Tempus Fugit

There’s a saying that time flies when you’re having fun. I can agree with that. For me, what happened wasn’t that funny. It took me by surprise, and time seemed to become elastic from that moment on.

I had times when I was younger, when I had experienced the vagaries of time. When I was sitting an exam and had answered everything I could and just wanted out, the seconds felt like minutes. Or when I was trying hard to answer as much as I could, and the clock seemed to be racing. It’s all a matter of self-perception really, and no fault of the clock.

Like most people of my age, I hadn’t studied Latin, but many of the phrases that summed up a succinct meaning were penned from those ancient days. Tempus fugit really means that time flees, not flies, and can never be recovered, while carpe diem is to seize the day, without wasting the tempus that has been granted you. None of us know how, or when, we’re going to die, but die we must.

My name is Peter Hamilton, and I’m a freelance supplier of specialist lubricants and cutting oils for the metal machining business, a company which I had called Hamoils. I had been good at chemistry at school and gone on to get a degree. After working for one of the bigger companies for some years, I had gained enough contacts to set myself up with a small laboratory of my own, where I experimented with niche cutting fluids for very high cutting speeds, especially for CNC milling machines. I had an agreement with a local firm to manufacture my products as I developed them and was doing quite well.

I had attended a seminar, put on by the Chiron machine tool makers in Germany. It was held at the resort town of Sylt, right up near the Danish border. The seminar was held in the Wyn.Strandhotel, in the main seafront area, and I had an invitation to attend, but without accommodation. Looking after my money, I had found a cheaper place, Syltnest, on the other side of the island. Being a holiday resort, all the hotels in the main town were busy at the time the seminar was organised, in the middle of July. It wasn’t far for me to drive on each day that the seminar was on, and the driving distance between where I was staying and the hotel, was under ten kilometers. I had hired a Chevrolet Spark. It may have been tiny, but I wasn’t that big.

I had attended each day, learned a lot about tool development with higher speeds and stronger motors. I also caught up with several end users, some I already knew. In all, it had been a good event and I had eaten well.

Next day, I had my alarm on for an early hour. I had packed the evening before and settled my account. One of the things that irked me was the level of security that you had to go through at airports, even small one like Sylt. I was due to fly to Munich at a quarter to ten but had to be checked in by eight. I would get breakfast while I was waiting.

I put my bag in the car to drive out to the Pan’er, the main road past eastern edge of the airport, intending to loop around to the entrance. I had to wipe the windscreen before I went anywhere, as it was one of those damp humid summer mornings that this island had to deal with. I was just getting up to speed on the main road. Looking to my left, I could see the glow of the terminal lights. On my right, the seaward side, it looked as if there was a localised sea fog rolling in. Oddly, there seemed to be a glow, and I thought that an aircraft may be above it, on approach.

All of a sudden, I saw the nosewheel of a plane appear out of the fog and pass in front of my eyes. I didn’t have time to even think when everything happened. There was a tremendous bang on the right side of the car, and I was suddenly in a smaller space and losing consciousness as the car was tumbling over and over.

I’ve heard that when you die, there’s a bright light that you’re attracted to. I still don’t know if that’s true. I did see light, and dark, and visions of my youth. I wondered if this was the Great Reckoning that the vicar in my school would go on about as the judgement at the pearly gates. I didn’t see gates, though, and no sign of a bearded guy in white robes. Sometimes, I heard voices talking, and sounds like a hospital, but I dismissed it as memories of when I had my appendix out, when I was fifteen.

My thoughts started to turn towards more mundane things, like my business, my life, and what future I may have. That was when I started to realise that I wasn’t between life and the afterlife. That’s when I started to worry that I was now just a vegetable, being kept alive with machines, unable to communicate but able to think. For a busy and active guy, I would have been better off dead.

Eventually, I started to actually hear voices. There were nurses talking about their own lives, and doctors giving orders about medicine doses. My education began to kick in, and I was starting to work out what was happening. The first thing that I realised was that the dosages were decreasing, and I was starting to have feelings. I could feel the weight of bedclothes on me, and the feel of a breathing tube in my throat.

The greatest joy was when that tube was removed, and a mask put over my face. I could feel the edges against my cheeks. That’s about the time that my final memories came back. I could see the nosewheel of the plane, slightly ahead of the car and above me. What had hit the car must have been one of the main wheels as the plane was flaring for touchdown. It had been far too low, and the pilot may have been trying to get a few more feet of height so that he could get it onto the actual runway.

