Cheated

This was supposed to be a wonderful weekend.

I was going to be attending First Event for the first time.

It would have been my first experience living as myself for more than a few hours squeezed in at the end of a long workday or during weekends spent trying to balance living as both him and myself.

It would have been my first experience spending time as myself outside of my home.

I'd been looking forward to it since I first registered last summer.

But I'm not there.

I was planning to drive to the hotel on Thursday morning. I was up much too late the previous night texting back and forth with a friend and fellow light sleeper, partly because I knew I would be too excited to sleep and partly because we were both laughing so much, as is usually the case when we talk.

After finally signing off close to 2:00 AM, I woke up before 5:30. After 20 fruitless minutes, I gave up on the fiction that I would be able to fall asleep again.

I decided to pick up breakfast at a local bagel shop, then spend a leisurely few hours getting ready before I drove to the hotel as myself - which would have been another first.

The shop didn't open for another 20 minutes, as it turned out. It was much too cold to wait outside (it was 2º F), so I decided to walk a few blocks to Starbucks to warm up and get a cup of coffee before returning.

I reached a large four-way intersection and waited for the pedestrian light. Even at this early hour I waited, as I always do; a pedestrian was killed two weeks ago just a few blocks from this location.

There was a white van idling two or three car lengths behind the stop line at the light where I was waiting to cross. I thought it was a bit odd, but didn't give it much thought.

A moment later the Walk signal lit up and I began to cross.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lights of the van race toward me. Instinctively I tried to jump out of the way.

I fractured my right ankle when I was 15 years old while playing baseball, and it never healed properly. I have since been plagued with countless twisted and sprained ankles, as well as numerous occasions when it simply gives out.

And that is what happened as I tried to pivot away from the on-rushing van. I felt the ankle roll under me from the stress of putting too much pressure on it all at once.

I managed to get far enough away that the van just clipped the back of my left hip. But even at a reduced speed the impact sent my glasses flying and spun me around as I fell. Luckily I didn't hit my head; I landed in a seated position, apparently with my right arm out to try to cushion the fall, and half-bounced/half-skidded several times.

As I tried to clear my head, the van stopped. My memory is a bit hazy about the details, and I'm hopelessly near-sighted without my glasses, but I thought I saw the driver's side window roll down for a moment. Then the van roared off through the red light.

Within seconds, an older couple (who later introduced themselves as M & K) were at my side. They had been facing me and as a result saw the entire sequence.

I remember trying to get up; apparently I kept telling them over and over that I had to get home right away, that I had to be someplace important.

But I couldn't stand up; when I did they had to catch me before I fell again. I couldn't put any weight on my right ankle. It didn't really hurt; it simply couldn't bear any weight, and felt "loose."

They told me I needed to see a doctor right away, and that it was much too cold to wait for the police and emergency personnel to arrive. I didn't want to go, but they were so insistent I gave in and let them help me hobble back to their car and drive me to the hospital.

On the short drive over, K insisted that she saw the van's passenger gesture at me as I stood on the sidewalk, followed by the driver laughing. She was absolutely certain of what she had seen.

She was even more certain they had done it deliberately, most likely thinking I would be able to get out of the way and they would have simply given me a scare. I couldn't begin to fathom that such a thing was possible.

As soon as we arrived, the ER doctor ordered x-rays of my right wrist and ankle, my left hip and my ribs. M and J insisted on staying, and offered to call my family for me.

When I refused and they persisted in saying I should call (quite rightly, from their point of view), I finally had to tell them truth: that the only person in my family who knows about Cass is my sister, who was working a 16-hour shift in the ER. And because I wasn't expecting any visitors, all of my clothes and makeup were out in the open. There was simply no way I could let anyone from my family come over.

They were absolutely wonderful and understanding, as were the ER doctor and nurses. After returning to the ER from having the x-rays done, I asked the doctor when we would be finished, explaining that I needed to leave for First Event in a few hours.

She was gentle but firm: I clearly didn't realize the magnitude of what had just happened.

"Cass, you were literally hit by a truck," she said. "The only reason you can move right now is because of adrenaline. Your entire body is going to be sore as soon as that wears off. Believe me, you are in no condition to do anything, let alone drive for an extended period and then walk around all day. And you aren't going to be, at least not for a few days. I'm very, very sorry."

I just completely lost it at that point, and began crying uncontrollably.

I had been looking forward to this weekend for months. 

There were more than a few occasions when the only thing that got me out of bed to face another day in this job was the knowledge that I would be at First Event this weekend.

And while I haven't had the opportunity to write about them yet, I took major steps the past two weekends towards being able to be comfortable as myself in public.

And now I felt as if all of that hard work and patience were for nothing.

