Ever since he was a toddler, Patrick Zelinski felt more comfortable in the company of girls. Boys were rowdy, loud, and always broke toys. And wind. Girls, meanwhile, were pretty, gentle, and so much nicer. Their rooms were decorated in pink and had plenty of ribbons, and were a much more pleasant environment to spend time in. In his early teens Pat was a thin lad who disliked team sports and preferred reading novels and playing with his pet rabbit. His father wanted him to join the football team, but Pat was adamant that the football would interfere with his schoolwork. Since his grades were quite good, Zelinski senior relented.
Eventually, not long after he turned 16, Pat came to the realization that he was a girl trapped in a boy's body. Suddenly, it all made sense. He was actually a she, and all the things that made him miserable - the bullies at school, his father's dissatisfaction with his lack of masculinity, his somewhat effeminate demeanor - simply arose because by some accident he had received a Y chromosome instead of an X.
Knowing that his father would disapprove, Pat made no attempt to grow long fingernails, wear make-up, or dress up as a girl - in public. At his best friend Sharon's house, he would often spend entire afternoons as a girl. His thin build, naturally high voice, and soft features aided the transformation. No-one who saw him as 'Patricia' ever suspected that he was actually a male.
Pat knew what he had to do to break free and become a contented, well-adjusted person. He had to somehow make $17,500.
In the summer vacation, Pat worked as a messenger for his father's law office during the daytime, and put in shifts at Taco Bell in the evenings and weekends. When school began he tutored younger kids and still found time to stock shelves at the grocery.
His schoolwork suffered, but Pat didn't care. His grades were good enough to graduate and get into a college in New England, far from home.
The first thing he did upon arriving at college was to dump his baggage in the dorm room, pack an overnight, and head back to the airport. This time, he went to the international departures section, and boarded a flight to Thailand.
The heat and humidity in Bangkok were overwhelming, but Pat felt as if he were stepping into a hot-tub. Pat had planned this trip for more than a year, and the cacophony of the traffic was music to his ears. He was exactly where he wanted to be. He had grown his hair as long as he dared, and for a few months had been taking estrogen pills. His hairless chest was definitely beginning to develop discernable mounds.
The sex-change operation would be the long-awaited metamorphosis. A butterfly would emerge from the chrysalis and he would be himself, or rather herself, for the first time in his - her - life.
Alighting from the taxi, Pat felt giddy, as if he were in a dream. He told the attractive receptionist his name and was guided to an elegantly appointed lounge. As he waited, he idly read a magazine. He wasn't nervous at all. This was his destiny. Soon, a soft-spoken gentleman of about 50 came in, and asked him some questions, such as When was the first time you realized you wanted to be a girl? The Thai doctor spoke excellent English and nodded understandingly as Pat poured his heart out.
The doctor agreed to proceed with the surgery the very next morning.
A gentle jazz was playing through the speakers, and Patricia awoke fealing thirsty, groggy, but delirously happy. She had just been born. Even when the tranquilizer wore off and the pain set in, Pat was still the happiest person in the universe. From now on she could be herself.
It worked out pretty much as she had expected. Guys, who had been dismissive and condescending towards her all her life, suddenly became attentive, interested, and super-friendly. Instead of giving her wedgies, they gave her admiring looks. It was as if she had landed on another planet where the locals were friendly instead of hostile. When she went shopping, helpers appeared out of nowhere to carry her bags. When it started raining, umbrella-bearers popped out of the shadows. Everywhere she went, people were helpful and eager to please.
When I met Pat on a visit to Boston, I was amazed at the transformation. She looked gorgeous. Her movements were naturally feminine, and graceful. Unless you were looking very closely, you wouldn't notice anything, except maybe that the makeup was a tad heavy for a college student. One of Pat's few male friends in high school, I had counseled strongly against the sex change, but now I had to admit that it had worked wonders. A weakling had given way to a vivacious young woman.
Energized, Pat worked hard in college. She had a new zest for life and was determined to enjoy every minute of every day. Bright and eager, she graduated summa cum laude and quickly landed a job at a blue-chip company.
The only thing Pat didn't have was a lover. Pat didn't actually like men, and the idea of making love to one was scary and repulsive. She still preferred the company of girls, who, unlike the rough, clumsy, and loud slobs that vied for her attention, were pretty and gentle and nice.