I was giving more attention to my senses and could feel odd things about my body that weren’t what I knew. If I had been very seriously injured, then there would have to be differences.

Then came a day when someone pulled a cover off my eyes, and they were opened by fingers pulling at my lashes. Immediately, drops were put in my eyes. and I blinked. They must have turned the lights down before they did this, as I could just make out shadowy figures above my head, but my sight was still blurry.

I heard the masked head ask me to blink if I could hear him, so I blinked, and around me I heard intakes of breath and some clapping. It was if I had won an Olympic medal in a sport that I had never practised. Inwardly I smiled, I was blinking good!

“Now we’ve brought you out of the induced coma, Mister Hamilton, I’ll let you get some natural sleep, and then we’ll start getting you back into the world.”

He nodded to a nurse, who must have fiddled with the drip, as I soon felt the eyes that had been closed for so long, want to shut once more.

When I was awake, once again, my sight was a lot better when I opened my eyes. A pretty nurse saw me moving my eyes and gave me a smile.

“Good morning, Mister Hamilton. Today, we’ll be seeing if you can take some liquid. It will help you with your throat. Those tubes tend to make you want to cough a lot.”

For some time, all I saw were nurses checking my vitals, giving me water through a straw while holding the container. I still couldn’t move my body. One saw my problem.

“Don’t try to move about, yet. We have you on a drug which stops movement. It’s something we give to patients who jerk a lot, even when on the operating table. We’ll be cutting back on it and you’ll get the movement back. I should leave it to the doctor to tell you, but the good news is that you have all your limbs and should be able to move normally after some rehabilitation.”

Little by little, I was put on a liquid diet, and they must have reduced the drugs, as I started to feel my arms and legs. I was only wearing the mask when I slept, and that was much more ordinary, with make-believe dreams that I knew weren’t close to reality. In some of them I was wearing a dress. I ask you, how silly was that!

Eventually, I found out why I couldn’t move my legs. They, and my lower body, were encased in plaster. My arms were a bit withered as well. I kept asking where I was and how long I had been here. About a couple of weeks later, my bed was elevated so I could look at people and the doctor came in with another guy.

“Good morning, Mister Hamilton. This is Mister Hellyer, who will be in charge of your rehabilitation. I know that you have questions, so I’ll start off by telling you what’s been happening to you since Sylt. Stop me if you have a query, but try not to talk too much, as your throat is still healing.”

I nodded and they both sat in chairs as the nurses left us. The doctor consulted his clipboard.

“Now, the thing is that in the middle of July, you were about to leave Sylt after a seminar. As you passed the end of the runway, a Eurowings flight from Dusseldorf was on approach when a sudden sea fog obscured the flightpath. With Sylt being mainly a visual airport, he decided to finish the landing, only realising that he was very low. He had just put the nose up and given it more power when the plane shook. That was the moment that the left side undercarriage wheel hit your car. He managed to reach the runway threshold and there were no casualties. The only person injured was you, and the rest of what we know is from dashcam footage that the car behind you took.”

I nodded and tried to smile.

“The footage is very strange to watch. It’s been the subject of a lot of investigations since. What saved you from dying was the fact the landing gear is made so that the rear pair of wheels hang down. This creates an interesting situation. Because the top of the rear pair are in a vortex created by the air moving around the front pair, and that the air is rushing past the bottom half of the wheels, it makes the rear pair spin in the air flow. This is a design feature to make the wheels take the touchdown while close to the landing speed.”

I thought about it and nodded again. He looked at the clipboard.

“What happened when the spinning wheel hit your car, the first thing was that the top of the car was compressed, from the right-hand side. With it being a left-hand drive, you were saved from the initial crush. With the wheel spinning, it dragged your car under it and then spat the remains out behind it.”

I decided to say something.

“I remember the car tumbling before I blacked out.”

My voice sounded strange to me, but I hadn’t heard myself for a very long time.

“The rest is conjecture, put together by experience experts on car crashes. The on-board computer registered the airbag going off, which was likely why I’m talking to you now. With the pressure that it applied to your body, combined with the roof being compressed onto you, the back of the seat failed, and you ended up lying flat in the car with the roof holding you down as the car was rolling to the side of the road.”

