["Short". SHORT?
LOL! The one thing I am NOT when it comes to telling a story is "short"!]
[I have written the story of my life, up to SRS, in book form, two volumes and over 1,000 pages, for possible publication after my death. The 8 months leading up to SRS ALONE comprise about 5 chapters and would make a captivating full-length movie! The best I can do is try for the Cole's Notes version ;-) ]
In the fall of 1973 I was 24 years old and in DEEP depression. I had lived more than 10 years in a "dual life", on and off hormones, and was as sure as I could be that I was a woman in a deformed body. I had been evaluated by the Psych department at a major hospital who had given me the green light to do whatever I felt best but there was no hope of SRS. The only active surgical centre was in Morocco and the surgical cost was about 3X the gross annual income of a blue collar worker (not including transportation and accommodations). The other surgical programs in northern Europe had shut down and there were only a few centres in the U.S. that had "experimented" with SRS and they were not open to new patients. A few "nut case" patients had caused a medical backlash against the idea of SRS as a solution to transsexualism and only a VERY few post-ops were public and reasonably sane as women. I had some money invested but only about 10% of what I would need to go to Morocco. Living en femme full time was not really an option in 1974. Laws were primitive and there was almost no understanding of the TS condition. So I was "stuck".
In the fall of 1973, I told my understanding and sympathetic gynaecologist that I did not expect to live to see my 25th birthday (the following summer). I had already come close to suicide a few times and I knew that it was only a matter of weeks before I would take decisive action - I just couldn't go on the way things were. I had come close to self-mutilation a couple of times but bleeding to death on the floor seemed a hard way to go. One night I put a bullet in a gun, put it to my head, and pulled the trigger. It misfired, it didn't go off. A voice in the back of my mind said "Not yet. Hold on a little longer." So I did.
In the opening weeks of 1974 I got a phone call late one night from a TS friend. She lived in Toronto and moved in the TS circle there (which was the best source of information in those days). She called to say that she had just discovered Dr. Biber in Colorado and was at the airport waiting to catch the plane to Denver. The last thing she did was to call me and give me his phone number. I spent the rest of the night reviewing my finances to see if I could raise the money for SRS with Dr. Biber - I had about half of what I would need,
I phoned Dr. Biber's office the following morning to find out what they needed from me and then phoned the hospital to have my medical records and psych evaluation sent to Dr. Biber. Shortly after my medical records arrived in Trinidad, I talked to Dr. Biber in person. He agreed to see me for an office visit and, if he was satisfied then, he would do my surgery. I explained that I didn't have enough money for the full fee. We talked for awhile and he agreed to do the surgery for the sum that I had available. (He was a man of compassion and I expect there were references in my psych file indicating that I was close to the end of my ability to cope. I don't know who got "short changed" on my surgery but somebody put my life ahead of money.)
It took me a few days to shuffle my finances, dump some investments, and "turn a dirty deal" to raise the money I needed, but I already had an appointment with Dr. Biber for the Monday after the Easter weekend (1974).
I left my parents home with one suitcase, all I had to show for 24 years of life, a bank draft, and took an apartment in London - this was to be my recovery nest and the stepping-off point for my new life. I was hardly there long enough to put some food in the fridge and jump on a bus for Detroit. I had an Am-Track reservation from Detroit to Denver and would take the bus from Denver to Trinidad. I was scheduled to arrive in Trinidad early on Easter Monday.
Crossing into the U.S.A. on the bus through the tunnel between Windsor and Detroit the U.S. Customs & Immigration officer came around asking for proof of citizenship. When I opened my wallet to get out my birth certificate, he saw I had only $100 or so in my wallet. He questioned my ability to support myself on $100 - I said I had more funds available through the bank but he didn't buy it. I was NOT about to tell him I was carrying THOUSANDS of dollars in bank drafts and traveler's cheques hidden about my person - I didn't trust him THAT much! If I had told him, they would have wanted to know why I was carrying so MUCH money!