There were close calls. Some guys had been particularly tenacious, and, mostly because she felt sorry for them and couldn't bring herself to say No, had succeeded in taking her out to dinner. Feeling dutibound, she had even pecked them on their stubbly cheeks when they took her home. But that's as far as it went. Pat had no intention of letting one of these hairy, oversexed creatures climb on top of her.
Pat ignored romance and concentrated on her career. She worked long hours, and dedicated herself to her job.
It was in the midst of a messy M&A that something strange occurred.
A presentation was due the next morning. Pat had spent all day coordinating with various departments and knew she had to work late to finish the presentation. It was mostly complete, at around 2 AM, when she decided to take a quick nap. When she woke up, early-morning sunshine was streaming through the window, and Beth, a colleague, was looking at her curiously. Pat rose in panic and, realizing that she hadn't shaved, scurried to the bathroom.
Never mind. The presentation was ready, and it was dynamite. She'd had some clever ideas for using to the company's advantage the opportunities presented by the sea changes taking place.
But when she gave the presenation, it dawned on her that it would achieve nothing. The men listened politely enough, but weren't really interested in what she had to say. It had been like this for as long as she could remember. They paid attention to her, and made warm and encouraging remarks when she spoke, but never actually considered her a source of knowledge which they might turn to. For real advice, they only turned to other men.
The women, meanwhile, spent far too much time talking and empathizing and connecting about how they felt instead of doing anything substantive. Even when the situation was critical, they considered and vacillated instead of moving aggressively forward. They spent more time worrying about personal benefits than about strategic opportunities for the company. And most of them went straight home at 4:59 PM.
At age 24, Pat found herself lonely, frustrated, and encumbered by her gender. The only joy she had these days was speeding in her black BMW, hard rock blasting through the speaker system.
Eventually Pat came to the realization that she was a man trapped in a woman's body.
The clinic in Bangkok was exactly as she had remembered it, only slightly dingier. Perhaps it had become a little dilapidated over the years, or perhaps her rosy outlook six years ago had tinted her view with a pink glow.
The doctor had not aged at all (had he given himself a facelift?) and was not particularly surprised to see Pat again. But he was visibly startled by her request, and protested that most repeat clients came for breast augmentation or some other minor procedure. Pat set down her Louis Vuitton tote on the coffee table and started pulling out wads of hundred dollar bills.
The doctor agreed to proceed with the surgery the very next morning.
After recuperating at a resort spa for a week, Patrick Zelinski flew back to the US. He'd drop by and see his family for the first time in six years - he'd never had the heart to let his father see him as Patricia - and then look for a new job. He might also get himself a girlfriend. The new plumbing was an upgrade to the original version, and he was eager to try it out.
Arriving back in the US, Patrick experienced a minor shock. Nobody was gallant enough to help him with his bags at the arrivals terminal. People were so unfriendly. But Patrick didn't mind. At least now he didn't have a glass ceiling to contend with. The corporate world was his to conquer. Still only 25, he could rise to the boardroom and beyond. By the age of 30, he'd be running a Fortune 500 company. By the age of 40, he'd own one.
The job interviews were a reality check. The HR managers listened patiently and politely as he outlined his skills. Patiently and politely. Not eagerly or happily. They were just doing their job. The didn't even suggest dinner to discuss 'further possibilities'.
Two dozen interviews and six months later, Patrick still didn't have a job, and was making ends meet by working at Starbucks.
Reluctantly, he sold his BMW, cashed in his frequent flier miles, and booked a flight to Thailand.
This time, the gentle Thai doctor wasn't surprised to see him again. He merely raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Patrick nodded, sheepishly.
I am meeting Pat again, several years later. There are a few more stamps in Pat's passport now. There's nothing odd about this unassuming 30-something, except that, if you look long enough, you realize that you can't make out the gender. Just when you were convinced you are looking at a female, she turns slightly and now looks vaguely male. But then a gesture later, he's female again. She says something, and it sounds just as manly as it does feminine.
Pat looks at me with a mischievious twinkle in the eye. "I was confused," s/he says. "But now it's you who's confused."
