Choices of The Heart

[melissa2915.livejournal.com]

Greetings...

None of you know me... Not that you should. I'm older... 56... married, mentally ill, disabled, and have been told that I only have about 8 years left to live, but that I might make 10, due to my bones aging at an advanced rate due to a massive surgery that I had in 1968. So, in one sense, I am nearing the end of my life, or perhapps, just passing through a door.

In any event, I have struggled with Transgenderism since I was 12 years old. I have lived as a transgendered female for several years 5 times in my life. I was born a bio-male, but have always felt that the feminine persona made more sense to me... Just that. It made more sense.

Now... As to how I got here... Well, the road has been long, boring and filled with MIS-Adventures. I shall put it behind a cut. I am only telling this story here, and not in my own journal, because I believe, in my heart, that as I approach the Master Dealer and have to deal for my own presence again, that it just makes sense to try and reach BACK to those who are left behind, and then to try and do some act of grandeur and kindness, strictly on the account that, in a world filled with war, I am my brother's keeper... and...

It makes sense...

Being a writer, which  have been since I was age 9, I have always fond that the books that were the most interesting where the ones that were NOT finished...

My life, for the most part, has been that sort of tale, the one that was never finished... And yet...

While my brothers have died... and my sisters have suffered fates far worse than death itself, I HAVE MADE IT this far... I made it...

Each day now, as I wake up,  my bones screaming and yelling for me to get on with it and DIE... I can only hear one sound... well a few...

there is the sound of my beloved wife, Aileen... asleep next to me... and as I hear this sound, I am reminded that I am truly here for another day... I did NOT die during the night...

Then I take a breath... and then...

despite the fact that my bones are like about near papers where my lung and spine are concerned... I leap to my feet and smile... for in my heart... there is a great deal to celebrate...

While millions today will die... thousands of innocent children and thousands of innocent women who shall be beaten to death, and then the poor men who are being murdered and killed...

Yes... many will die... But NOT me... I made it...

and for that... in  a world filled with killing, I am very grateful...

Not to some THING I can NOT see, but to the core essence of LIFE ITSELF... for it has bee LIFE that has LOVED me enough to allow me to live yet again today...

Yes... it's a good day... Life is strong... and I'm still here... so life is good...

and yet, I can always hear the OTHER ones... the children, men and women who, today, will not see the sun set... and as I hear these thousands of cries in the night and the days of my life, my hert does scream and pound the ground and beg for some aspect of life to please come and rescue us from ourselves...

and thus my tale begins...


I was not always so...

I was born in 1950... My birth mother, Carolyn, was just 18, single, and dying when she gave birth to me... She was Amish and had been kicked out of her community because she was an out of wedlock woman...

She then, by herself, she moved to Columbus, and took shelter in a  relative's home ...

On December 30, 1950, somewhere around 9:30 in the morning, it is believed that Carolyn went into labor. At the time she was in labor, she was, like me, a hunchback. and, like me, she was, at 18, dying from being born a hunch back...

At the same time she was also in labor... And she was alone...

One can only imagine the kind of courage that this Lady had...

For she then walked a solid 1 mile to the hospital where I was born... and then just 3 hours after I was born, she died...

I never got to see her, thank her, take in her fragrance, or even hold her heart... she was gone... and my adoption paid for her funeral...

I did not learn any of this until I was 40 years old... When I did, I held, in my own heart, a NEW HERO...for in all the people it has been my supreme honor to have known, none have come close to the unbelievable courage that my own mother made when facing death... she took that call can gave her own life to save mine... and she didn't even know me...

I call what she did "  1... Gift...".  1 Gift... just a small gift... she said that she was prepared to die, as long as the child she carried could live... and she walked, with her left leg not being able to hardly move, her left lung gone, collapsed due to her hujnch back condition and being in labor... and still she knew that she would never know me... and yet, she made that call...

Yes, that's a real test of courage... a real test...

and my life...

My adoptive parents were rich, selfish and racist... and we hated each other very early in life...

I became a hunch back at 17 and almost died before the operation a few times... then almost died during the  operation 3 times and then actually died for 5 minutes while in intensive care...

