The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1281 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Trish was lying in a bed with the cot sides up, there was a transfusion of blood slowly helping to overcome the loss of the red stuff which had so recently lain on my kitchen floor.

People in hospital beds always look smaller than they are in ordinary life. Children look very small and helpless and you want to scoop them up in your arms and love them. I so wanted to do that with my darling girl.

Instead I restrained my impulses and sat down beside her. She had drips in both arms, the one was the blood I’d mentioned earlier, the other was a saline drip which included antibiotics–because it was a wound, and one very close to the bowel.

Apparently her little member was nearly sliced off and was partly responsible for the loss of blood, it cut the artery and one of the veins. There was reasonable doubt that they could save the meatus–the fleshy, erectile tissue, so they decided to make her as near a proper girl as they could. It will mean she will need at least one further op as she grows, because sadly her new organ won’t.

I’m sure Stella didn’t mean to hurt her, and how much hurt there is will remain to be seen. Will she have nightmares of this for many years, or will she be able to move on fairly quickly–who knows? I hope the latter.

What will become of Stella? I don’t know either. I know that she wouldn’t normally do such a thing to anyone and that this paranoia is a manifestation of illness–almost like a paranoid schizophrenia of pregnancy. If it’s the case, it would be wise for her to take steps to prevent its recurrence.

The police are involved and she has likely been carted off to a secure mental unit somewhere, sectioned under the mental health act. I hope this has no long term ill effects for Trish, bless her lying here like a little doll.

I hold on to the arm not attached to the blood transfusion–I don’t want to affect that if I’m able to produce any energy tonight.

“I’m here, baby girl, Mummy’s here so you’re going to be alright now.” I squeezed her hand and she reacted slightly by squeezing back. “Listen to my voice and look for the light I’m sending to you. Precious, you were hurt in an accident, but you’re going to be alright. Mr O’Rourke, the same surgeon who helped me become a proper woman has done the same for you. My, precious girl, you are now as proper a girl as anyone can make you. You have a little vagina of your own, just like Livvie and Mima and Mummy of course. It’s going to be sore for a few days, but it will heal quickly and leave you feeling wonderful. And I’m going to have all your papers changed over to show your new status–you are now a real girl and no one will be able to tell you weren’t always one.

“I need you follow my voice and the light, feel it healing you and leading you back to me. We are mother and daughter and now have an even closer bond, and I’m sure when you feel better you will be so proud of your new part.

“Auntie Stella isn’t well as I’m sure you realise and I know she didn’t mean to hurt you, so try to forgive her and concentrate on getting well again so you can come home with me as soon as possible.

“I’m going to be quiet now, but I’m still here, sitting with you and waiting for you to wake and tell me you feel a little better. I’m not leaving your side.” I stood up and leaned over the side of the cot and kissed her. I thought I saw the glimmer of a smile–then it was gone.

I sat and clutched her hand, pouring the energy into her, around her and through her. I tried to concentrate on two areas–her healing groin, and her head. I didn’t want her to fear or hate her auntie. I know Stella wouldn’t hurt her, and I know that Trish attacking Stella with the vegetables was an act of desperation; to help me escape or disarm her.

I was aware of a presence with me and looked round to see Dr Sam Rose standing in the doorway watching us. “Hello, Sam,” I said to him.

“Cathy. How is she?”

“She’ll make it, won’t you, sweetheart?”

“I hear she’s jumped the queue for reassignment surgery?”

“Yes, it’s been done and I’m trying to help her come to terms with it. It must be a bit of a shock when you haven’t planned it.”

“Ah, with Trish you never know just how much was planned.”

“What? D’you honestly think she’d measure how close she’d need to come towards Stella, for her to prune her doo-dah yet not kill her?”

“Perhaps not consciously.”

“Sam, I don’t believe it. Anyway, she may possibly hear us, so let’s leave it for now.”

“The colour of that light is absolutely delicious.”

“What light?”

“The one passing from you into Trish–it’s the most exquisite shade of blue–like, a–I don’t quite know how to describe it–um–like a neon royal blue. Gosh it’s wonderful, it’s pulsating from your hand and your chest and surrounding her like the Readybrek kids.” He was referring to an advert on telly from years ago for a porridge type cereal.

“You can actually see it?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes, why, can’t you?”

“No. I know it’s flowing and I know how fast it’s flowing but I can’t see it.”

“Shame it’s quite beautiful.” He walked up to the bed, “Hello, Trish, it’s Dr Rose, just popped by to see you.”

I watched her eyes moving under the closed lids–so some sort of activity was happening in her brain. Was she awake or dreaming, dealing with the aftermath of an anaesthetic? Who knows?

“Have they brought you in a cuppa?” he asked me.

“No.”

“Would you like one?”

“You know me, Sam, a proper tea pot.”

“I’ll get them to send you one. See you tomorrow, Trish, bye, poppet.”

A nurse brought me through a cup of quite reasonable tea about twenty minutes later. She also took Trish’s vitals and said she was coming on nicely. I drank my tea and went back to trying to help her through the crisis.

I had permission to stay the night and sit with her and about midnight, Simon came by with the breast pump and some bottled water, he also brought in the case I’d packed for Trish and forgotten in my haste and a change of underwear and some soap and a towel for me.

He walked over to the bed and kissed her, “Hi, little girl, how ya doing?”

To his astonishment, her eyes flickered open and she smiled at him, “Daddy,” she said very faintly and then closed her eyes.

Of course that is bloody typical. I sit here all night and she wakes up when he comes past. But then I’m only her mother. I’m only joking really, but it seems to be the way these things happen and the more we do the more it’s taken for granted. Ergo, mothers are taken for granted more than fathers in the average household.

Still holding her hand I actually fell asleep but woke quickly when she said quietly, “Mummy, is that you?”

“Yes, darling, I’m here.”

“No, the angel at the foot of my bed, I thought it was you?”

I felt a cold shudder. “Trish? Trish?” I called but she didn’t answer. I screamed and two nurses rushed in.