Klinefelter’s syndrome & 47XXY

Talking about statistics, this is not as boring as you might think.

Wow I am amazed, nobody from New Zealand reads my blog, not one single person. Germany is always about 4th on my list of ‘reader nations’ and the USA is usually on top. But yesterday Canada outstripped the USA by a huge amount, more than double!

According to my statistics of this blog, Klinefelter’s syndrome and XXY are the most read, most searched for, most popular, topics I write about. That’s amazing too, I didn’t know they were that popular with anyone. I’m a bit slow I’ve only just figured out how to read my statistics, well YOUR statistics readers. I have a lot of repeat readers, the same people come back on a regular basis.

Recently I purchased Video hosting on WordPress, and it’s quite expensive for the space I get, so I’ll have to be pretty selective on what videos I house here. I’ve discovered that Facebook has almost no impact on my statistics and neither does Twitter, so I’ve disabled my links to those sites, but another one I just started on, that I’m not sure about how to use a I’ve linked to. I can’t remember it’s name right now, no matter.

When I was 10 I had no development at all. This is pre puberty. In theory. My mum had just washed my hair in the bath and I headed off to the lounge to dry off in front of the open fire. Nothing unusual so far. I was standing like you would be in a star jump, with the towel stretched out behind my back and between the fullest extent of my arms, held with my thumb and index finger, in each hand. This is pretty typical in our house as a means to dry off after a bath, for the children. I needed to stretch my shoulder blades and as I did my head naturally lowered and I was looking straight down.

“OH MY GOD” I said audibly, in slow motion, “WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?” (silly question really, I’d had it all my life) just as audibly. I am not joking, I am not boasting, it was at least half a ruler long, and rock solid. There’s a reason why guys call it a “woody!” Half a ruler is SIX INCHES! It wasn’t as fat as it became at 12, but it was at least 6 inches long, and I didn’t even know what it was called. “It” seems to be the appropriate word.

I immediately dropped my hands to my front, with the towel tightly drawn across my backside, no higher than my hips. I needed all the towel in front as I could get. I pushed “it” down with both hands, and if “it” had a muscle I’d just pulled it. Damn that hurt! “It” did not want to go down, “It” did not want to be pointed down, “It” was adamant, “It” was staying UP. In that situation, if you were me, I’m sure you’d let out a bit of a squeal, I did. My mum said sounding inquisitively concerned, “Graeme are you alright?” “Yes mum I’m fine” I said as I headed off quickly for MY bedroom (being possessive, at these times this is MY bedroom.)

The next time my mum washed my hair, even though I had absolutely no development at all, that was visible, normally, I said, “Mum, I can wash my hair myself.” This thing was out of control, “it” didn’t have any manners. There was no warning, no touching, no thinking, this thing can go off at any moment. It was a time bomb, that set it’s own clock! My mum said “Oh oh, ok, just this last time I’ll wash it, just to make sure it’s clean.” Well as a 10 year old that kind of made sense. Now it doesn’t make any sense, the same issues still existed, whether my hair was clean or not. Never mind as a 10 year old I was a bit naive, of course. I said “well don’t look” 😀 And my mum said “Oh no, I won’t look.” Liar, I bet she did, and she would have seen no development, nothing!

This isn’t supposed to happen with XXY guys I’m told. I read other XXY guys writings and they don’t seem to have any recollection of a normal puberty. Most of the guys I read claim they had delayed or late puberty, or they don’t mention puberty at all. I can’t understand that. Some people claim the development I have now is the result of the testosterone I’ve taken since being diagnosed, and it’s just plain nonsense. I’ve looked like I do now since I was 12 in my penis anyway. There is nothing ‘inter’ about my sex, and there never has been.

The Mission

On with the mission. – (This is from 1971 – Granddad had been dead for a few months) – The only thing that had ever come out of my penis before then was pee. In Science I was learning that if the conditions of a liquid changed then the liquid can become a gas, or a solid. Well what about something between solid and liquid? What about Sticky? So as heat was involved in my first discovery, and as heat was involved in my second discovery, heat must be the catalyst. That seemed logical to me. If I heat my pee up it will turn into this sticky stuff. That was the Theory.

