First Attempt Page 2

1981 Continued

My mother came by on the day that I was to have the session with Dr. Maxwell. We had a nice talk and I explained where I was going and why. She would drive me so that I would not have to take all day riding public transportation. I told her that I needed to get ready and look the part. She thought that that was good idea. I wore a flowery blue button top, a knee-length denim skirt, and sandals. We had a good talk on the way there. I did admit that I wanted surgery, etc. She asked me about make-up. I was a klutz. But I did have a younger brother who was good at his own make-up, perhaps I could learn from him. I could hardly believe that my mother was OK with my decision to transition.

This photo is shortly before I transitioned for the first time. I grew my hair out a bit more, and rarely went out in boy-mode, like I am here.

I still had a lot of my more feminine clothes that I wore in and at High School, as well as some of my mother's clothes.

This is, I believe, the last photo taken of the old Kenneth.

No photos of myself as the early Kelly survived.

Dr. Maxwell was not that pleasant of a man. He did not appear to like us much and seemed condescending. Nonetheless, he thought that I should go on to the next step and have a battery of tests done by one of his colleagues at the Texas Children's Hospital. He asked if I were willing and able to do this, adding that, "people like you generally don't have much money." He eyed me to see if I were willing to spend the $240 to have the tests, or would I just give up and run home. How strange.

The battery of tests seemed like a field day for the shrinks testing me. They got to ask all kinds of stupid and sexual questions. I was also given a take home written exam to mail back. After all of that, I saw Dr. Maxwell again, and he said that my psychological profile was very much along the feminine lines, and recommended me for group therapy.

The first group session went well. I sat in a corner at first, but became talkative enough after a while. It was wonderful to meet other real people who were transsexual, too. I indeed was not alone. One of the women in the group mentioned that she was being kicked out of her home. That figures; geez, we get no respect some places. I invited her to move in with me, that very night.

That worked out well. We learned from each other, but I learned more from her, since she had been living as herself for a good while.

Life as Kelly was getting better. Group therapy went well, too. However, during the one-on-one sessions with Cele Keeper, CSW, she kept putting the OK to start hormones off into the future. I was upset. I made it clear that I had, by now, considerable facial hair and that I was getting body hair. That needed to stop now!

But she mentioned that at age 22, I was rather young to think about transitioning, and that it would really have been better to start later in life. I did not agree.

Since my roommate knew the doctor who prescribed her hormones, we went directly to him. That was scary for me, going to a doctor and telling him that I want to take estrogen. But when we had the private chat, he looked at me, the way that I acted and was dressed, and my waist-length hair, he just smiled and said that he would be happy to start me on them today. Gosh, that was such absolutely wonderful news! The receptionist, to whom I needed to pay $10 before I left, gave me a very mean look. Oh well, I went to the drug store and filled my prescription--100 micrograms of Estinyl (ethinyl estradiol) per day.

I told my boyfriend that I planned on having the surgery. He blew up and turned psychotic. He really did not want me to do such a thing. He said that he would blow up the hospital to prevent it, and wondered if he made me want surgery. As it turned out, he wanted me to be his boyfriend, not girlfriend. I had thought that I was his girlfriend, and that if anything, this would help our relationship. Well, no. I did not want to be anyone's boyfriend, and he did not want me for a girlfriend. We broke up after being together for about two years or more.

Meanwhile, my boss at the Long John Silver's fast food restaurant simply told me that I was no longer employed there. Just go home. This was not a reflection on my capabilities--I was a very capable employee, who was up until a year or so ago, a highly-paid computer numerical controlled lathe machinist at an oil tool company. I knew why I was let go.

I did get a job at the Kentucky Fried Chicken almost next door. By now, it must have been well into 1982. They needed staff right away, because there was a shakeup recently and just about the whole gang including management left. I was quite a good employee. Indeed, I had a great time. As I was marinating chickens or scrubbing a broiler, I knew that I was progressing in transition, and would eventually just be a normal woman, all complete and legal and have enough estrogen development that I would look just perfectly normal.

But I did notice that when I talked to certain people who knew me over the phone that people would often pretend that they did not know a Kelly and refuse to speak with me. What bigots. then my mother came by when my roommate and I were waxing our faces (ouch!). She took me to my favorite restaurant and bar. Things were OK when we ordered, but after we were served, she attacked me with several reasons why I should not transition--you are too masculine; you think that you suffer from your condition?; think of people who have severe cancer or have lost a limb or sight; why are you doing this to our family?; you are effeminate, not feminine, effeminate!

People were looking at us as she continued to assault me for my decision to transition. It was quite embarrassing. And I wondered why she used to be OK with my decision, yet now was ripping me apart because of it. Who talked her into this?

When she was done with her speech, she asked if I wanted another drink, as if the severe admonishment was just a typical "No!" to a child and now let's get back to normal.

