Chapter 9: When your body is not your own

When your body is not your own, you want to change it.

Theo sat at the nursing station, filling out paperwork. A woman had just come in with her daughter in dire need of birth control. Theo was filling out the prescription, knowing Dr. Wilson would sign it if he did all the heavy work. The pair sat in the corner of the lobby, waiting to see Dr. Wilson for confirmation. The rest of the lobby was empty. It had been a quiet day, especially without Tomas, who had called in sick earlier.

            A teenager walked into the lobby. Head tilted down, all Theo could see was the teen’s dark brown hair covering their eyes, an olive nose, and pale pursed lips. The teen’s oversized hoodie obscured any common indicators Theo would use to greet someone. He settled with, “Hello, what can I help you with?”

            The teen looked at Theo with apprehension. They cleared their throat before answered in a low, raspy voice, “I’m here for my appointment with Dr. Wilson.”

            Theo smiled politely and rolled his chair over to his computer. Opening a program and typing, he asked, “Alright, what is your name?”

            “Milan Bellomi,” The teen said, dark eyes shifting around uneasily.

            Theo searched for the name. “I have a partial match, Melanie Bellomi, who has an appointment with Dr. Wilson in twenty minutes.”

            “That’s me,” Milan said with a sigh. “It’s my legal name.”

            Theo stood up. “Please, wait here. I’ll see if Dr. Wilson can see you sooner.”

            Milan smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

            Theo walked down the hall to Dr. Wilson’s office and knocked before entering. Dr. Wilson sat at her desk, writing something. “Doctor,” Theo said. “Your next patient is here.”

            “Bellomi?” She asked, not looking up from her papers.

            “Yes.”

            “Okay,” She responded, glancing up to make eye contact. “He is here for his first round of hormone replacement therapy. Can you take his weight for me, so we can calculate the proper dose?”

            Theo dipped his head. “Sure, doctor,” Theo said. “I’ll have him in Room 1.”

            Theo left, closing the door behind him, and went back to the lobby. “Bellomi,” Theo said, spotting the teen sitting far away from the mother and daughter. “Please come with me.”

            Milan stood up and followed Theo to the one of the rooms in the back. The room was small with a desk and counter taking up most of the space. Opposite of the counter was an examination table. Theo shut the door before saying, “I need you to step on the scale, without shoes please, so I can measure your weight.”

            Milan stood by the door. “Why?”

            “So, we can give you the proper dosage,” Theo answered. “Dr. Wilson is busy at the moment, but I can at least do this before she gets here.”

            Milan shuffled over to the scale. “Okay,” He said, kicking off his tennis shoes and ruffling his hair.

            He stepped on the large mechanical scale and Theo adjusted the scales to find the right weight. “51 kilograms,” Theo said, writing it down in Milan’s medical record. “Alright, you can have a seat on the examination table. I’ll go see if Dr. Wilson is ready for you.”

            Theo stepped out of the room and walked down the hall, back to Dr. Wilson’s office. When he reached it, Dr. Wilson opened the door. “Let’s go see the patient,” She said, moving around Theo to Room 1.

            Dr. Wilson opened the door and greeted Milan. “Hello, Mr. Bellomi, I am Dr. Wilson,” She said, smiling. “You’ll be seeing me a lot from now on, especially if you decide to pursue this option.”

            Milan crossed his arms. “You can’t talk me out of this,” He said stubbornly. “My parents couldn’t, and neither can you.”

            Dr. Wilson’s smile faded slightly as she walked to the desk and sat down. Turning the swivel chair to face Milan, she placed her hands together carefully. “I don’t want to talk you out of this,” Dr. Wilson replied patiently. “I want to inform you of the risks of hormone replacement therapy.”

            Milan didn’t respond, and Dr. Wilson took it as a cue to start. “Well, most risks develop slowly over time, like an increased risk for strokes and heart disease, but immediate problems would include migraines and epileptic episodes triggered by androgen. The biggest issues that could arise are coronary artery disease, liver disease, and most extreme cases are cardiac failure and cancer.” Dr. Wilson paused before continuing, “Are you sure you don’t want to be better informed?”

