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I never liked sharing, and two bodies becoming one flesh required sharing living quarters, family, friends, and even skin. In our case, we not only became one flesh, but also one name. I became Terri Hutchison, spouse of Terry Hutchison.

Marrying Terry and being absorbed into Terries Hutchison frightened me. To belay my loss-of-identity phobia, I resolved to be Terri number one.

"This is my wife, Terri," he'd say.

Ignoring chuckles about two Terries, I'd stake my identity claim. "I'm Terri number one."

Thus recognized, we moved into a new house—not his or mine, but ours. I established utilities in my name.

"Yes," I'd say. "That's T-E-R-R-I Hutchison."

Family struggled a bit. "Should I call you Terry Michael?" they'd ask him.

I called him "T." I wasn't about to give up my name.

I hated talking on the phone, so when strangers asked for Terri(y) Hutchison, I'd pass him the phone, say,"It's for you, honey," and scoot out the door.

Eventually, Terry's mom came to live with us because of her dementia. The Terri and Terry thing suddenly baffled her. She remembered my name but forgot her son's.

"This is my daughter-in-law, Terri, and my son, eh."

"Same name as mine, Pat," I nudged.

She smiled. "You have the same name?"

We had a problem at the pharmacy too. Once, they spelled my name with a y on an estrogen prescription. Thinking it a typo, I disregarded it. The following week when Terry went into work, an insurance adjuster greeted him.

"Uh," he said, yanking at his tie. "If you're taking hormones for some kind of gender reassignment surgery, we don't cover the procedure or the medications. If there's a medical rather than elective reason for the estrogen prescription, state your case."

Terry relayed the conversation to me later that night. I pictured the staff curled around his doorjamb, eager to learn whether Terry with a y would soon be Terri with an i.

Terry set up a meeting with a client one day, giving the man our home number just in case. Just after he left for the luncheon, the phone rang.

"This is Terri," I said.

"Uh," the voice stammered.

"May I help you" I asked.

"Terry Hutchison?"

"Yes, it is," I said.

"Are you sure?"

I didn't jump to check my id, but I did scan my husband's scribbled note.

"Is this Mark?" I asked.

"Yes."

"My husband, Terry, is on his way to meet you."

Silence.

"We're both Terries."

Reassured he hadn't lost his mind, Mark confessed to misplacing his directions; I stifled a grumble about sharing identities and helped him out.

We discovered later that my husband's identity had disappeared. We took on some payments for a car. The business manager at the dealership wrote the contract in my name.

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