second story to a house. Now you have a two story house. The AP- PEARANCE has been changed, perhaps completely, but the fact remains, it is still a house on the same lot with the same address.

It's not all a bed of glamorous roses, either, I might add. Unless you are perhaps a movie star or television personality, life as a woman is just as hum-drum as that of a man. It is a daily grind of working a full day and then coming home to cook and wash dirty dishes and clothes, do the ironing and keep the place clean. Any of your GGs will tell you, if it's done right, it is no breeze. Top this off with constant hair care and a reduced income that doesn't allow you to buy the little goodies you now enjoy and eat too, and you have basically the typical working gal's glamorous (?) life structure. And, remember, it's a ONE WAY trip.

How do I know it's a one way trip? Because I've made that trip. In 1966, the headlines about my name change from Bill to Betty went around the world, much to my infinite sorrow. Then early in 1967 I became one of those on the list of Johns Hopkins Hospital's operated transexuals. No happier person existed. Yet, I have been in almost constant pain for almost three years. "Ah" you say, "then all this cautioning is just sour grapes." Not at all. For Life, even with pain, is preferable to death. Pain is educational. Death serves only the under- taker. Why do I mention death? It is, quite unfortunately, the com- panion of the deep depression into which most transexuals find them- selves plunged at one time or another. Then would I do it again? Yes, I would, but as the proverb goes, "There's many a slip twixt the cup and the lip." And so there has been. Perhaps a little autobiographical data will help you to understand the immense complexity of this condition. for it is by no means as simple as one's wishful thinking beforehand would make it out to be.

When I left the hospital, I had no where to go. I had been rejected by my parents and had, for all practical purposes only one friend, a fel- low TS who lived near the hospital. I stayed with her until I was well enough to travel. But there I stood, very suddenly and acutely aware that at 30 years of age, I had no past, no identifiable future and no pros- pects. Think about that!

The name change had gone well enough, though my lawyer had appeared on television and made me instantly famous. To get the proper meaning of this you combine the two words and the result is INFAMOUS. The fight to change the university records, as well as driver's license, and various other legal documents still lay ahead.

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