            Milan seemed stunned. “I didn’t think it would be so dangerous.”

            “For most people, it isn’t,” Dr. Wilson responded. “Which is why I suggest 100mL cypionate each week to prevent androgen spikes and severe negative results.”

            “What is cypionate?” Milan asked.

            “It is an injection, a shot, which will gradually release testosterone into the bloodstream. It is one of a few options, but it is the safest, cheapest method. Most often, cypionate is injected 200mL twice a month, but due to your weight, I would suggest having 100mL each week, so you get the same amount, but with a lowered risk of an early spike and a tapering out- basically having the amount of testosterone in your bloodstream be constant, the same amount all the time.”

            Milan leaned forward. “Okay, how soon can I get it?

            “Well, we should discuss your personal risks and what to expect from HRT,” Dr. Wilson suggested.

            Milan nodded. “Do you have any family history of high cholesterol? Polycystic ovary syndrome? Breast cancer or any other cancer? Any cardiovascular diseases?”

            Milan looked at the ceiling as he answered, “No, I don’t know what that is, no, and no.”

            “The one you don’t know is a painful, generally nonfatal disease where hollow tumor-like cysts form on one’s ovaries. This affects the menstrual cycle and fertility. This disease can develop in people with ovaries who have high levels of androgen, which is what HRT does, for female to male transitions. Androgens have not been determined to be the cause of PCOS, but there is a correlation. The worst outcome if you do develop this disease is irreversible infertility.”

            “Something I am not interested in,” Milan responded.

            Dr. Wilson shrugged. “If you aren’t concerned about that, we can talk about what to expect. Within five months of treatment, you should stop menstruating. Your voice will lower, and you should have an increase in body hair; those things cannot be changed if you stop the treatment. If your bones haven’t fused, by which I mean you haven’t finished puberty and are still growing, you could experience some bone growth; your ribcage may expand, shoulders may broaden, hands and feet may get bigger. Muscle growth is expected, especially in your torso; fat deposits will shift from your hips and butt to your stomach region. Your breasts will atrophy somewhat. Muscle growth and fat redistribution is a gradual reversible change if you decide to stop taking testosterone; the same for menstruation and ovulation.”

            Milan was sweating. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. Theo’s forehead wrinkled as he thought how this must be a lot to process. “Oh-okay,” He said, inhaling. “I think I can handle that.”

            “Other minor things are an increase in sweat production, change in body odor, and an increase in acne. These results are also reversible.”

            Dr. Wilson paused to check Milan’s medical record. “Have you had any real-life experience as a man?”

            Milan was confused and upset, his posture drooping. “What?”

            “For psychological preparedness for a change in sex, most professionals suggest that you live your life as a male for a significant amount of time before beginning HRT.”

            Milan nodded, understanding, though his body language didn’t change. “Oh, I have been out as a man for months now,” Milan responded. “People use he/him pronoun. I use the men’s bathroom and purchase men’s clothing in ‘men only’ stores. Nobody, or at least very few people, question my masculinity.”

            “Good,” Dr. Wilson said. “I believe that should do. Do you have any questions before we begin treatment? Please be aware that we can stop treatment at any time, if complications occur.”

            Dr. Wilson stood up. Milan visibly swallowed. “No, I don’t think I have any questions. Are you going to get the, uh, cypionate now?”

            Dr. Wilson set the medical file down on the counter. “Yes, I’ll go prepare a syringe, while Theo disinfects.”

            With a reassuring smile, Dr. Wilson exited the room. Theo walked to the counter and opened a drawer, taking out a set of latex gloves. Theo grabbed a disinfectant wipe packet and turned toward the patient. “I’m surprised people treat you so nicely,” Theo commented lightly. “All I hear on TV talks are people committing hate crimes and harassing transgender people.”

            Milan shrugged and smiled abashedly. Rubbing the back of his neck, he answered, “I guess I’m lucky I found a really great community before I came out,” He stared off into space, his eyes widening, “But life hasn’t been all roses.”

            Theo patted him on the shoulder, trying to buck him up. “Of course not,” Theo said somber before changing subjects. “Tell me about the community you found.”