The nurse, P, was just wonderful; she came over and held me while I sobbed, telling me gently that it was all going to be OK. That helped immeasurably; finally, I regained some semblance of composure.

As it turned out, I was very fortunate. I had no broken bones, nor were my ribs further damaged. Further, I had only strained my right wrist.

As for my ankle, the doctor explained that I had stretched the ligaments when I tried to pivot. This was a result of the initial fracture not healing properly, which explained why I've had so many sprains over the years. Each one weakened the ankle's ligaments further, like a rubber band stretched beyond its limit. It explained why it gave out when I put all of my weight on it, and then felt loose afterwards.

They wanted me to use crutches to avoid putting any strain on the ankle. However, because of the repeated damage over the years to my wrist that has affected the nerves in that arm, they also wanted me to wear a removable cast and sling as a precautionary measure.

Since I couldn't simultaneously use crutches and have my arm in a sling, they had to compromise. So instead of crutches, they put my ankle in a walking boot to stabilize it for the week or so it will take to heal, and told me to stay off it as much as possible the first few days.

Before I left, the doctor made me give her my word that I would not try to drive until the beginning of next week. A new law in my home state authorizes doctors and police to confiscate the driver's license of anyone they feel poses a threat to themselves or the public. I promised I wouldn't, which nearly made me start to cry all over again.

M and J insisted on driving me home and helping me get settled for the day. They even went to the pharmacy and picked up painkillers the doctor had prescribed. J gave me her cell phone number and told me to call if I needed anything, and promised to check in during the day to see how I was feeling. (She has done so for the past two days.)

I fell asleep almost instantly after taking the painkillers, only to wake with a start mid-afternoon when I realized I hadn't called the hotel to cancel the reservation. 

I apologized for calling so late in the day and explained that I knew I was responsible for that day's charge. The operator was very polite as he took my information, thanking me for understanding their policy. Then he stopped for a moment.

"I see you reserved this room at the special First Event rate," he said. "It seems a shame that you won't be able to attend. Do you mind if I ask if you're OK? You sound very tired."

After I explained the circumstances, he was silent for a moment, then asked if he could briefly put me on hold. He returned several minutes later.

"I just spoke to my manager and explained why you had to cancel," he said, "And she authorized me to remove the charges from your credit card."

I began to protest, but he wouldn't hear of it.

"We look forward to having you folks as our guests every year," he said. "The entire staff considers it one of our favorite groups to work with. We're just sorry you can't be here this year. This is the least we can do. I hope you can make it next year."

Yet again I found myself on the verge of tears. Along with the kindness shown to me by M, J, and P, it helped reduce some of the sting of an awful day.

***

I've spent much of the past 24 hours wondering what would possess someone to do what the people in that van did. Even if J was mistaken, they still knew full well that they had hit me, even if it was much less serious than it could have been. Otherwise they would not have stopped for a moment before racing off. 

After all this time, I am still unable to come up with a reason. I feel as if they stole this weekend from me. And there is nothing I can do to get it back.

I will admit that a part of me hopes that they are someday treated with precisely the same degree of callousness, contempt, and indifference that they showed me. 

But a larger part of me recognizes that, quite simply, they aren't worth the effort.

Rather than dwell on their appalling behavior, I'm trying, instead, to focus on the amazing, unstinting kindness shown to me by total strangers.

  

I had a long, intense conversation with a close friend late last night.

She told me that it often seemed as if the universe had decided that simply being transgendered wasn't enough, that those of us who transitioned still needed to be presented with yet more obstacles on the path to becoming ourselves.

"I don't know why that is, Cass," she mused. "I guess we have to prove over and over we really, really want this.

"But you know what? That just makes it even sweeter when we get there."

I told my therapist at a session last spring that I would never want to go back to being him. She immediately replied: "You can't go back. You've simply come too far."

Both she and my friend are correct. 

This setback, like others I have experienced, has only made me more determined.

And I can see that determination beginning to bear fruit.

I've made so much progress in the past month that I can scarcely believe it.

But I have.

And even I'm beginning to see that the sweet, secret peace I longed for but never dared believe could come true is getting closer to becoming reality every day.

***

While this is ostensibly a Christmas song, it's message has had particular resonance with me the past two days, particularly the final verse:

Real and right and true, the sky is blue

Everlasting arms upholding you

Sweet secret peace

Sweet secret peace

Beautiful are you, your hands on you

All you feel is real and right and true

Sweet secret peace, secret

Sweet secret peace

Real and right and true will turn into

Secret peace inside the heart of you

Sweet secret peace

Sweet secret peace

Sweet secret peace

Sweet secret peace

Sorry the clip is a bit lame; it was all I could find. :c( The song is beautiful, no matter what.