I must have looked querulous, as he carried on.

“If that had been all that happened, you wouldn’t be here. As the airbag was deployed, the steering wheel had been crushed into you. It created the worst of your injuries. It struck you in the pelvic region, and broke your legs, your pelvis, and crushed your genitals. The roof pressing you down also crushed your upper body, breaking every rib. That was the reason that we had you on a ventilation machine.”

I closed my eyes as I took it all in. He carried on.

“The rest of your injuries were from the tumbling. You were spat out behind the jet, fast enough to end up in the open land between the road and the sea. That gave you breaks in both arms, as well as both lower legs. The emergency crew were on duty at the airport, and only had to race to the end of the runway. The plane had flattened the perimeter fence, so they were with you within a few minutes. They had to cut the top off the car to get you out. After that, you went to Sylt hospital, then by air ambulance to Berlin, and then to here, at the Royal London.”

“How long?”

“That was July, it’s now December.”

“Why?”

“Firstly, Sylt don’t have the specialists or equipment to keep you alive. They put you on ventilation and stemmed the blood loss. Berlin were able to set most of your breaks and get you breathing properly with ventilating. After that, you were brought here for us to make sure that you could live a full life. We had several meetings with your parents before we did the final set of operations. They took in all we told them, spent some time with you, and signed the authorisation for us to finish the job.”

“You said something about genitals?”

“I did. This may be the hardest thing I have to tell you. The steering wheel broke your pelvis and totally destroyed your hip bones on both sides, and also your penis and testicles. The operations that your parents approved was to allow us to rebuild that part of the body. You have titanium hips, a reassembled pelvis, and a urine outlet similar to a female one, without a vagina. The team that worked on you are the best in the business and are quite proud of what they could salvage from the wreckage that was your groin area.”

“So, I’m not a man?”

“Not as one usually knows, no. On the other hand, you’re not a woman either. There was nothing there to create a vagina, and we haven’t given you a breast enlargement. Your voice will probably come back to close to what it was, but not exactly. The sudden compression of the car roof created a high pressure that worked in two ways. One, it pressurised your lungs instantly, so giving you some resistance to the roof pressing on you, and the other was to blow out a few of your vocal cords. As far as gender goes, unless you’ve saved sperm, you’ll never father a child, and do not have the equipment to give birth. The only thing about that which I can tell you, is that your body has stopped producing testosterone, so you may develop some feminine traits, such as smoother skin, longer hair, and even start to grow breasts of your own.”

“How long now?”

“We’ve estimated that it will take six months before you’re able to live independently. You will need to be able to eat, drink, pass water and defecate by then. There was one miracle which allows you to live normally. The way the seat, and the collapsed seatback, supported you, there was no damage to your spine, so you didn’t come to us as a paraplegic.”

He called for a nurse.

“That’s enough for today. You have a lot to think about. We’ll give you a mild dose, that will allow you to think without panicking. Mister Hellyer will be able to take you further, once we have all the plaster and bandages off. After that, there’ll be several weeks of getting you moving well enough to be transported.”

I was thankful for that, as it was starting to make me wish that I had died. To live the rest of my life as a eunuch! By the time I went back to sleep, I had more questions about my future, my business, even my apartment. My brain must have started to try to heal me, as I dreamed that I was again in a dress and walking through a shopping mall, window shopping and seeing my reflection in the windows. In my dream, I had accepted the feminine future, and actually looked good. If being short had caused me to be injured by being seated so close to the steering wheel, that shortness may just be part of the answer.

When I woke, I started to think about chemical equations and answers to the very high cutting speeds that were about to take over machining. There were many who were looking at making cutting tools that could be run dry, with the heat removed in the chips flying away from the cutting point. That worked with a lot of materials, such as aluminium and magnesium. It didn’t always work with high-nickel materials that were needed in many areas that had to withstand pressure, such as submarines.

That sort of thinking took my mind off the rest of it for a while, and when the present came back, I was able to think more pragmatically. As a student, and later as a chemist, I needed to think in a linear way, looking at problems in order. My situation was that the male / female problem was going to be some way into the future. Now, it was being able to move and do things as I used to be able to do then.

As the days progressed, I began to be able to move my arms, only to see that they were a lot thinner than I remembered. Some time in a cast will do that, so I didn’t see it as part of the gender thing. Mister Hellyer had me more upright in the bed, with weights to do lifting and curling, until I was actually able to hold a container of water and bring it to my lips.