            Milan took off his hoodie and rolled up his sleeve. Theo disinfected his upper arm and shoulder muscle. “Well, I found a theater group. They are on a queer mission. They act out famous plays and have genderqueer characters in them, like famous plays with genderqueer people written in them. Although, they do take some creative license.”

            Theo’s smile grew as Milan talked. “So, what do you do in the troupe? Do you act?”

            Milan blushed. “No, I’ve been helping them make sets for their plays. They have one coming out soon.”

            Theo threw away the disinfectant wipe. “That sounds great. I think I’ll go see it, maybe bring some friends. What play is it?”

            Milan perked up. “It’s the Twelfth Night by Shakespeare.”

            Theo noticed his posture improve and felt glad that he seemed excited. He drew out their discussion, “What’s it about?”

            “A woman who disguises herself as a man in a foreign, enemy land. She hides with a duke who is courting another noble woman and the noble woman falls in love with the main character instead. And there’s a twin! It’s really good.”

            Theo nodded before asking, “When is it?”

            “Opening night is Wednesday, a matinee at two.”

            Theo suddenly held up a hand; Milan flinched slightly. “Tell me it’s not a musical,” Theo said, still smiling.

            “No, no,” Milan assured.

            “Good,” Theo replied. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go. It sounds like fun.”

            Dr. Wilson stepped back into the room, syringe in hand. “Which shoulder?”

            “The right one, doctor,” Theo answered.

            Dr. Wilson faced Milan. “Alright Milan, are you ready? You can hold Theo’s hand if you’re scared.”

            Milan looked conflicted but took Theo’s hand when he offered it. “I’m ready,” Milan said, looking Dr. Wilson in the eye.

            Dr. Wilson lined up the needle. Milan tightened his grip as Dr. Wilson depressed the syringe. She quickly pulled it out and placed a bit of gauze on the spot. Theo replaced her hold on the gauze, so she could dispose of the empty syringe. “Done,” Dr. Wilson said. “Now, if you experience migraines that is to be expected with androgen spikes, but they are short-lived. If you think you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call and ask. We need a good dialogue to get through this initial change without issues, okay?”

            “Okay,” Milan said, nodding and letting go of Theo’s hand.

            Dr. Wilson tapped Theo’s shoulder. He stepped aside so Dr. Wilson could put a bandage on the needle wound. Milan slid off the examination table. “I’ll see you guys next week, right? Same time, same place kind of deal?”

            “Yes,” Dr. Wilson answered. “Theo can set up your appointments for the next several months at around this time.”

            Theo nodded. “Great.” Milan said relieved.

            “Theo will see you out then,” Dr. Wilson said, before leaving.

            Theo opened the door and Milan stepped out. They walked down the hall and through the lobby in silence, splitting up to go to the door and Theo to his post. Milan stopped at the door and turned around. “Thank you,” He said quietly, before disappearing out the door.

+++++

            “Are you sure about this?” Kris asked. “If we go in there and tell him you’re Leslie, he’s not going to believe us.”

            Q looked down at the sidewalk leading up to a house. It was neat and small; it was hardly two stories with a porch the size of a closet. “But he could be my husband.”

            Kris turned to Q and grabbed a hand lightly. “Or he could be a man you know,” Kris replied thoughtfully. “You know Leslie, but you don’t know if you are Leslie.”

            Q faced her sharply and snatched back her hand. “Oh, I don’t?” Q snapped. “Thanks for telling me how I think.”

            Q glared at Kris and crossed her arms. Kris smirked at how cute she looked angry and quickly put a hand to her mouth to cover it up. Q didn’t notice. Kris eventually moved her hand to point at Q. “How about,” Kris started. “We go in there as concerned guests who spotted Leslie some time ago. Then try to ask him about her, maybe mention the missing person’s report.”

            Q thought about it, her arms dropping. “Fine.”

            They walked up to the door and Q knocked on it. After a minute, a middle-aged man opened the door. His looked like he hadn’t slept well in weeks, with dark bags under his eyes and an unkempt grey beard. Kris glanced at Q who blinked slowly, unmoved by the man. Kris looked at him and said, “Hello, sir, um, Mr. Faydes. We’re here to talk to you about your wife.”