So they turned me back at the tunnel. I immediately hailed a cab and tried to cross via the bridge. Of course the two ports of entry are in contact with each other so I was immediately apprehended at the bridge and sent back to Canada!
I had come SO far - liberation was SO close at hand - I just HAD to get into the U.S.!!!
I returned to London by bus and went straight to the airport. I bought a ticket to Denver via Toronto, changed into my best business attire, picked up a brief case, and jumped on the plane!
U.S. Customs at the Toronto airport was an entirely different story. "Where are you going?" "Denver." "Nature of your visit?" "Business." "How long will you be in the U.S.?" "Two, maybe three weeks." "Ok, away you go." WAHOO!!!
We changed planes in Chicago and headed for Denver as a major storm moved across the Rocky Mountains. After circling Denver for 2 hours, it was announced that we were diverting to Albuquerque as all the airports in the American mid-west had been closed by the storm. The landing in Albuquerque was scary! There was a lot of ice and the plane skidded around on the runway. They didn't let people off in Albuquerque - we were going back to Denver! I said that Albuquerque was as close to my destination as Denver but I guess the airlines had rules about letting people off at an unscheduled stop. We finally arrived in Denver late in the evening, being one of only 3 aircraft that made it in to Denver since the storm started earlier in the day.
I made my way to the bus depot but the taxi driver told me that Denver was closed, no traffic in or out, and that even the trains weren't running! Oh well, I might as well camp at the bus depot and wait for traffic to start moving again.
Sometime around midnight there was an announcement on the PA that the bus to Trinidad had arrived (6 hours late) and would be departing shortly. Holy->-bleeped-<-! This was the bus I had intended to take but two days later, when my Am-Track train would have arrived! I was running two days EARLY!
On the bus, the driver stood up and spoke to the passengers. He explained that the roads were officially closed but he intended to TRY to get through. He said we had enough fuel to keep the bus warm for 7 days but if anybody wanted to get off and take a later bus, they could. I didn't move! He was going the right direction and that was all I needed! We drove off into the snow storm and I snuggled down into my seat to sleep.
I awoke early the next morning to the sun streaming in my window and opened my eyes to get my first look at the Rocky Mountains! It was breath-taking! In a few more hours we pulled into Trinidad. I was still two days ahead of schedule so I took a motel room and set out to explore this delightful mountain town.
On Easter Monday, I set off for Dr. Biber's office. His examination was cursory: "Stand up." "Turn around.", a brief pelvic exam "I can work with that." and he gave me instructions to report to the hospital the following afternoon. I checked in to Mt. San Raphael the following afternoon, paid my money, and got settled into my room.
How was I feeling? I had moved heaven and earth to get there! I had been on death's door more than once. I HATED my previous existence and I HATED my deformed body. Even if I had known I was going to die on the operating room table, there was no way on God's green earth I was going to turn back. Even just the adventure of getting here from London was proof of my determination to bring an end to my suffering! GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH!
Early the following morning, I was transferred to a Gurney and wheeled down to the O.R. where I was given a sedative in the waiting area. I was then wheeled in to the O.R. put up in the stirrups and Dr. Biber said "Good night." as the anaesthetic put me to sleep.
I first woke up around mid afternoon to see the warm spring Colorado sunshine streaming through my window and lighting up the room in a brilliant yellow. I could feel drug-numbed pain "down there" and I lifted the blankets to peek - I couldn't see anything but bandages - but I could tell that the deformity was finally GONE! I settled back into my pillow and went back to sleep with the biggest SMILE on my face.
Early in the morning on 15 April, 1974, the nightmare ended.
[Life since then has been gloriously wonderful, WAY beyond my wildest dreams. I am more than I ever dreamed I COULD be! Every few years, up until his retirement, I had sent Dr. Biber a letter of appreciation, telling him I am doing well, and thanking him for his compassion. I am 56 and have had a wonderful life - without Dr. Biber, I would have been dead at 24.)
For the full story, you will have to wait and buy my book