One day, they disconnected the drips, and I was lifted onto a gurney, taken to an operating theatre and laid on the operating table. My doctor was there, fully suited for an operation.

“Mister Hamilton. Don’t be worried. We’re not going to cut you again. Today, we’re going to remove the cast on your lower body. I’m suited as it’s a very dusty job with a small grinding wheel. You’ll be in a mask but fully conscious. After today, you’ll be able to exercise your legs.”

I was given the mask and laid there as I could hear the whine of a small disc cutter. I could even feel it as he worked down each leg and around my stomach. It took a while, and he was very careful, lifting segments of the plaster away. The last thing was for a team to lift me off the remaining plaster, which was taken away. Back on the operating table, I was thoroughly cleaned and checked over. The only thing left attached was the catheter.

“Well done, Mister Hamilton. We’ll introduce you to more solid foods and you’ll be using a bed pan in a few days. The nurses will now give you a washdown, which will make you feel a lot more human. You’re on the road to full recovery. Everything else is standard for intensive care rehabilitation patients.”

He was right, the wash did make me feel better, but the sight of my scarred legs was sickening. They must have put a tonne of titanium in my body, from the ankles to the waist. Two days later, I had my first non-medical visitor, my mother.

Mum and I had always been friendly. My parents had supported me through my education and were proud of me when I graduated. Mum had often asked me why I didn’t have a wife, and I had always told her there was time for that when I had something to offer one. My own plans had been fuzzier, as I had been single-minded in creating my business, probably all now lost. I was really happy to see her now, and she was more than happy to see me, giving me a kiss on my forehead.

“Peter, my son. You look so much better than the last time I saw you. I could hardly see you then, all covered in bandages and pipes and things that beeped. I cried for days. I’ll be able to pop in more regularly in future.”

“Thanks Mum. It’s good to see you. How’s Dad?”

“He’s been worried as well but is still his usual self. He’s had more responsibility at his work but has a bit more money with it. He sends his love and will be in with me another time. I’m told that they’ll be moving you to a clinic closer to home, once you can be moved, so we’ll be able to see you more often.”

“What about my apartment and business?”

“Your apartment has been cleared and all your things are in storage. The landlord has paid you the bond refund and excess payment. With your extended hospital stay, we moved quickly on that. There are other places when you’re ready to look around. Your business is still ticking over nicely, with your accountant handling the day-to-day things. The manufacturer is still selling the things that were being sold and have been paying the small costs to keep your little laboratory going, with a couple of their own chemists using it. Moneywise, you’re in good shape. You still have an income, and the accident insurance has been looking after the hospital expenses. The airline made a compensation offer which we accepted on your behalf. Actually, you’re in better shape than you were before the accident.”

“Thanks, Mum. I appreciated what you’ve done for me. I was wondering about all those loose ends. I should probably be thankful that there are loose ends for me to worry about. From what the doctor tells me, I was lucky that the airport emergency crews were able to get me out and into care. From what he’s told me about my injuries, I may have bled out if they hadn’t been so close.”

“It must have been terrible.”

“Actually, it all happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to think, or even feel any pain before I blacked out.”

“Thank God for that. You still have to go through the pain of rehabilitation.”

“I’m still trying to get my head around the loss of my manhood. I’ll have to decide what to do about that a bit further on.”

“Is it the clothing that worries you?”

“Actually, Mum, no. A huge amount of female fashions are made in a factory by chemical means. I’ve even made a few in my own training. Polyester, nylon, acrylics, and Spandex are all synthetics, and rayon is cellulose based with chemical works. I’ve handled plenty of those materials to know how they’d feel. My main worry is how I’ll look. If I stay dressing as Peter, from what I’ve been told, I may get smoother skin and develop breasts. If I go for Petra, I’ll need to do it properly. There are computer simulations that would give me an idea, but nothing can confirm an outcome.”

“I’m really glad that you’re thinking seriously about that. It helps me with this bag I’ve brought.”

“Don’t tell me that you’ve brought in some satin nighties!”

“Nighties, yes, but all-natural cotton, for when they allow you to stop wearing the hospital gown. You’ll still need to have something that gives them access to your body, and they will be still good while you’ve got the catheter in.”

