middle of the week they wanted to offer me a job...! There was just one little question: ''What degree do you have?''

I noted that I was self taught and didn't have a degree, as such, but was currently in night College to complete my Associates Degree by the turn of the year as I continued on to a Bachelors of Science. There seemed to be some turmoil with this answer and then they asked me when I thought I'd have that Bachelors in hand? In another year and a half, or so.

No job for me.

The head of the company on the other side of the nation had recently dictated that he wanted to have 'the smartest work force of any telecommunications firm' and by 'smartest' that meant everyone had to at least have a Bachelors Degree to get hired. As I didn't have that degree in hand, it didn't matter what level I performed at, they simply couldn't hire me.

So I got my work study completion form filled out by the manager as well as a glowing review written for the Vocation Rehabilitation people to have. Then I was back home at the end of the four week period with nothing but college studies to again fill my time.

I felt like I was the most highly praised applicant they wouldn't hire!

(at least I no longer had to worry about passing a physical examination to work there.)

untitled

106

[Disclaimer: This segment is based on my understanding and advice from the early nineteen nineties, I'm sure the state of scientific knowledge has improved since then so please only use the details here as a jumping off point for your own search for answers, not as the sum total of your knowledge...]

With the Hollywood check received, deposited & cleared, I went ahead and made an 'initial evaluation appointment' with the best doctor I could find knowledgeable in intersexed conditions. I was able to get the appointment before other things came up during the month of August and I asked Daina if I could borrow her car for the day so I wouldn't have to use the trick of taking a national bus to Denver one day, staying over night, and then returning the next. She agreed and I put down the sense of butterflies the appointment date gave me as I continued through my next two weeks of College. Finally the day came and Daina picked me up at my apartment on her way to work, and then I dropped her off at her job and pulled onto the highway to get to Denver and the appointment.

Dr. 'Czarnecki' was a family doctor who had come into the intersexed field through a patient of his who he was already seeing for routine matters. As such, he was the closest available doctor I could see about my condition and after fifteen years since my surprise puberty I might finally get some serious insight into my condition. Arriving, it was like any other doctor's office and I checked in, gave my insurance information for future reference and then paid up front for my initial appointment that wouldn't be covered by the insurance. I then got to take a seat in the waiting area and wondered how many, if any, of the people I saw in there were also of an intersexed background. No clue.

My name was called and I was lead to the doctor's little office room with his desk, not an examination room. It's always nice to get to know a doctor before you're told to undress! He was pleasant and asked about my personal background, first, before getting into the puberty side. But then we got to the topic and he told me how rare it was for an intersexed person not to be identified at birth as checking genitals was a standard procedure after delivery. I had also wondered about this and it was one of the things my psychologist, 'Samuel', and I had discussed one time. The theory was, given my troubled delivery, I was chucked aside without further examination as the doctors and nurses focused on saving my mother. I passed the theory on to Dr. Czarnecki and he took it as a likely possibility.

And so he explained to me that each fetus starts out as female with a default set of hormone receptors and then a few weeks later half of those receptors further develop for all fetuses and for 'X/Y' chromosome pairs the baby will then physically masculinize. In the case of Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome, though, most if not all of the receptors remain in their default condition, in the case for sex hormones that would be for estrogen, and as such the resulting body has little to any response to testosterone once born. I could now understand why my body hadn't significantly responded to testosterone at puberty but I asked how this would explain my developing as a woman since, as far as I knew, I had nothing to produce estrogen in my body. He noted that testosterone and estrogen are very similar hormones and as such a low level of each opposite type is produced in both sexes while the primary hormone is created by the body. This is referred to as 'the backwash effect'. Thus while my body was pumping out a high puberty level of testosterone, which I had very few receptors to notice it, it was also creating a lesser amount of estrogen which my body had many additional receptors to respond to it. Thus in my case a little went a very long way.