I was NO resuscitated and came back to life on my own...

The team of 8 international doctors that were called in to try  save my life with the surgery all agreed that there was NO MEDICAL REASON FOR MY SURVIVAL... this statement was made to me in 1969, the year after the operation, and then again in 1972 the lastt time I met with the surgeon who did the work... who led the team... Dr. H.

I won't bore you with the stupid details... my web site at http://mmaschke1950.net/ has the full details as does some of my journal...

Suffice to say taht life has been hard...

I met and photographed Mr. Ronald Regan in 1975, and have the negatives and the pictures to prove it... some of the pictuires are on my web site...

I knew Jim Morrison and Stephen Stills and Linda Ronstadt in Tucson, before they left on their own paths...

I've known some of the most remarkable people in the world...

so far in my life I have been shot twice, hit in the head with an ax, hit by a car 3 three times, stabbed, had a gun put into my mouth, and at my heat, been electrocuted, held a dear friend in my arms as he was shot to death, held 4 children in my arms as they died... lost two of my own children... been to over 150 funerals... rode across the United States by motocycle and bicycle, competed in the Coors classic... co ran a shelter for abused women... co-ran a shelter for unwed mothers... worked with 8 different NA tribes during period of hunger and  helped at drug and alcohol clinics with the NA's while in high school and college...and other boring stuff...

In short... it's been a ride...... I guess that I had the kind of life that I had because I hated my parents and their money and their greed and racism so much.....

I was quite the spoiled little brat, as they wanted, by the time I ht the hospital in 1968... But, on October 5th, 1968, I saw little Peter, just 5 years old, dead and blue, being carried out before me on a gurney... and my entire world stopped... just stopped...

All I could say, under my breath was... " ... no child deserves this... no child...".   And from that single second, I could then hear the other kids in the ward...all younger than me... and they were crying.... Peter was dead ... and my friends were crying...

So being a spoiled brat just didn't figure into things much anymore... I had no choice... someone had to stand up for these children... and so, being 17, and having lived the life of a millionaire's sone... I turned a corner in my life... one that I have stayed on for almost 40 years now...

And I became like the big brother to these guys... these young men who, most would not make it... out of a ward of 15 of us... only for of us survived... 4... 2 of us took our lives after we got out... and... well, it's a  tough memory... I"ll leave it for now... Suffice to say... I went to hell and had tea with Satan that year.... and when everyone else went home, I stayed behind, to make sure that none one else would come this way... ...

and so, I do, sort of stand at the gates of hell ... but not begrudingly... but because I really love earth, peole and especially llitle boys and girls... While I might not be some great football hero, or a great doctor or lawyer or even anyone famous... I am still a creation of the very essence of what all life is... and that means that I TOO can do good in the world... it might be huge... but it will be good...

All of my life I was beaten and abused, either for my political or religious beliefs, or because I was transgendered... not to mention that I was and still am partially crippled...

I didn't do so awfully bad...

For almost 30 years I made my living as a highly paid information analyst, communications analyst, and financial analyst...

Until I had a nervous breakdown in 1989 that would cripple me for the rest of my life...

Now, as I said, I'm not writing this for anyone to pay me accolades or feel sorry for me. I do NOT deserve empathy or pity... NOT at all... I'm explaining all of this because my family is all dead... and the only daughter I have left HATES me... for being mentally ill and being a hunch back, which she blames me for her getting in her own life, and for my being transgendered... In short...

When Leah and I get together the city usually calls in the national guard... lol...

Leah, by the way is now 26 and is a wonderful little yuppie wanna be... lol...

Me... like I said... my bones are about 30 years older than the rest of my body. and that means that by around 68 my bones are going to be close to 100 and that, so the so-called experts say, is when my lung, the one that works, is going to have a hard time keeping going... in other words...

how creatively can you say ... " check please! ".... LOL

I'm sharing these tales with you all here... because I AM transgendered and have always been so... Most of you are younger than me... I have NO kids... But I LOVE people... MAN I  love people more than I love me...