            The man focused on Kris, his brows furrowing with confusion. “Why?” He asked suspicious of them.

            “We went to the police the other day,” Kris responded slowly. “And it turns out that we had spotted your wife, two weeks ago, on Orange Da-”

            “You saw my wife?” He interrupted, suddenly leaning and clinging to the door frame. “Where?”

            “It doesn’t matter where, sir,” Kris answered, tilting back away from him. “She must be gone by now.”

            “I don’t care,” He replied, an uncomfortable glint in his eye. “Where did you see her?”

            Kris was silent for a while before Q spoke up, “Can we tell you after asking you a few questions? I promise it won’t take long.”

            Mr. Faydes slumped and turned to walk into the house. “Sure, why not?” He muttered. “If it gives me even a scrap of info on my Leslie.”

            He opened the door wider to let the women in to the foyer. He shut the door behind them, then led them to his living room. Everything seemed to be older than him; a worn, wooden cabinet by the door, a ratty rug that ran through the entire hall leading up to the living room, even the tiny leather loveseat. “Please sit,” Mr. Faydes requested while sitting down in a matching recliner. “So, we can get this over with.”

            Kris and Q sat down on the loveseat. Kris leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. “When did your wife go missing?” Kris asked.

            “Nearly a month ago,” Mr. Faydes said.

            “Can you tell us where?”

            “Flare Mental Hospital,” He answered.

            Q grabbed Kris’s arm. Kris didn’t address this and continued, “Flare? That wasn’t mentioned on the missing person’s report.”

            “It wasn’t?” He said. “That’s peculiar. Maybe somebody is covering their a*s by not putting it in the report.”

            Mr. Faydes put his knuckles near his mouth and muttered, “Who loses somebody that has been institutionalized?”

            “Do you mind telling us why she was in Flare?” Kris asked, her voice becoming soft.

            He shook his head and answered. “It was a mutual decision on our part. She became depressed after our son died… We both agreed that Flare would treat her better than if she was in house. I’d try to visit her every day, after work and before dinner.”

            He shifted in his seat. “She was getting better,” He continued. “Moving on from the death. She was going to come home this week, but…”

            His sentence trailed off. Kris changed the topics, “Was she close to any of the other patients?”

            Mr. Faydes thought about it. “There was one, I think,” He said. “A teenage girl. I never saw her, but Leslie would mention her all the time. The best Leslie could say of her is that she had a lot of issues because of a rough childhood.”

            “Did she mention a name?”

            He shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t recall.”

            Kris went quiet; she had run out of questions. Glancing at Q, she didn’t seem to have anything to say either. At least they had a new lead, a teenage girl. “Well? Are we done here?” Mr. Faydes asked, a touch impatient. “Will you tell me where you saw my Leslie?”

            Kris looked at Q, who nodded. Kris answered, “We saw her on Stark Street, a block away from Kennedy’s. You know the place?”

            Mr. Faydes paused before saying, “We maybe had dinner there. Stark isn’t close to Flare though. How could she get there?”

            “It’s only a two-mile walk,” Kris responded after doing some mental math. “It only feels like it’s faraway when you’re driving because of traffic.”

            Mr. Faydes shrugged as he stood up. “I think it’s about time you leave,” He said as the women got up. “Because I need to go look for my Leslie.”

            “Sure, sir,” Kris said. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with us.”

            He held out his hand to shake and Kris reflexively clasped her hands together over her heart in response. Q immediately shook his hand instead. Mr. Faydes looked at both women, slightly confused, but let it go.

            He walked them to the door and he left right behind them, locking the door. Mr. Faydes went to his car as the pair walked down the street back to Kris’s apartment. He drove past them and they watched him go before Kris asked, “Do you still think you’re Leslie?”

            Q sighed. “No.”

+++++

            Alicia and Pagel were in their lab, continuing their radiation research. They were treating their new plant subjects with chemicals that were found in the orange clouds. Pagel hoped that the plants would survive the alpha radiation treatment when coated with these chemicals. “I don’t think this will work,” Alicia commented.

