Went to bed a boy, woke as a girl!
Joella with her mum, when she was a little girl.
Tuesday 5th August 2008
When babies are born, they're either a boy or a girl. Simple enough, isn't it? If only the same could have been said for me when I arrived. I was born with a condition called Cloacal Exstrophy, which meant that my internal organs had grown outside my body. My liver was upside down and most of my bowel was missing. I didn't have any obvious sex organs either, so doctors couldn't tell my mum, Julie Farmer, 40, whether I was a boy or a girl.
But because I wasn't expected to live for more than a few hours, staff suggested Mum christen me.
'What name?' the priest asked her.
Poor Mum, she'd only thought about boys' names for me.
'Joel,' she said. 'Joel David.'
Surprising everyone, I pulled through an eight-hour operation at Birmingham Children's Hospital to correct my most serious birth defects and was doing better than expected.
Although doctors couldn't find any sex organs at all, I remained Joel.
But a year later, doctors at Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital in London told Mum that because I didn't have a penis, it would be easier for me physically and psychologically to live as a girl. Mum had spent a whole year bonding with her 'son', but thinking that the doctors knew best, she agreed. So on the night before my first birthday, Mum put me to bed as Joel, and hours later, I woke up as Joella. My boy's clothing and toys were replaced with dresses and dolls. And from then on, I was a girl. Mum grew my brown hair long, so I looked feminine, and by age 5, I'd started at a local school. I was a happy little girl.
Mum had split up with my dad when I was 2, but she'd since married my stepdad, Jason Farmer, 38, and had my little brother, Jarred, now 15. We were a normal family. So although I had medical problems — I had to use a colostomy bag because I didn't have a working bowel and needed pads because my bladder wasn't connected properly — I just felt like everyone else. All that was left was to change my sex on my birth certificate from male to female. Mum had assumed it would just be a formality. Wrong.
The Office of National Statistics insisted they didn't issue certificates to 'transsexuals'.
'But she's not a transsexual,' Mum protested. 'She's never really been a boy.'
Without my birth certificate being changed, I couldn't get a passport or enrol at my local girls' school. Just after my seventh birthday, Mum and I had a big talk.
'I've spoken to a solicitor and she reckons we should talk to the newspapers,' Mum explained. 'We're going to make this right.'
'OK,' I said, too young to understand properly.
To be honest, it all seemed a bit silly. With my bobbed brown hair and pretty dresses, it was obvious I was a girl, wasn't it?
Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing that was obvious. My condition meant that I walked funny and had a pot belly, so other kids at school often made fun of me. Mum had already changed my school once because of the bullies. It really hurt. All I wanted was to be like everyone else. At her wit's end, Mum spoke to the papers about changing my birth certificate, and a few days later, my face was splashed across the papers.
THIS GIRL IS A BOY, read one newspaper headline.
When I went to school the next day, there were journalists waiting in the bushes, taking photos of me as I walked through the school gates. They even camped outside our
house and took photos of me through the kitchen windows.
'I'm so sorry,' Mum said. 'I never meant this to happen. Just remember, it'll all be worthwhile when we get you a proper birth certificate.'
I knew she meant well, but all the press attention just made the bullying worse.
Finally, in December 1998, three years after I'd first appeared in the papers, we got a letter.
The officials had backed down. I could have my new birth certificate. Our victory sparked off even more headlines. I'M A GIRL AT LAST, screamed the headlines, and THE DAY MY DAUGHTER OFFICIALLY BECAME A LITTLE GIRL.
A month later, I was christened, and we held a big party afterwards. That should have been it. End of story, with me free to live the rest of my life in peace. I'd started taking hormone
tablets so my body would develop normally. I should have been left to grow into a young woman. But other people just wouldn't let that happen for me.
'Tranny!' the bullies would shout. 'Freak!' taunted others.
But while kids my own age treated me like some horrendous freak, there was one person who was there for me, no matter what. My nanna, Jean Ives. At 69 years old, she wasn't the most likely person for me to spend my spare time with. But she didn't ask stupid questions, or make me feel like I was different. When I was at her house, I was
just allowed to be me. One afternoon, when I went round there after school and poured my heart out about the bullying, she gave me a big cuddle.
'Lot of nonsense,' she said warmly. 'Just ignore them and be you. They'll get fed up soon.'
But even though she and Mum tried their hardest to help me, by the time I was 12, I just couldn't take it. Mum took me out of school and arranged a home tutor for me.
I was so much happier, until…
'Nanna's had a heart attack,' Mum told me one morning. 'She's at The Pilgrim Hospital in Boston.'
I broke down in tears and thought I'd never stop. Nanna was my best friend. If it wasn't for her, I don't know how I'd have got through the past 12 years. She was allowed home from hospital and we moved next door to her to look after her. But her health deteriorated quickly, and by the time I turned 16, I'd stopped seeing my home tutor and focused on looking after Nanna. After all her help, I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
But then, just three months after my 18th birthday, Nan died of lung cancer. For a whole year, I just moped round the house. Finally, Mum had had enough.
'Come on, love,' she said, putting her arm around me. 'Nanna wouldn't want you to be like this. She'd want you to be making the most of life.'
As I sat there, tears streaming down my face, I realised something.
'You're right,' I gulped.
But how?
'We could get you a puppy,' Mum suggested. 'It'll be company, and walking it will get you outdoors.'
A puppy!
'I suppose it won't hurt,' I said.
So in November 2006, I got Alan, a Jack Russell, from a local breeder. I fell in love with him instantly. Within days, we got into a routine of him snuggling up next to me on the settee watching telly, or chasing me round the garden. I even started taking him out for walks. And while I concentrated on what he was doing, I didn't have time to worry about who was staring at me, or what others were thinking. With Alan around, my confidence grew, and in February this year, I moved out of Mum's and got my own place in Spalding.
Now, it's just me and Alan, and I'm loving it. I've even got a job doing telesales for a double-glazing firm and I'd like to join the police. I still don't have a huge circle
of friends, and I don't think I'll ever be completely comfortable in my own skin, but it's a start.And although I'll never be able to conceive naturally, I'd love to meet Mr Right one day, and I'd definitely consider adopting. I still don't understand why the bullies made my life hell. But do you know what? Thanks to Nanna Jean and my mum, it's made me the strong woman I am today. And unlike my gender issues, that's simple.