I told him of the test of my testosterone level a few years back which had showed I was still at a puberty level of testosterone. He wasn't surprised by this as, without the receptors to notice the testosterone level in the body, the pituitary gland sends out signals for the testicles to produce more and more endlessly. Because of this perpetual demand to produce abnormal testosterone levels, the testicles often go cancerous after many years of this. It is traditional practice to remove the testicles of intersexed patients as a safeguard against this cancer potential and such would be the recommendation for me regardless of how I otherwise wished to handle the rest of my 'situation'. It was time for the physical examination and I was lead to an examination room and told to undress and get into a gown while the doctor saw another patient.

When he came in, he reviewed my body, examined my pubic area, over all body hair and facial hair level and my breast development. He asked me if my parents had been mostly body hair free. I laughed at this as I recalled a time I had once seen my father naked and hadn't realized it at the time given his high level of body hair. In the case of my mother, I believed it was average as she did shave her legs and underarms. The physical review was done, it was time for me to get dressed and meet him in his office, again. He then checked with another patient in the meantime as I got clothed and made my own way to his office and took a seat, glancing around at his books, mementos and degrees on display as I waited.

When he returned he told me that I suffered from Partial Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome given my male genitals were not fully developed and my significantly reduced response to the testosterone in my body. He doubted my body could masculinize any more than it already had but he wished to redo the testosterone level test to make sure I was still in the high range. With this as the diagnosis one option was to remain 'male' and have surgery to remove my breasts and the testicles and a surgeon could also remove the excess tissue currently engulfing my under developed penis which would allow me fewer problems with urination. If I wished I could go an additional step and have a penile implant put in place which I could use to participate as a male in sex. I noted that I had never actually been interested in having any sex. He said this was also not uncommon as testosterone triggered the sex drive for both men and women, and without the receptors in my brain to be triggered by the testosterone in my body, I would likely never have a biological sex drive. Such was the case for many intersexed people, if not most.

My other option was to live the rest of my life 'female'. In that case I would still need to have my testicles removed as well as my existing penile 'nub'. Again this would make peeing easier as I would have a straight path for urine flow and I would no longer have to live the rest of my life with my breasts bound for social reasons. In this case a surgeon would also perform a vaginoplasty which would allow me to have sex as a female, if I wished, as well as resolve any questions about my physical sex. In this case, I would also likely need an estrogen supplement to replace the estrogen level currently produced with the testosterone in my body. As part of looking into this option, he would first want to give me an estrogen injection to see what my response to it would be as, if I didn't tolerate estrogen supplements, then it would make less sense to take the female route.

Either way, at the very least it sounded like I should have the testicles removed to be safe, even if I pursued nothing else.

This was a lot to think about and he recommended I should spend some time discussing it with my counselor. I agreed. In the meantime he asked if he could give me a B12 injection to see what my response would be to it. I saw no reason not to and he left his office to get it as I remained and mulled everything over.

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Hallways

104

Returning to College left me with decisions to be made, such as what I would wear. From my teenaged years until my emaciation, I had been wearing an ACE bandage to strap down my breasts and keep them hidden. After losing so much weight, along with muscle tissue, my breasts had shriveled down as well and I had simply spent my few days in public each week with my shoulders rolled forward to keep my tee shirt from revealing too much. I had grown to like not strapping myself down anymore at the start of each day. But now with my health restored, my breasts had returned to a cup size larger than my mother's and I once again needed to return to the hassle of cinching myself up before going out in public. I chaffed in more ways than one about this and decided I wanted a change.

Sports bras had since been developed and looking at them in a catalog I realized they could be a quick to put on solution to replace the ACE bandage. Ordering one two sizes too small, I received it in the mail and sure enough, it was much handier. The problem was, though, the shape of the shoulder straps were visible under a tee shirt. This obviously wouldn't do as I'd only be hiding one thing and in return make something else appear that would raise the same questions. If only I had tee shirts of a thicker material, then the straps might not show.