“I hope that they’re just plain and look like long tee shirts. I don’t think that I’m ready for ‘Hello Kitty’ just yet.”

It was a while before the nurses had decided that it was time to finish with the hospital gown. By that time, I had the catheter removed and was using a urine bottle and a bedpan, now on semi-solids to get my stomach working.

The long tee was a lot more comfortable than the harsh gown, and I was now working with weights for my arms and legs. The leg ones were weighted bands on my ankles which I had to lift. Three weeks later, I was deemed fit enough to be taken to the rehab unit, where there was hydrotherapy and parallel bars to get me walking. I was embarrassed to be seen as a toddler finding their legs, but everyone was supportive and applauded each victory.

With the rehab unit attached to my hometown hospital, I was getting regular visits from my parents, with a few of my old friends coming in to cheer me up. One, in particular, had me in two minds. Veronica had been a friend at high school but resisted all attempts to get her to go out with me. When she came in, she had some flowers to add to a vase that Mum had brought in.

“Hello, Peter. I’ve spoken to your mother, and she suggested these lily stems. I read about your accident in the paper, and they’ve shown the dashcam video on the news. I have to say that I was very sad at seeing what you’ve gone through, considering how friendly you were to me in school, even if I did fob you off.”

“You couldn’t upset me, Veronica. I was madly in love at the time. I’m very happy that you’ve come to see me. How have you been?”

“I was never as brainy as you, so I ended up hairdressing. I shared a flat with Sheila, from school, for a few years, but we fell out over money and I’m living with my parents again.”

“Didn’t Sheila have a bit of a reputation?”

“She did, and it was justified. We shared a bed while we were together, which was the reason that I fobbed you off. Don’t get me wrong, you were attractive and fun, but male, and that wasn’t my thing, and still isn’t. When was the last time someone did your hair?”

“They were giving me a buzzcut while I was in an induced coma but have left it to grow since I was brought back into the land of the living.”

“You’re at the point where you have to decide how you’re going to wear it. If you leave it to grow, you’ll need to think about a ponytail or else shorten it. If you leave it long, with the shape that your face is, everyone will think that you’re a woman.”

“Sit down on the chair, Veronica. There’s something that hasn’t been made public.”

She pulled up the visitors chair and sat beside the bed, taking my hand in hers. I could feel the warmth of her, and it seemed to flow into me.

“Veronica. I said that I was in love with you in school, and seeing you today makes me realise that you’ve always been the one for me. What hasn’t been made public is the fact that when the steering wheel was crushed into my lap, it destroyed all of that maleness that you didn’t like. The only thing that the surgeons could do was to give me a urinary tract. Otherwise, I’m totally smooth down there. I’ve been given the choice of living as Peter, without any possibility of being a proper man again; essentially a eunuch, or else getting a breast enhancement and living as a woman. The closer I get to leaving here, the closer I get to having to decide what I’ll be wearing when I walk out.”

Her hand was tighter in mine and there were tears in her eyes.

“You poor thing! I thought that the main injuries were broken bones and stuff. If that’s the case, how much damage was there?”

“I’m the titanium man, from my pelvis to my knees, as well as having rods in the lower legs. They told me that I was very lucky, as my spine was only wrenched, and my head was cushioned between the headrest and the roof lining. My arms were both broken in the tumbling of the car. The collapsed roof broke every rib, so getting me to breathe again took some time.”

“So, why all the rehabs?”

“I was in intensive care, in an induced coma, between July and December, and my muscles withered. I have to learn to walk unaided, and then they’ll let me out. I don’t know where I’ll live, as my parents had sold up and moved into an apartment, and my own was let go, with all my things in storage. I’ll need to make sure that I keep exercising my arms and legs to get back to close to what I was before.”

The nurse put her head in the door and told us that it was time for my exercise session. Veronica stood, still holding my hand and bent to give me a kiss on my forehead.

“Think about your plans, Peter. I’ll be back in a week, as it’s my day off. I’ll talk to the nurse station about hairdressing here, and I’ll bring in my kit. When you’re in the chair, you can tell me if you want it short, or shaped. If it’s shaped, I’ll come and see you every chance I have.”

I watched her go, suddenly feeling a sense of purpose that I’d been missing. It hadn’t been me that she hadn’t liked, just the part of me that I no longer had. I decided, there and then, that my hair was to be shaped, and it allowed me to think more about going down that path. The cotton tee was now what it really was, a nightie.

