By Robyn Walters
At 84 years old, there are a lot of things I have done: flown a Navy jet trainer at 20,000 feet, been in a nuclear submarine at [classified] feet down, crawled around a couple of Navy ship reactor compartments, managed the boiler and turbine plant of an old guided-missile cruiser, designed and built warships, become a certified flight instructor and women’s gymnastics judge, and scuba-dived to a depth of 125 feet.
I’ve also been married three times and have four biological children—all girls, who have blessed me with ten grandchildren and six great grandchildren.
But there is a major life accomplishment that I have never ever experienced. I’ve never been pregnant!
Despite the four daughters who share half my genes, I have never carried a zygote, embryo, or fetus in my body. Despite having been present at all four births, I’ve never had morning sickness or a contraction, and my vagina has never stretched for delivery. My breasts have never been swollen with milk.
Never ever have I done any of that. Yet I contributed half the genetic material of all my four daughters, and a portion on down through the generations.
No in vitro fertilization was involved. No surrogate parent contractual arrangement, either.
The root of this conundrum lies internally. You see, I have no uterus and no ovaries. I was shortchanged in this lifetime.
A riddle? Enigma? No. My genetic contribution, beginning 60 years ago, was in the form of sperm.
Twenty-five years ago, in my second marriage, I began my transition from male to female. That is anathema to some, but for me, it was lifesaving. Life finally began to make sense, and in my early sixties, I gladly invested the time, effort, and funds to bring my body into as close a match to my brain, to my identity, as medical science could attain.
My third spouse, who had not yet fully transitioned from female to male, walked alongside my gurney to the operating room door and wailed, pathetically, “Who’s going to fix my dinner?” A year later, I walked alongside his gurney to the same operating room, where he had his gender confirmation surgery.
Years and years ago, before Robyn came out of the lingerie drawer, I had a past lives regression, which was an interesting experience. In one of those few lives, I had apparently been the wife of a Flemish artist. I’m sure there were children in that little cottage.
If there is anything to reincarnation, I am hopeful that there will be a fertile female person as my next life.
Robyn Walters is a trans-elder. Her interests range from amateur radio and scuba diving to LGBT support, perpetual college classes, editing her husband’s 50+ novels and stories, and helping to proofread BWQ issues.