When Daina and I made our next weekend errand run around town, I told her of the problem but she didn't think that such 'thick' tee shirts existed. But still we looked and I finally spotted some women's long sleeved sweat shirts at a department store. It occurred to me to buy one and then cut and sew the sleeves to the shorter length. While it would have seemed easier just to wear the shirt with the existing long sleeves, since the age of sixteen I had been having these sudden short fevers a couple times each day and my bare arms had been my only way of radiating the heat. One of Daina's work friends had given her an old portable sewing machine years earlier and, while Daina didn't know how to use it, I had experience given my time in 'Home Ec' class from sixth grade. Sleeves shortened, sports bra on, I slipped it over my head and sure enough it was thick enough to hide the shoulder straps. The following week we returned to the department store and I got a sweat shirt of each color to then take home and modify for my needs. Daina didn't seem fully comfortable with this, I assumed from the excess of buying one of every color.

I now had my college uniform and returned to the halls to resume, and hopefully, complete my education.

Of my first set of classes, one of them was 'Public Speaking' and, given my great experience with the equivalent class in High School, I was looking forward to revisiting that success. And then there was 'Literature' which, as it turned out, featured many of the same short stories I had read for High School as well. That was the hardest of the classes for me to take as I was getting used to once again not having uninterrupted free time in my life and rereading familiar stories didn't seem like such a great use of that reduced time. Still, it had been over a decade since I had last gone through the texts and doubted I could request to test-out of the class and pass the Final cold. Eventually the teacher asked me about my frustration and I explained it, but neither of us could think of a solution other than going through the class and getting it over with.

As I had imagined, 'Public Speaking' was my favorite as, again at the podium, I'd forget to stutter and could impress my classmates with my ability to speak clearly. Then the break between the classes came and I was once again not able to talk about the weather because of the renewed stammering. One week in July, our next speech would be an 'extemporaneous speech' where we could not have notes with us, though we could chose the topic ahead of time to get our thoughts in order. I decided I'd do mine on the techniques I'd figured out during my emaciated years to hide the effect of my condition when out in public. But then the morning of the speech, something happened.

I received a call from Hollywood. It was a representative of 'The Other Show' and they had read my script and had really liked it. They liked it so much that they wanted to use it to introduce a new writer to the show and add them to their writing staff...

My head exploded with awe as not only had they liked my script and wanted to use it, they also wanted me to join the writing staff!!!!!!!!!!!

… And as they had already chosen who that new writer would be before they read my script, they were wondering if he could use its premise for his first teleplay.

It took me a moment to wrap my head around this concept. They wanted a new writer for the show and they had chosen one who apparently needed to use my idea as his introductory story as he couldn't, what, come up with his own...? I didn't ask this question, just thought about it silently.

''Are you still there?'' the representative asked me and I decided to play for time saying that I'd have to call my agent about it and ask her. ''You have an agent?'' came back the worried question. Yes I did, I confirmed without adding that she had already told me she wouldn't represent me on this script. He told me I could, of course, talk to her first but that I'd need to get back to them soon as they needed to move forward with the production of the show. I agreed I'd call back by the next day at the latest and then took his contact information.

The call over, I was shaking with mixed feelings and debated what to do. I checked the clock and I still had a half hour before I had to catch the bus to College and decided I might as well call my agent and get her advice. Digging up her home number I gave it a ring and this time her script writing husband answered. I asked to talk to her but was told she wasn't available and was asked what it was about. I told him and he was thrilled for me, but apologized as she was away on a trip to Las Vegas for the week and they wouldn't be in contact again until she returned. As that was well outside of the time frame 'The Other Show' wanted an answer, we concluded I would have to figure out whether to accept the offer on my own. I thanked him and the call was over.

I had just enough time to grab my books and run for the bus. On the ride toward the school I realized, with this excitement bubbling in my head, I had to expel some of it by changing the topic of my 'extemporaneous speech'. Arriving to class, I awaited my turn and then spoke about my news and my time writing with the show in mind and now I had gotten my chance to sell something. I skipped the detail of the sale being for another writer to use my work. And then I was off to my next class which I pensively waited to end so I could get back home and give Daina a call at the end of her work day.