The next day, my father came in with my accountant, and they gave me a report on my financial and business situation. As Mum had told me, I was quite well off, with the income from my products flowing, giving me royalties of around fifteen thousand a month, without me having much in expenses. I asked them to have a look around for another apartment that I could lease and give me a report on the likely ones that would be suitable for a couple. That raised Dads’ eyebrows, but he stayed quiet.

For the rest of the week, I worked extra hard on the exercises, to the point that Mister Hellyer commented that I seem to have a new drive. When Veronica arrived, with a small case in her hand, I was sitting in a wheelchair with a towelling robe over the nightie. She came up to me and bent over.

“Short or shaped?”

“Shaped, please.”

She kissed me and then stood.

“I was shown where I can work, so, on to the chair of destiny!”

She wheeled me to a room that I’d not been to, with a massage table and a proper hairdressers chair with a shelf and mirror in front of it, and an oddly shaped basin to one side. The chair was swivelled and locked, and a pair of nurses helped me to sit in it. Telling Veronica to press the button when I was finished, they left us to it. When the door was closed, Veronica spun the chair and lowered the back so that I was over the basin.

“First thing, we get the hair washed and conditioned. This may take a while.”

I relaxed as she carefully washed my hair, then conditioned it. After rinsing, she did it again. Then, she blow dried it and spun me to face the mirror with the seat upright. She put a cloth over my gown, and I saw myself with the hair now clean and bouncy.

“Do you have a choice, madam, or will you allow me to create?”

“Create, please. I’m in your hands.”

“I remember that you were a sort of light brown at school. The trauma of the accident has turned you almost white-haired. I’m going to put some blonde into it, with highlights, as that would suit your face and age. Relax, this will take some time.”

The procedure was long and interesting, and I tried to follow the different things as she went along. Being a chemist, I could understand the reactions that were happening, and could discuss the procedure with her. With the new colour fixed, she then put curlers in and sprayed the hair before pulling a drier over. I was left as she went to use the toilet. When she took the drier away and pulled the curlers out, she brushed my hair out and I smiled to see myself in the mirror. Even clean-faced, I looked like a woman. She must have thought so, as well, as she held my cheeks as she gave me a very loving kiss. She pressed the button for the nurse, and they got me back in the wheelchair.

“Next week, I’ll bring in a portable electrolysis unit and start work on what little hair you have left on your body. We’ll do a bit at a time. Nurse, can we have extra help to get her on the table?”

“That will be all right. There is a portable lifting unit for paraplegics in a cupboard. It can be used by one but it’s better with two. What do we call you now, we can’t keep calling you Mister Hamilton.”

I thought about that as I was being wheeled.

“For now, can we go with Petra Hamilton?”

Back in the room, I was on the bed with Veronica taking in my gown.

“Already wearing the right stuff.”

“Mum found them. It’s better than the hospital gowns, I was ending up with knot marks in my back.”

“You’re taking this very well.”

“It’s a matter of what is probable, rather than wishful thinking. If I had been a few seconds either way on that road in Sylt, the wheels would have missed me. If I had chosen a bigger, or stronger car, I would have been killed outright. Every fork in lifes’ road has the other option that wasn’t taken. Some come at you without choice, and some are well signposted. This one is really the logical step and just needed a nudge to take it.”

She gave me another kiss and left with her small case. The nurse got me settled.

“That’s a nice girl. My mother goes to the salon where she works, and I’ve been there a few times. She looks a lot happier than I’ve seen her for a couple of months. She’s also perked you up as well, Petra.”

That week, I worked harder on my exercise sessions. Since I had been brought back to the living, time had dragged. Now, I was finding that when my sessions ended, I wanted more. So, Mister Hellyer gave me more. I also went from the hydrotherapy pool to a twenty-five metre one they had, starting to swim laps, which helped my limbs and my breathing.

When my parents next came in, Dad had a folder with brochures of apartments that were on the market, and a sheet with what I could afford without breaking the bank. Mum had another bag of nighties, taking away the ones I had worn. She looked at my new hairdo and gave me a light hug, as if she was scared I’d break.

The next time I saw the doctor, he was happy with the way I was progressing, and I asked about breast augmentation. He said that he would organise it for a month before I was allowed to be released, which, he estimated, would be around a year since the accident.

When Veronica came in, she had a solid-looking case with her, and I was wheeled to the room with the massage table. The nurse showed her how to use the lifter as they got me up on the table. She worked on my legs first, seeing that there wasn’t a lot of hairs there after the operations. She was able to get me back in the wheelchair and back to my room. There, I gave her the folder.

“Veronica, this is a fork in the road for you. In this folder are brochures on apartments for lease. I’ve marked the ones within reasonable walking distance of the laboratory that I have. If you check where they are in relationship to your salon, feel free to look at any that take your eye. I can afford to lease one that suits the two of us, if that’s what you would like.”

She bent down and gave me a proper hug, without worrying if I was breakable. There were tears in her eyes.

“Petra, thank you! It doesn’t matter about your injuries. Whatever we can do together, will be good, I know it. It will be an honour to help you become a natural woman, the one that I love.”

“I love you, too. I always have. Remember, if it’s unfurnished, I have a complete kit-out in storage which I had bought for my last place. There will be a load of clothing there, which can all go to charity. I’ll need a completely new wardrobe anyway. Now, I saw the doctor, and he tells me that I can get a breast job in June and will be released in July, as long as I keep improving. Maybe, in a few weeks, I can walk to the exercise sessions.”

We kissed. For the first time, we both contributed, and it was wonderful. She slipped the folder in the case with the machine and left me with a smile on my face. During the week, I had a visit from the Chief Chemist from the company selling my products. He had a folder of specifications regarding the next wave of machine tools. There were charts with speeds and wanted feeds, likely cutting temperatures with different materials, probable coolant pressures, and the carbide grades that had been developed in the last year.

That filled up my spare time, working out formulae for a new range of fluids to cover the various situations. Over the next few weeks, I got to the point of being able to take myself to the toilet, walking to the exercise sessions, and writing out the chemical ingredients for the coolants. I wouldn’t be able to test them, so I wrote out notes of what I would do if things didn’t work out with the first trials. Dad took the folder to give to him.

When that had been done, I was also hairless over my whole body, and Veronica had seen my new groin from close range. I was taken by a small ambulance back to the hospital in London, where I had the breast enhancement operation. Being brought back three days later. They weren’t big but made a huge difference to how I was viewed by the world. As well as how I thought about myself.

In the month that followed, Veronica brought me bras and panties in my size. I had panty liners as I still couldn’t properly control my urination. I also had sports bras for exercise, and a one-piece suit for swimming. I was slowly given new items to wear to get used to. I was now Petra to all the medical staff, as well as my parents and any visitors.

A year, almost to the day, Veronica wheeled me down to where a car was waiting to take me to our apartment, chosen from one of the ones I had noted. It had been furnished with my old furniture, plus a few items of Veronicas’. There, I was able to walk into my new home. It was wonderful to be able to sit on my old settee, now with my love by my side, and able to have a proper kissing session without a nurse coming in to take my temperature. For that day, I was wearing all the proper underwear, knee-high stockings with low-heel shoes, and an ankle length dress in bright orange. If anyone wanted to make a statement that day, it was me.

Time had gone slow, had gone fast, and, for some months, hadn’t affected me one way or another. Now was a new day, a new life, and new horizons. Over the next few weeks, Veronica went off to work in the mornings and I tidied up around the apartment. When I felt strong enough, I walked to the laboratory, surprising the two juniors that were working there.

After ensuring them that I really was a new version of Peter, we worked on some of my new formulae, and moving the development forward. One of them would walk me home when we left, as I was usually very tired by that time. They would have got to the point of manufacturing in the end, but with my insight, we achieved that inside three months.

I was now almost as fit as I had been, but a lot lighter and weaker. Veronica assured me that it was part of being female, so I allowed myself to believe her. We had settled into a cosy life, having family and friends around for meals, going out to shows, spending weekends in hotels and seeing the sights. She did all the driving, as I was still working through a name change, and would need to get a new licence. Our sex life was, as you may have guessed, one sided, with me pleasuring her and just being loved in return. I had no means to have any orgasmic feelings and had found that the satisfaction that I gave her was all I needed.

The new range of coolants went on the market and the royalties started building up. I suggested, early in the next year, that we think about a proper holiday. My name change had happened, my driving licence was new, and I had a new passport with a nice picture and the magic ‘F’.

