Chapter 17 - Brain Damage

This is the part where the details get really messed up. My brain was badly damaged from hours of having a low heart rate, serious blood loss, and blunt trauma injuries to my spinal cord and brain which the bullets had caused. I remember vaguely years of being weak and nearly unable to move properly. I wasn't speaking clearly or eating well until years after what had happened, and I remember few eventful things happening. I didn't see Monica, my birth mother, or Jerry, her partner, for many years after the events I detailed. I did see my parents, perhaps I lived with them, and I did see many other people who came to visit me and give me their encouragement that I would overcome these injuries. I was in my later teens, but I still looked like a small child, because of the sex organs I had grafted to my body after my own had been lost.

When I turned eighteen, I was living in Europe. By this time I had had a few more children, both maternally and paternally (as a mother and as a father). Because of my stunted growth, I there were few lines of work I could assume in order to provide for my children. This was the expectation, that I would provide for them, as my eighteenth birthday loomed. I wanted to work in a store or restaurant, pull my own weight with a little money on the side in order to provide for my children. I tried to work at several different places, but nowhere seemed to be able to accommodate my stunted growth. I was simply too small to be useful it seemed.

Finally, on a walk through the red light district in Amsterdam, I submitted to the inevitable. A woman came up to me asking if I was eighteen, I told her I was, and she asked me if she could solicit me. She said she had never seen someone so small before at my age, and hoped I would be gentle. The sweetness of her voice and her beautiful composure overwhelmed me. I agreed, which is legal in the Netherlands, and went back with her to her apartment where I proceeded to carry out my expectations. There was little to be said for my new profession except for one thing I was sure of: It provided for my children. I held on to this, every day, and it kept me strong even though it was difficult to hold on.

Many people solicited me. I was making far more than living wage, I had my own apartment, window in the red light district, and everything I needed to work. I paid people to do my makeup, my hair, and sometimes even for sex, when I felt I couldn't get what I needed from the women and men who were soliciting me. It wasn't until later on that I began to question my choice of career, as did others, and began to look for other options. There were few, but my father had citizenship in the Soviet Union which I also claimed. Here, the communists were looking for warm bodies in the military and federal police where I felt I might find my place. The people who came to me became less of strangers as I started seeing the same people over and over again, and many of them encouraged me to seek a better life in communist Russia. I did.

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