Proving it is going to be difficult. Just being in the house on my own was a mission all of itself. For some reason nobody trusted me. Well maybe that’s stretching the truth just a little? There were some excellent reasons why nobody trusted me.

  • Like; arriving at school with a coloured piece of paper, that happened to be a large value bank note!
  • Like; losing my underpants at school and not knowing where I put them. I still don’t know where they went, must have fallen off! I had my shorts though, what was the big concern? Maybe I forgot to put them on before I left for school?
  • Like; being found with a leg of lamb under my arm, in bed. I guess I got up for a midnight snack? I just nodded off before I took it back to the fridge.
  • Like; growing several apples trees outside my bedroom window, from the apples I’d half eaten. I was good at gardening even back then, before I knew anything about Horticulture.
  • Like; climbing in through my parents bedroom window, directly under live power lines. I was at least 2 feet away, what harm could I come to?
  • 149 wainuiomata rd

    There was to be a school trip to Picton, and for once my mother wasn’t going, she had something else on, so I took advantage of it. Before then, watch this:

    Exactly the same thing happened to me, except I didn’t have any “Sex Ed.” I had to work it out for myself, and not very well. I saw a Maori woman on TV, no idea about what the programme was about, and I dreamed about her, and it was weird. I dreamed about other people too, and they weren’t in that TV programme. I woke up – and the dream really should have gone on, where the dreamed ended wasn’t the exciting bit. I thought I’d wet myself again. This was getting a bit much, this isn’t on, this is not fair, at all, I’m being cheated out of my dreams, and something’s making me wet myself, but not with pee!

    You can see how my attention is being grabbed. I had to find out what this was, and it could have all been settled if my dad had VOLUNTEERED the answer. He KNEW what was happening, he must have, and he said NOTHING.


    First on the left is Murray, in 1971, this is the school trip to Picton, I’m not in this photograph, we weren’t even in the same class anymore. That’s how long I had to wait to execute my plan, about a year, and for all that time I’d not gained any new information, even after what was supposed to be “Sex Education.

    So I got back from the trip to Picton and nobody was home, as I expected. Again I climbed through that open window under the power lines. It worked the first time, no reason it won’t work a second. I got out one of my mothers cooking pots, peed in it, and set it on the stove to heat it up. I hadn’t considered the smell, so I opened a few windows. I had that pee boiling for at least 5 minutes and it didn’t change one little bit! What had I forgotten? This was a complete disaster. A total failure.

    I turned the stove off and tipped the pee down the sink. I got a Tea Towel and wiped the inside of the pot, I didn’t think it needed washing as it didn’t look dirty. Hung the Tea Towel up, put the pot away, closed the windows, and left, through the window. I had to get back to Parkway Intermediate to be picked up to be taken back to where I was, I was supposed to wait at Parkway after we got back from Picton – but I detoured.

    Talking about Education

    My faulty start to academic education at Fernlea School was not helpful. I had one teacher there in 1969 for the last half of that year who inspired me to study. Who gave me the confidence that I can learn. That being able to read aloud in class was not the pinnacle of education as I’d been led to believe. That I can stutter my way though any book and still retain the relevant information and impart it. I was not stupid.

    Yes it takes more effort, yes I’m more likely to get it wrong, yes there’s nothing stopping me from going back and having another go. Having a messy test paper is sign I’m thinking about what I’ve said, and rethought it. It’s not the crossed out answers I get marked on, but the visible answers.

    Rhoda ‘Blossom’ Forde. I know her name has an ‘e’ on the end as there was a big discussion in our class about whether Ford Motors was named after a real person, or if it was a trade name? The consensus of the class was that “Ford” was a trade name and the correct spelling was “Forde.” If I recall correctly it was Mrs Forde herself who gave us this tid bit of information. Oh well, nobody can be right all the time! 🙂

    I had to call her ‘Blossom’ outside school and ‘Mrs Forde’ inside school. Yes there were plenty of mistakes by me both inside and outside school. If only she just had 1 name like most people! When I thought she made a mistake inside school sometimes I’d shout out her nick name, “Blossom that’s not right!” then wish I could find a rock to hide under. The same sensation when you call your teacher “mum” or “dad” by accident. I couldn’t understand why we had contact after school, we never did any school work, we just spent time together, like she was an adopted grandmother. Maybe she wasn’t giving me a break, but giving my mother a break?