No I did not want another drink. I felt like a horrid and unwanted piece of trash. I just wanted to go home. She drove me there and we did not speak a word.

My roommate was home when I was dropped off at my apartment. she comforted me. I felt very bad, and not for the last time.

I learned that some of my family, who tend to visit me from time to time, refused to do so because of how I chose to live. In a sense, I was cut off from my family.

Group and one-on-one therapy with Cele Keeper went well. Indeed, it was time for another chat with Dr. Maxwell, to help chart my future with the gender group. Excellent. I knew that I could not afford the surgery at this time (which, in 1982, was about $6000 for SRS with Dr. Larry Lipschultz in Houston, which, oddly is about the same amount that I paid for SRS by Suporn in Thailand in 2001), but my elder brother, who is quite manly, nonetheless had offered to help pitch in and pay for the surgery. He was the family member that did not abandon me.

However, during the chat with Dr. Maxwell, he made it quite clear that I had "big hands and feet," and therefore cannot pass as a woman. He stated that I shall not have surgery, based on my physical attributes. He suggested that I go back to living as a man.

What! No! I am denied surgery because I am a tall girl?! I was not pleased. I left him and I left the group. I did not know the next step to take.

I did not surrender my hormone prescription, though.

By 1983, I went in to work at KFC and found that I had a new manager, an ex-cop who I will say is one of the very few people whom I have met whom I would consider to be truly evil. He did not like me at all right from the start. He ended up giving me 9 hours a week, down from the 48 hours previously. Obviously, I could not live on that. When I discussed this with him, he told me, "I will give you all of the hours you want, IF you get a haircut, and be a man." I certainly refused that. He refused to give me any work at all. I was out of a job.

I had the most difficult time finding a job. I tried just about anything, but no one would hire me. By 1983, I had sold many of my possessions, and just plain could not support the apartment. My roommate also could not find a job. She had been out of work for a very long time. She had been in transition longer than I, but was often read. Being readable made things exceedingly difficult in the job market.

It did turn out that I had to surrender my apartment due to not being able to pay the $185 per month rent. When I left the apartment, I had nowhere to go really, and remember leaving behind a cactus that I had been growing for nearly a decade, and the paperwork, already filled out and ready to hand in (but it would cost money) for my legal name change. As it happened, I did not legally change my name during this transition attempt.

I bummed around and was able to sleep at friend's apartments while I looked for employment. Being desperate for money, one day I put all my hair up under a short-haired wig and applied for a job at the local Kroger grocery store as a Mr. "Kenneth." I was hired on the spot.

Thus, I put my transition on hold (too long, as it turned out). I kept at that job, as well as take hormones. Sometimes, customers, when they got close to me and were able to take a good look and see my name tag, said, "Oh, I thought that you were a girl." I thought to myself, "I thought I were, too."

One day, I gave my mother a phone call so that I would know where to send present for Christmas, and if I were still disowned, since I was now working as a boy again. I was welcomed back into the family. And, I visited the family for the holidays, after some people had not seen me for a good while.

Here I am visiting my family for the holidays in Texas in 1983 (on the right, with my hair swept behind my head). I had just walked up when Kay took this photo.

I looked a bit different--softer facial features, breasts, etc.

Note that my brothers could not keep from staring at me, and that my father had the "son of a b*tch" look on his face.

I was reminded about my embarrassing bout with transsexualism for years to come.

My family was really not pleased with my attempted transition. It was shameful. I tried to deny it, and for a while, it was not discussed. I was still expected to be a man, including thingies such as marriage. Indeed, I did develop a relationship with a woman, and she became my fiancee. I was a virgin, though, and still on hormones, and was not very well able to be a man where it counts.

Christmas, 1984, at my fiancee's apartment. I am on the left, sitting on my fiancee's lap (still with long hair, albeit trimmed). Her daughter sits on my lap, with her doll on her lap :o)

Also shown are my father and three brothers.

As a "man," I was accepted back into my family and my fiancee's. Sounds wonderful, yes?

No. It was very uncomfortable in this role.

Soon after, we broke up, mainly due to irreconcilable differences, and not due to my lack of "performance" or my gender identity.

About a year later, I tried to refill my ethinyl estradiol prescription, but was told that it had expired. I would have to have my doctor renew it. I tried calling my doctor, but could not reach him. I went to his office, and saw that he had left without a trace. He was not listed anywhere anyhow. Was he chased away because he gave us hormone prescriptions for the asking?

I could not refill my estrogen prescription. I had already de-transitioned. I had been refused SRS because of my hands and feet. My family embarrassed me about my attempt to transition. I did not know what to do at this point. My first attempt at transition failed.

Thus began my long stagnation before I attempted to transition again...

To be continued