Talking to Daina on the phone and telling her of the news, I realized that the amount of money they were offering me, though very low for a script sale, was still more than enough to pay for my initial appointment with the medical doctor knowledgeable in intersexed conditions. Based on that and the fact that my agent had previously told me she wouldn't be representing me on this script, I called back the Hollywood Rep before the end of the day and discussed the deal. As I had already made up my mind to accept the offer, I didn't see any point in having a sleepless night until calling him the following morning. He was still in the office and I told him I also wanted a name credit and, as I heard they were planning to develop a spin-off series, I asked for the Writer's Guidelines on that show as well as a copy of the pilot script as source material to work from for submissions to that show. No, they wouldn't give me a name credit as the goal was to allow their new writer to have his name only on his first show, and while they would agree to everything else concerning the spin-off series, they hadn't yet determined if they would have an open submission policy for that show as they had for the current show. I acknowledged that point and the deal was set.

Daina picked me up for a celebratory dinner.

Just before midnight my agent called. On a fluke she had called her husband to touch base and was thrilled about the news and was willing to represent me after all. I told her that I had already agreed to a deal but I'd be willing to have her represent me on my future efforts. She was pissed and demanded to know why I had gone ahead and made the deal without her. I pointed out the obvious, that I had been told she would be out of contact until the following week and that she had already told me she wouldn't represent me on the script. Then I added, simply, that I needed the money. ''Oh, you needed the money!'' she sarcastically echoed back and then slammed the phone down, hanging it up.

I then got a series of additional wordless phone calls and slamming hang-ups until one thirty in the morning...

A few weeks after the sale, the Hollywood representative called me back and said they 'had a slight problem'. Their new writer was having issues plotting out his take on my story and they were wondering if he could work from an outline of my script, not just with the premise. I said, ''Yes, in return for a name credit and a complementary copy of the final script,'' and added that I could have the outline printed-up mailed to them by the end of the day. He agreed to the name credit and script but added that they had already worked up the outline for him so I didn't need to mail one of my own. The updated deal was agreed to and I quickly called Daina with the news that my name would be on the show!

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Research & Dead Ends

100

The one thing I hadn't expected when I told Daina of my mixed-sex background was enthusiasm. I guessed it was more a case of she was thrilled to finally have someone she could share dark family secrets with, rather than her being happy about my 'situation'. But I was happy to accept it versus the many other unhappy results I had imagined. From her classical studies, she told me of two examples of similar people she knew of who seemed to have the same physical issues as I did: Akhenaten, and Siddhartha Gautama. Both had become religious reformers, and one of them didn't end up so successfully at it. I didn't know what to make of her comparisons, but it already left me feeling more like an underachiever.

Akhenaten was an Egyptian pharaoh circa 1352 BCE who was revolutionary in that he insisted on Egypt leaving behind its polytheistic history and become a monotheistic society with the Aten, also known as Ra-Horus, as its god. While he pushed the movement as he lived, once he died it was abandoned and Egypt returned to its polytheistic beliefs. Having reigned seventeen years he was distinguished by his feminine-like appearance and is over shadowed by his better known son, Tutankhamun. Though, if he and I truly shared the same 'situation', I'd be hard pressed to see how he could have been a biological father.

Siddhartha Gautama was a spiritual teacher from the ancient Shakya republic of the continent of India. More of a personal enlightenment philosophy than a deity based religion, his teachings are roughly that suffering is a part of existence and that suffering is in part caused by one's own desires. One of his tenets, that teachings should not be accepted unless borne out by one's own experience, seemed to echo my own life's lessons. His teachings eventually coalesced into Buddhism and has been a more enduring belief system. While some depictions of him reveal a feminine styled body, these depictions may just be culturally based as I wasn't able to find any notes about a possible mixed-sexed background.

Soon after I told Daina of my 'situation' she wanted to go to the library and look up all the information she could. She invited me along and I forewarned her that the few times I had tried over the years I had found very little, if any information. Still, I was game to try again and she picked me up at my apartment.

