Crystal's StorySite


Crossing Your X's And Dotting Your Y's

by Young Ovidius

Part Six


For Scott and Debbie Raghetti life moves along rapidly, adjustments are made, and things aren't so bad until...



I know it seems silly, like a girl just starting the pubescent journey into maturity, but I did it. The tiny red dots on my day-timer reminded me of when the monthly event was scheduled to happen. It had been three or four months that way and no more incidents with Angela at work. I knew when and how to sneak a couple Midol pills to ease the pain. I had an effective plan to keep extra pantiliners, maxi pads, and (yes!) tampons hidden away and how to perform the business fairly quickly. Debbie called me a "fast learner."

But when February rolled around, something wasn't right. First one day, then two, and then three days with red dots on the calendar went by. I know it sounds stupid in retrospect, but I was so occupied with relief at having no symptoms that I never really pondered any other significance to this development. Not until that evening Debbie used her intuition to probe me. I confessed glibly that I was enjoying life that month because my special visitor had decided not to come.

"Are you serious, Scott?" she gasped.

"Yeah, why, I mean... thank God I don't have to put up with those cramps and...."

"Did you ever stop to consider that this might mean you're... you're pregnant?"

At that moment, whatever I had for dinner, I could feel the taste climbing back into my throat. "I'm going to have a baby?" I shrieked. It took her a few minutes to calm down my near hysteria. She assured me that the period could just be really late, but if no new developments had come by the next day we should definitely by one of those home pregnancy tests from the pharmacy. Little did the clerk who sold it to us know that he was gleaming at the wrong person. But who in their right mind would think that Scott Raghetti would have a womb, much less potentially be carrying a new life in there.

The results were just what I didn't want to see. Positive. "I mean, these things can be wrong, can't they?"

"I guess there's a chance, especially in your case," my wife tried to console me. "Wow, who'd have thought you'd be getting pregnant before I am? I'm actually starting to feel a little jealous...."

"Now look, there's no need to be jealous!" I exploded in anger and said a few things to Debbie that I regretted.

When the situation calmed down, Debbie brought up the idea that the only way to confirm or deny my new condition would be to visit an ob/gyn doctor. Neither of us was ready to face that proposition. It would mean sacrificing our tightly-held secret. But we'd talked about it before and came to the conclusion that unless something magically changed us back, eventually it would be discovered. You just can't go on forever hiding that. So about three weeks later we made an appointment with a Dr. Gamboll. He operated an office in a suburb about 35 miles from where we lived in an area where we barely knew anyone. We went to the doctor for my health and for the baby, but we went farther away to protect our anonymity.

When the receptionist called my wife's name (we had to use that ruse to get ourselves in the door), things appeared that they might really start to unravel. They were directing Debbie to the exam room to change into a gown and putting me in the holding area. But fortunately she concocted some story that she needed me there with her. It kind of took the nurse back, but it got us where we needed to be to pull the surprise on the good obstetrician.



Thank God Dr. Gamboll - in his 50s with graying hair - was sweet and understanding about it all. The look on his face when he saw Scott in the dressing gown and me fully clothed was priceless. "Is this some kind of joke?" he asked.

"No, I need to explain something," I blurted out and then directed him to sit down in the chair next to me. During and after he heard the story he must have said, "but that's impossible," a dozen times or more. I'd pleaded with him for his trust that he wouldn't reveal this to anyone. He reluctantly agreed on the condition that we kept current with our payments and that he would have to charge us more for "home delivery." We'd told him that we had strong beliefs against abortion, and even though we didn't understand all of what we were getting into that we couldn't let our messed-up condition ruin the baby's chance for life. I think he admired our courage and determination. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been sold on the deal. He did at one point say that "if I get caught being involved in this, this could cost my license." We respected what he was risking and so pledged to do our part, too.

The most important thing we learned that day was that the baby was healthy and right on schedule. He even gave us an early November due date. I remembered thinking that our first child might be born right after Halloween. That wasn't the only creepy thing about the experience, for sure.



I can't even tell you how beet-red embarrassed I was at having another man (even though he was a medical professional) examining my vaginal region. I have to agree with Debbie. Thank God we found the right doctor. I thought that maybe for a moment he might have put himself in my shoes and therefore wasn't about to judge. He agreed to play the game with us. All the charts would have Debbie's name on them. No nurses would be there for the moments of actual examination. He even patted her gently on the stomach when sharing the healthy prognosis with one of his associates. This put us both much more at ease.



It was so sad. We had all our hopes pinned on this. Sure Scott was terribly reticent about having to go through nine months of pregnancy. I think a lot of women are their first time, but I couldn't even imagine what courage it took for him to go through with it.

So it was only about two weeks after we went to see Dr. Gamboll that I woke up in the middle of the night and rolled over only to find Scott wasn't there. It was a Friday night, and I'd actually decided to come on to him so we could have some unplanned lovemaking there at 3 AM. But the sheets were pulled back and the pillow was lying there alone. I thought it was just another one of those middle-of-the-night urgent bathroom calls that were starting to hit him in his pregnant condition. But a few minutes went by, and he hadn't come back. I thought I heard him crying, and instantly I sprang up alert.

"What's wrong, dear?" I shouted out. But the only response was to hear the sobbing and bawling grow louder.

I don't want to describe all of what I saw when I entered the bathroom. There was enough trauma in seeing my husband curled up in the fetal position in the corner, crying madly like a tormented child. It didn't take me any time at all to see that he'd had a miscarriage. We were heartbroken beyond belief and description and didn't sleep any more that night or hardly at all the next.

When dawn came I gave Dr. Gamboll a call at the cell phone number he'd given us. Though he was planning to be close to our neck of the woods later that afternoon, he nevertheless went out of his way to come make a house call. He was especially concerned because of our reversed states and that he didn't have any sort of clear prognosis for us. We never really expected a definitive answer but were still distraught when we couldn't get one. He did insist that we not worry at all about any costs we incurred but did encourage us to seek more clinical help. We just weren't ready to open ourselves up again, certainly not after what had just happened. The dilemma of whether or not and when to tell our families that we were expecting was off our shoulders. But we'd never wanted it to happen quite like that.



Going from having normal male equipment to having a vagina to finding out you're pregnant to having a miscarriage in less than six months... you tell me how you'd take it. I quit my job, and so did Angela. We sold our modest house and much of our belongings, packed up our bags and moved to a small community just outside of San Francisco. We'd read about this place online. We'd heard they would be accepting of the transgendered. We wanted to find comfort and a home.

Sure, it was hard telling our families that we'd moved across the country but couldn't really explain why. It was hard leaving behind friends at church and other places. But this was what had to be done. We couldn't hide behind false exteriors any longer. Debbie has found an office job to support us while I make the transition first. Between six months of hormones and a few reconstructive surgeries, I more or less completely pass in general public as a female. My wife tells me I'm already more ladylike than she ever has been... just not in bed. We are still committed to each other as much as ever and enjoy getting it on like any devoted couple.

Debbie says she can't wait until my transitioning is done so I can go get a sales job and support her while she gets molded into the man of my dreams. I've pretty much got my heart set on selling cosmetics, or maybe lingerie. Definitely a long way from hawking auto parts, but that's okay. While I'm not totally girly, I do already enjoy the newfound feminine freedom I'm gradually experiencing more and more of all the time.



I look forward to the day when we can slip back into the mainstream of society with our new identities and our futures in front of us. Scott, I mean Serena (that's what she wants to be called from now on), and I want to try having a baby again. But we want to wait until the transition period is done. It might be a couple years from now, but we're willing to wait. How do you like the name Dave? Or maybe Darrell?






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