We were discussing places where we’d like to go when I had a letter, sent on from the oil company. It was from Chiron, asking me if I felt well enough to attend the next seminar as a guest. Now two years from the accident, they wanted to welcome me back into the circle of business associates and to let them all know that I was better. It was addressed to Peter. I rang the person who had signed the invitation and told them the final outcome of the injuries. They told me that it didn’t matter and made it all the more important that I attended. They would organise our flights from Heathrow to Sylt, via Stuttgart, and return two weeks later, to give us time in the hotel. I got the idea that they may have been feeling a little guilty that they hadn’t included accommodation the last time.

We were emailed our official invitation and e-tickets. The seminar was to run from Monday to Friday of the second week of July, close to usual. We flew out on Sunday morning to Stuttgart and arrived at Sylt late that afternoon.

What I didn’t expect was a camera crew and journalists waiting for us to welcome me back to the island. My accident had made big news at the time, with pictures of the car in all the local news. Later on, they had shown the dash-cam footage, and I was now considered a celebrity survivor.

We were interviewed and driven to the hotel, to have dinner with the Chiron executives and the local dignitaries. It was all very tiring and wonderful, as I had to watch the dash-cam again on a big screen, as well as video taken from the chest cams worn by the emergency crew. That was something else again. There was graphic film of the squashed car getting the roof peeled off with me inside, looking like a sardine in a can, but with a lot of blood. Veronica had a claw-like grip on my arm as we watched. I closed my eyes, and someone took pity on me and ended the screening.

We were woken on Monday morning at an early hour, had a cup of coffee, and were taken out, around the airport to the site of my accident. There I was filmed, standing on the road, as the seven-forty Eurowings flight passed over us, quite a bit higher than the fateful day. On the way back, I was told that it was my accident that made the government fund proper approach radar and auto-landing equipment, which brought the Silt airport up to international standards.

The week of the seminar was interesting. I took lots of notes about new developments, met a lot of old friends in the business, and had a lot of hugs and kisses from them. On the final dinner, I was asked to give a speech, and spoke about the vagaries of life, with the paths we can take. I finished with some meaningful words.

“When I left this hotel, almost exactly two years ago, I had no idea what was in store. The future for each of us cannot be known. All we can do is live as if it’s going to be forever. However, all of you good people in this room are creating the future as we speak. You are developing new ways to make things, new ways to remove metal, even new ways to add metal. We are like ants in our nest of industry, busy inventing the new world. Now and then, some giant comes along and stamps on some of us, but it doesn’t stop the rest of the nest. I’ve spent several months in a coma, another long period in rehab, and came out of it all a different looking person. Beneath it, though, I’m still the chemist that left this hotel after the seminar. I may look different, have a loving partner to spend the rest of my days with, but I’m still one of the ants. Me getting squashed didn’t stop the rest of you carrying on, and I’m proud, and happy, to have been welcomed back into the nest.”

We spent a lovely week after that, lazing around, swimming in the hotel pool, seeing the sights and eating well. We were sitting on a bench, looking out over the North Sea, when Veronica gave me a kiss and snuggled into me.

“Petra, my love. Last week, I saw that video of you being cut out of that car and it made me sick to my stomach to see it. The dash cam was hard enough, but that was truly shocking. There was one good thing that came out of it though.”

“What’s that, my love?”

“It made me realise just how brave and resilient you are. You were at deaths’ door and then spent a whole year getting better, in more ways than one. It made me realise how mundane my own life had been before we met again. I had gone to see you, expecting to be sorry I had gone, but walked away with a new life to lead. You aren’t the only one to have been given a new direction. Last week, seeing you with all of those executives of huge companies and holding your own, was something that has made me love you even more. Can we find a time to get married, please.”

“I thought that it would be me to pop the question, but of course we can marry. It would be my greatest pleasure to be wife and wife. We’ll have to find someone to conduct the ceremony.”

“That’s easy, there’s a progressive church in town where I went to a few lesbian weddings.”

“Sounds like a plan, my love. We have a marriage to plan and a reception to organise. Of course, you do realise that when we consummate the betrothal, you’ll need to have one orgasm for yourself, and another on my behalf.”

“Looking forward to that already, my darling Petra. With what we need to organise, time will fly. As for me, though, time will drag until that night.”

Marianne Gregory © 2026