Now that the excitement over the passport has passed, it's time to take stock and see what needs to be done. The driving licence is in hand. But I still need to wrap up Dad's affairs; sell my old home; buy the new car; spring clean the caravan; spring clean the entire house; get the garden in order; make visits to Salisbury, Newport, and some other places; book the Italy holiday with M---; then that drive to Sweden and back. And all the while (so far as breaks allow), press on with hair removal each week, and voice therapy every two weeks - on and on with the transition without easing up.
Looking back, it's been almost like a military campaign so far. As soon as I knew what I had to be, what I had to do, I got on with it. I got on with it so that I wouldn't suffer the anguish of delay. And I've been lucky with my medical team and choice of new friends. Or just lucky.
I have sometimes wondered, as surely you do, whether the knowledge of my need to transition, and the possible consequences, preyed on my Mum and Dad's minds, hastening their deaths. I do believe that the morphine she was taking soon relieved Mum of such worries, and that over the months Dad's view changed from being appalled to some degree of acceptance. But I could not see into their hearts, any more than they or anyone else could see into mine. I simply don't know how they really felt. But I hope that if they could be here now, and watch what is being achieved, they would have much less concern and start to feel hopeful for their child. In a way I owe it to them not to let up. That's the least I can do to repay the incredible gift of security they left me. Repay it with success and a rebuilt life.