    I think there was a conspiracy. I’d shown signs of greater potential, especially when I was made to read aloud to the Principal, (who just happened to be Blossom’s husband), that I had no problems reading. It was just easy there, but not easy in class. It was my CHOICE by the way, yes I deliberately chose to be nervous and anxious in class, and serene in that office. Not bad for an 9, 10, & 11 year old the years I spent proving I can read. The choices I made that I never knew about were just amazing.

    My sister was advanced a year. She is one year older than me and two classes ahead of me. When I was 9 and a bit, I was put in her class, and she did not approve. It made no difference though, I had nothing to do with her in class, I was placed right in front of the teacher’s desk and given specific work to do for my year. The only time I saw my class mates was at Play and Lunch times, and I was allowed to do nothing but learn. A stroke of genius really, nobody ever disturbed me. It’d be pretty risky being right in front of the teachers desk, who would take the challenge? Nobody, was the answer.

    When it first happened I was elated. I side stepped everybody and went straight to the top! When reality set in it wasn’t quite so exciting. There were aspects of that class though where it was impossible to exclude me, like general discussion, I was expected to take part, and relished it. That teacher’s name was Mr Brough, he had a brother, his name a was Mr Brough too, oh yes you can see my genius shining through! 😀 Mr Brough had a brother who was his twin, and they were both teachers, and when I went to Parkway Intermediate, guess who my first teacher was, Mr Brough #2.

    I’d still drift off into my imagination though, and Mr Brough would almost whisper to me, ‘C’mon Graeme concentrate, c’mon, c’mon, you can do it’ he was a great teacher. I liked Mr Brough. He was music teacher like his brother. Are identical twins always so identical?

    Problems came back in my the first half of my last year at Fernlea School, 1969. That year Mr Brough went to Wainuiomata College, as did my sister. I was lost. I enjoyed one part of one year with every expectation that it would continue, but it did not. There wasn’t any specific teacher for that year, there was just lots of fill ins, it was all such a disaster. We even had Mr Forde from time to time, filing in. When you’re sat in front of a guy who’s beaten the crap out of you so many times, it’s a bit difficult trusting him, or knowing if I can answer. He always made me nervous, but when I read, I forgot him. The benefits of having a poor short term memory I guess?

    Now tell me there was no conspiracy. Mr Brough #2 assigned me a seat in the class, guess where? Everybody else got to choose where they sat, but I was assigned a seat, right at the front, and right in front of him, glaring at me! This was in 1970. In the booklet “Understanding Klinefelter’s syndrome: a guide for XXY males and their families” you can read a section on how to teach XXY boys with Learning Difficulties, and much of what I’ve described here is what it says, and that booklet was published in 1993.

    In my report from 1970, by Mr Brough #2, he mentions how I can be “very dreamy.” Are not all boys in puberty? Yes puberty had started, the year before, when I was 11. That is not a late or delayed puberty, that is perfectly on time.

    I suppose Mr Forde represented the old style of education, and Mrs Forde and the Brough brothers the new. The new worked. No need to say any more really.

    5-10-1968 - Mr Heron

    Mr Heron was a ‘fill in’ for this photograph, to make it look like we had an official teacher assigned for this class, but he was never our teacher that year.

    6-s4-1969 Mrs Forde

    Mrs Rhoda ‘Blossom’ Forde is standing behind me.

    1968 Mr Brough #1

    This is Mr Brough #1 and since he’s an identical twin you know what his brother looked like in 1968 when this photograph was taken. His first name is Murray.

    1970 - report

    My report from 1970 by Mr Lindsey Brough.