And I know how hard it is to be transgendered, much less different in our world today... while everyone in the world will rush to you with answers... I wanted to come to you with something different...

I wanted to come to you, as your friend, and give you some BETTER questions... for, I've always found that, while most want to rush around screaming their answers, it's only when you understand the HARDER and BETTER questions when you learn anything...

I just wanted to sort of stand with you all, as I move through these years, so that you won't feel you are alone... I know how it feels to be alone... truly... and part of what makes me tick is this simple story...

In Downtown Cleveland at the convention center is this huge statue... it's of a man rising out of the flames above earth... and reaching upward...

Everyone in the entire city sees this statue as a man escaping...

I have always seen it differently...

I have seen it as a man, standing at the Gates of Hell, and holding his arms aloft to protect those approaching and to fend them off... saying simply... "... dear brothers and sisters... please do not come this way... please....."...

And so I pass all that I am ... to you all... here, now, and in stories to come... where my sort of radio station, Channel 59, sort of fizzled out... but that's typical... see, most people who come to know me end up hating me because I am a die hard pacifist and because I do not respect any form of any philosophy that supports any form of the killing of humans, or ever has...

so, I'm very used to most NOT liking me... it's okay...

And, if I get too much of a negative reaction I'll just keep my stories to myself...

In any event... My name is Nicole Melissa Maschke.

I was born, Maurice Maschke III, Nicknamed Mickey...

I changed my name in 1994, the year my father died, to Nicole, and took the name Melissa, recently, when it was disclosed to me that I probably would not make 70... realizing that I no longer had any time to waste if I wanted to resolve my gender jumping that I had done all of my life...

My web site has pictures of me and tells my whole story...

I used to have a lot of anger... not so much anymore... now, mostly, I'm just a bit scared... and ... well, I have no idea, other than those 5 minutes I was dead in 1968, what happens when you die... but, I've always hoped, since I found out about Mom, that I might be lucky enough, one day to just be able to meet her and say thank-you... for she took a risk on me before she even knew me... and that means something... and, by her saving my life I was able to save so many others... I lost so many... so many... and each one tore more of my heart out... and away...

but, the one single light that has shined for me my entire life is the last  soliloquy from The Man Of LaManch By  Don Miquel de Cervantes...

In the last scene Quixote is on his death bed...

Aldonza the whore is kneeling by his bed...

She says... "... Master... You spoke of a dream... A dream..."

"... Aye! What's this? On thy knees to me my Lady! Tis unseemly! For what matter wounds to the body of a knight errant. For each time he falls he shall rise and rise again... and woe to the wicked! Sancho My Sword! ...."

"Aye Master ! More Adventures..."


"No Sancho... MORE MIS Adventures... but always the quest... The quest... "

and with that.. Quixote rose above the ashes of his own dissent and held his candle high enough that me, a little boy of just 8, in 1958, would hear his sound... and as I approach that same doorway... the one thing that gives me courage is remembering that it's true... The Quest... the Quest of the Impossible Dream... the Dream of love and hope of humankind... the light of life...

Yes... Every day I wake up I am very happy and I celebrate life often...

Aileen was crying the other night... she sort of gets sad about ... well, I'm not dying tomorrow, but no one likes to be told when...

and I took her hands into mine and looked into her eyes and said...

"... now darling... now is the time for us to make truly happy memories...really big ones... ".


And we did... we started with something small, like Mom... we started with just a kiss, like we did on November 27th, 1993, when I stepped on the porch of her home... and leaned down and said...

"... you smell like home...".

And she said, "...that's because you are my dear..."...

This 2th of November we will have been marred 14 years... for we were married just one year from that night... and we have not been apart since that night other than twice... for business...

Yes... I do feel like I ride with Sir Don... and that Aileen is truly my Dolcenea... and you all... the lights I meet along the way... YOU ARE the ADVENTURE.... .


I don't suppose most have read this whole thing... sorry for going on so long... I guess when you get a bit older that all you have left are your memories... Please excuse me for going on about mine...

May the light of all hope and goodness in life follow yours always...

and may the wind be always at your back...

M