When we arrived at the largest branch of the library we combed the catalog for books without luck, then she checked for recent magazines and found an article on 'pseudo-hermaphrodites'. The magazine article focused on how Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome 'X/Y' genetic women were often deemed to make the most desirable looking women and noted that some of them had often found jobs as models or even as Hollywood actresses. While the article as a whole didn't go into as much medical detail as I would have liked, it did give me a new term to keep in mind: Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. Also finding the article seemed to make Daina satisfied, joking that perhaps my mixed-sex background was why I had been so interested in selling television scripts to Hollywood.

My sessions with my new psychologist, Samuel, had reached the point that it was time to hunt for a doctor which could medically evaluate my 'situation' and make suggestions and give me advice on it. Too often being intersexed was deemed to be a plumbing issue and many urological surgeons touted themselves as the doctors to see about it. But ultimately all they did was perform surgery to 'clarify' the plumbing but otherwise seemed to have little interest or knowledge of the total, lifelong, ramifications. We did finally find a general practitioner who was not wholly specialized in the intersexed field, as those doctors were very few and far between, but had become aware of it and come up to speed on the various issues over time while helping an initial patient he already knew. He had since gained a positive reputation when handling such issues and with his name I was able to find his contact information. I gave his office a call to discover the steep 'initial evaluation fee' and the lack of insurance coverage for it. While my latest apartment had a significantly lower rent than my previous apartment, allowing me greater flexibility in my finances, I realized I would still have to save for at least the whole year before I'd have enough money for the visit, assuming I didn't have any drop in my income in the meantime.

Yet what else could I do on this other than save that money, bit by bit, over the months or years to come?

I let Samuel know that my telling Daina of my 'situation' had gone well and he asked if I was going to tell anyone else. I decided I wasn't until I had the medical consultation and thus gained a better idea of how I would address my 'situation' before telling more of my friends. He thought that made sense and we reduced our appointments to once every month or two to keep in touch until I could go forward and make the evaluation appointment...

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End Of The Line

95

After the disappointment of my first four speculative scripts sent into 'The Other Show' not gaining their acceptance, I decided my problem was 'pushing the envelope' too far with each one I had written. When the show had first started it had some issues and needed to have its envelope pushed in my humble opinion. But by the third season they had finally come into their own and I decided to craft a script that would be completely common place and unthreatening. After typing it up I passed it around to some friends as my test readers and I got back less enthusiastic responses than I normally did: Just as I had hoped. I mailed it off to the agent feeling this was the one that was going to sell!

Jude's and my relationship seemed to be coming to an end. While he had been a great help to me during my time having issues with medical doctors not performing their jobs, he since had little he wanted to do other than find me that 'perfect doctor' to handle my long term needs. Yet when I said I was interested in a doctor who could address my mixed-sex issues, he didn't like that idea at all and I ended up starting to see a different psychologist on the side for those questions. It turned out he knew my new psychologist, 'Samuel', and had good things to say about him and even had a nice supportive chat with him about me. In the meantime Jude and my appointments had gone from being twice monthly to once every few months and I was thinking we would end as I focused on working with Samuel. But at what I assumed would be that final appointment where we would discuss parting, he had some news for me that he was thrilled about. He had found that perfect doctor to serve as my long term primary care physician, 'Dr. Klasper'. The wrinkle was Dr. Klasper was in Florida, but he would be willing to work on my needs over the phone, Jude was certain! I expressed misgivings about this but Jude assured me that he knew this would be just the doctor for me. He gave me the phone number and told me I could call him that evening and check for myself.

When I got home, I decided to give it a try as Jude had been a big help and supporter of mine over these past two & a half years I had seen him. But when I called, I was very surprised. I asked Klasper what specialty he was in, he admitted that technically he didn't have a medical degree, but was just called 'Dr. Klasper' as an honorary title by his patients. In reality he was a personal trainer who worked at a health club in Florida but also did phone consultations. How much was a phone consultation? I asked. He said it was two hundred dollars an hour, no insurance accepted, and his price was firm. As my entire non-rent money supply was about seventy-five dollars a month at that time, it was impossible for me to afford his fee. Thankfully, this gave me a conclusive reason not to take him as my 'doctor' and when I next saw Jude I told him of the phone call and what I'd learned.