            “Lawrence,” Pagel growled before continuing normally, “Ran a test that confirms chemical fallout happened slightly before the radiation. It could explain why none of the plants died after Orange Day, while all our plant subjects did die.”

            “Do you think these chemicals prevent absorption?”

            Pagel didn’t answer. In hazmat suits, Pagel and Alicia sprayed a series of plants with the chemicals. While spraying, Pagel’s phone went off in the other room. “I’ll get that,” Pagel said, lumbering to the door. “You finish the test.”

            “Yes sir,” Alicia answered, continuing to spray.

            Without really letting it set and dry, Alicia moved to the particle converter and turned it on. The plant directly in front of the machine didn’t change, even after several minutes of exposure. Alicia turned off the machine and moved to the window connected to the other room. She called to Pagel, “Lawrence was right.”

            After several seconds of silence, Alicia decided that Pagel wasn’t in the other room. Alicia sighed and shuffled over to the panel near the door. She turned on the chemical vents to clear the room of the fumes left by chemicals. Alicia opened the door to the other room, and stepped in, quickly shutting the door behind her.

            She took off the hazmat suit and waited for Pagel to come back. He did, carrying a set of papers. “What are those?” Alicia asked.

            “Miss James’ venom visualized as a folded protein,” Pagel said. “I understand why the coroner mistook this as coral venom; it is only a few folds different. But the venom makes it counts. The few changes make sure that it can bond with every tissue, every cell in the body, not just the respiratory system.”

            “Her venom causes a body wide system failure,” Pagel continued. “Making an antivenin would be difficult, but extremely necessary. My honest suggestion would be to remove the venom glands.”

            “Can’t we synthesize an enzyme to neutralize it?”

            “That’s the point of antivenin.”

            “No, the more harmful active sites,” Alicia said. “Could we create enzymes, or proteins, that can interact with those bonds and prevent them from binding in cells?”

            Pagel thought about it. “We could try. From what I see of the structure, we could use a sulfur based amino acid, one or two charged ones, and a polar one at least.”

            “So, we can create a solution with those things, not even put them together as a protein, and…”

            “And they would bond with the venom. We will need more venom from Miss James to test this theory.”

            “We’ll also need a few lab mice to test the altered venom on.”

            “Right, I’ll fill out a request form,” Pagel said before pausing, “That reminds me, how did the test go?”

            Alicia smiled. “Lawrence was right.”

            “D****t.”

+++++

            “Hey Kris,” Q said, quietly stepping up to Kris, who was working on her laptop.

            Kris sat at the dining room table. Q was shifting awkwardly beside her. “Yeah, Q?” Kris said, briefly looking up. “What’s up?”

            Q rushed out her question, “Why don’t you have any pictures of men?”

            Kris was unaffected by this suddenly, anxiously expressed question. “I don’t know,” Kris said. “I don’t have many pictures in general. Would you like to find a picture?”

            Q let out a breath and smiled. “Yeah.”

            Kris shifted, getting out of her seat. “Okay, come here and look for one online. I’ll print it out. We’ll see if that works, if you want to transform into him.”

            “Okay,” Q said, sitting. “Thank you.”

            Q began her search as Kris responded, “Sure, it’s nothing. Sometimes I forget that you may not necessarily be a woman. It isn’t very considerate of me to make you stay a woman if you really don’t feel like it.”

            “Yeah,” Q said, distractedly. “I’m really not feeling it today.”

            After a few minutes, Q squeaked excitedly and placed her hand on the screen. What she transformed into was questionable at best in Kris’s opinion. A tall, lanky man with long black hair only on half his head, the other half shaved, and a multitude of piercings and tattoos. The man exuded a gothic vibe with peroxide-bleached skin and black clothing. Q smiled, stretching his pierced lip, and looked at Kris with red eyes. “What do you think?”

            Kris stared wide-eyed. “A little intense with the piercings and the tattoos.”

            Q’s smile didn’t diminish as he touched his two earrings, his gauges, and the piercing on his eyebrow. “But look at his hair,” