After I arrived at Waterloo my London cabbie battled through the road closures caused by the civil servant's'day of action'to get me to my appointment with gender specialist Dr Richard Curtis. He seemed sufficiently confident with my progress to only ask me to come back in 6 months rather than 3.
Then into another taxi and off to St Pancras for a bite of lunch and then the 14.34 Eurostar to Brussels. On the way through security it was so easy to know that everything metalllic was in my handbag rather than all the pocket-emptying I had to indulge in previously. But then I forgot my relatively heavy silver bangle and set off the detector. Dooh! The French immigration official gave my male passport no more than a glance. On the train I found myself on a table with two apparently nice Japanese, who then managed to sustain a loudish conversation in Japanese all the way from London to Brussels. Given that I was trying to snooze, that was a little frustrating. The raw speed of Eurostar, particularly on the French side, always surprises me.
Soon I was changing trains at Brussels to a local train for Ghent. There are no gentlemen left in Belgium, it seems. It was 17.44 and the commute train was busy but no-one allowed a tired lady with several pieces of lugggage to sit down and I stood in the vestibuls for the 30 minute ride to Ghent. A taxi ride to the apartment in which I am staying, a walk around the local streets (cobbled - glad I brought mostly wedge shoes), dinner at a pleasant local restaurant and now to bed, looking forward to my visit to the hospital tomorrow for tests and final consultation.