Having expected that Jude and I would part amicably at the previous appointment, now Jude became enraged by what I told him of my call and said it wasn't possible and I was lying. I told him he could call and check for himself if he didn't believe me. But he assured me he didn't have to call as he had already seen the 'video tape'. Video tape? Yes, he had been passed a video tape noting Dr. Klasper's skills and extensive knowledge of health problems.

In the early Nineteen Nineties many 'businesses' and 'professionals', whose claims couldn't be legally validated well enough to be touted in broadcast advertisements, had taken up making 'informational videos' of themselves and their claims and then distributed these tapes through a network of supporters. It turned out Jude had been passed one of these video tapes by ''someone he trusted.'' And as he'd seen that tape for himself, Jude didn't feel the need to question anything he had gleaned from it.

When I again assured Jude of what Klasper had told me directly on the phone, Jude told me I didn't know what I was talking about and I should give 'Dr. Klasper' a try. I assured him with the two hundred dollar price tag for each consultation, I couldn't afford him even if I wanted to. Jude felt that surely 'Dr. Klasper' would bring down his price if I told him of my circumstances. I noted that I had and Klasper was very firm on his price. Jude told me it couldn't possibly be true.

Our time was up and neither he nor I saw any reason for a subsequent visit. As our last appointment, it had been very acrimonious and the first time that we had exchanged any cross words to each other. I thought it was a shame, but he felt he didn't need to check the facts himself, I just needed to get different answers.

With this disappointment already in my mind, I soon after received a letter from my agent lambasting me for how disappointing my most recent script had been. She stated I needed to learn ''the basic tenets of good writing'' before I sent her any more scripts. She then concluded her letter by noting that, if I really wanted to, I could of course always submit the script myself. When I called to assure her that I had specifically designed the script to make it as comfortable for the show readers as I could and was sure it would sell, she told me that clearly that wasn't the case as why would they want to buy something so poor? When I asked her what she had meant by ''the basic tenets of good writing'' she scoffed as she thought this meant I didn't know of the 'Man versus Man', 'Man versus Society', 'Man versus Nature' and 'Man versus Himself'' underpinnings of narrative story structure. When I noted that my story fit 'Man versus Society' she assured me it didn't as my story focused on an 'Android' and not a 'Man'. When I told her that the 'Android' in question was one of the major characters of the show and they routinely featured stories centered around him, she assured me I didn't know what I was talking about and it didn't matter as she wasn't going to represent me as my agent with that script. She then echoed in a sarcastic tone what she had written at the end of her letter, that I could always send it in on my own if I wanted to, but she assured me they wouldn't look at it. The call was done. It didn't occur to me until afterwards that given her strict interpretation of what qualified as 'Man versus...' for a valid story, then all stories about women and children would be deemed invalid by her logic as well.

Not only had my relationship with Jude ended, it seemed like my relationship with my agent was over as well.

The next time I saw Samuel and discussed these two occurrences he told me that Jude had gone even further than just having a bad last appointment with me, he had now joined the old chorus of medical doctors disparaging me on the grapevine and claiming I never had any 'real' medical problems... Samuel quipped that it might be nearing the time when Jude would have to renew his medical license and wanted to ensure a conflict-free process with his peers.

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Thanksgiving

92

As a surprise gift my not as older brother, who was currently stationed in Washington, D.C., sent my mother and me airplane tickets to join him and his family for Thanksgiving. Now with his second wife and two daughters of his own, he wanted to have a full family Thanksgiving to fill their new townhouse. He also roped in my eldest brother and his wife to join us! While I had seen my not as older brother off & on over the years when he'd visit my mother during some of his leave time, I hadn't seen my eldest brother since leaving New England over eight years earlier. Adding to my anticipation my high school friend, Luke, had also moved to Washington, D.C., with his longtime girl friend as he had taken up a job with the Library Of Congress.

I knew my other high school friend, Van, had visited him from time to time there and pulled out his old home phone number and gave his family a call. I reached his mother and reintroduced myself to her after all the years and then asked if I could have Van's current phone number. She was willing and I was off to call Van. To my surprise I immediately reached him and chatted with him briefly. This was our first chat since his confessional phone call to me so many years earlier. I told him the news of going to Washington and asked him if he had Luke's current phone number and if perhaps he might have the chance to come down to D.C. himself for a small reunion. While he felt the whole idea was fun, he declined and said he couldn't. And for that matter he didn't seem interested in talking about his life either, but he was willing to give me Luke's phone number and wished me the best of luck. I gave him my apartment phone number should he ever want to call me sometime and catch up and he said he might.

Calling Luke, he seemed happy by the news I'd be in town and confirmed that we could meet and catch up on life, perhaps even having dinner. I was thrilled and then realized I'd probably need to pull out a bit of money from my checking account's line of credit to afford side items during the trip. Not ideal, but given this once in a lifetime circumstance I wasn't going to hesitate. As Irony would have it, after a year since the antibiotics, I was back to my ideal weight and my very balded head had sprouted a carpet of fresh hair so when I saw Luke I wouldn't look that much different from the last time he saw me eight years earlier.

Daina agreed to look in on my place while I was gone and get my mail and she gave me a ride to my mother's where we picked her up on the day of the flight. Daina dropped us off at the little local airport and stayed with us until we boarded. The flight would connect with Denver's Stapleton airport where we would then get on a direct flight to D.C.. Even though we had an hour & a half layover in Denver, as a side thought once we got off the small hop plane I suggested we confirm the departure time of our next flight. It turned out it had been canceled due to mechanical problems, but they would be able to get us squeezed into an earlier flight that was leaving in ten minutes. With a brief stop at a payphone to let my not as older brother know we'd be early, we rushed to the gate number and boarded the plane as the last passengers, ending up with separated seat assignments.

When we arrived at D.C., he met us and we went to the baggage area to retrieve our luggage only to find it hadn't made the flight given the sudden change of plans, it was still in Denver awaiting assignment to a future flight. The airline took my brother's address & phone number and told us they'd deliver our bags once they arrived at the airport. We were out of the building and onto the famous 'beltway' highway for the next hour or so until we reached my not as older brother's new place. Along the way he pointed out various beltway adjacent sites to us and even pulled off for a bit to drive us around the Pentagon where he now served. As my eldest brother & wife had arrived the day earlier, we were already prepped for a full family dinner. I found out our tentative plan of events for the week and then called Luke to let him know and better firm up our own visit plans.

The first day our family spent unwinding from our flight and seeing the local sights, visiting the local mall and returning to the townhouse for Chinese take-out and to await the over a day delayed delivery of our luggage. The next day was dedicated to visiting the National Mall, seeing the various monuments and spending the afternoon at the Smithsonian's Air & Space Museum. Of all the wings of the Smithsonian, I think they chose the Air & Space Museum for me and I'm very thankful for it. The next day was dedicated to the Thanksgiving meal itself, with a nighttime drive back and around the capital to see it bathed in golden lights. Friday was a routine day of visiting and each family member doing various errand runs before we again gathered for a meal at an Italian restaurant, and then me itching furiously from the apparent red food coloring #3 in the sauce as we went out to see a movie. The following day was a quick drive up to and around Baltimore before we dropped off my eldest brother & his wife for their flight from the Baltimore/Washington airport. Sunday we gathered our belongings and were off to Dulles airport for our own flight home.

We didn't have any family conflict until Thanksgiving day itself.

Asking my eldest brother about all that had changed in New England since I had left I found out he now had a computer of his own, which was novel to me as I had originally been the only family member with a computer, and then I expressed surprise as well that our rural neck of the woods now had cable television! ''WE AREN'T A BUNCH OF BACKWARDS HICKS!'' my eldest brother snapped at me in reaction to my surprise. I was stunned by this as, for me, New England hadn't changed in my mind since I'd left it eight years earlier. I was delighted by all this news, so I was shocked that he took offense at my questions and tried to apologize.

Later in the afternoon, mother felt the need to bring up her ceaseless retelling of the time she dislocated her knee and how she was alone with me and I just stood there throwing rocks at her as she lay helpless on the ground writhing in pain. A story which she had first started telling in front of me soon after we moved to the New England apartment in Nineteen Seventy-Five, she seemed compelled to tell it to any new friend I might bring home. As I was too young at the time to know for myself what had happened, I had come up with the defense of pointing to the small brown birthmark on her forehead and saying, ''That's where she got that bruise from,'' as my only way of shielding myself from the story.

Given that she had a new audience to tell this story to, my not as older brother's wife and two kids, she couldn't help herself and told it again. As she did, I poised to give my follow-up comment but when she finished I didn't have a chance as my not as other brother burst out, ''That's not what happened!'' She had made the mistake of telling the story in front of other family members who knew better. He compared memories with my eldest brother about the day: My not as older brother had been the one alone with my mother as the rest of the family was away with our father in the Volkswagen bus. This news made more sense to me as I knew my sister had been the one taking care of me until she went to College. My not as older brother had called the ambulance at my mother's request and the rest of the family had arrived home just as the ambulance was loading mother to take her to the hospital.

Mother was mute and paled as she realized the mistake she had made by telling the story in front of my brothers. Not only had it embarrassed her, perhaps bringing her own memory into question, but I now knew for certain that she had been telling this story to all of those friends of mine over the years just to poison me in their eyes, and not because it was true. I had the proof that it had been a false story and she wouldn't be able to tell it again in front of me now knowing I had the truth. Mother just remained silent for the next hour or so until we loaded up for the nighttime drive around Washington D.C..

I visited with Luke midday early in the week, perhaps before the family made to trip to the local shopping mall. He must have gotten some time off from work to meet me as his girl friend was at work herself at the time. We discussed life in general, and compelled by years of habit during our high school time, I brought with me a box of computer disks to show him my programs of the past few years in Colorado. It turned out his plans to become an engineer hadn't panned out. In fact all of my high school friends who had gotten into the 'advanced placement program' I was barred from had all intended to become engineers and all of them had washed out. With some family working in the D.C. area, Luke had fallen into a small job helping out with document preservation at the Library Of Congress and was thinking of taking it up as his profession.

We met again for dinner the Saturday before I left and he and his girlfriend took me out to eat. I noted my attempts to write for television. They also knew someone who had been trying to sell scripts to 'The Other Show' and it hadn't worked out either. I told them of my years of health problems and surprise cure just a year earlier, I didn't explain why it had taken so long for it to have been addressed. I told them I was now getting back on my feet and hoped to return to College to complete my degree. When I asked about Van, they really didn't know what he was up to anymore. They thought that he might have been looking into becoming a veterinarian after his own college plans hadn't worked out, but they weren't sure as Van had seemed to withdraw more and more over the years. At the end of the meal they offered to pay and, given my tight finances, I didn't protest too strongly and thanked them.

We parted promising to keep in touch. He soon moved to Texas for a scholarship in document preservation and a few years later I lost touch with him. When I got home, I would call Van for that chance to better 'catch up', but after leaving a message on his answering machine, he never called back. Given Luke's note about Van withdrawing from his old friendships, I didn't call again and pry, remembering my own times wanting to withdraw from friendships rather than pass on bad news about my life.

On the flight home, this time I was seated right next to mother and she reverted to her old compulsion to derisively dismiss and belittle my two brothers' wives and my new nieces as she did with everyone she met in her life. Having become sick of her doing this over the many years since she took me from the family home to the New England apartment, I asked her if that was all she had for her memories of the trip: Nothing but negative bile and no happy times? This befuddled her and while I had thought I might have to ask if there was a free seat elsewhere in the plane I could take to avoid her for the next few hours, to my thankful surprise mother kept her silence for the rest of the flight.

When we arrived back in Colorado, then caught our connecting flight, Daina picked us up at the airport and took mother home and then me. She offered to take me out to dinner so I could bring her up to speed on the trip. I agreed.

In less than two weeks, I would be reported dead.

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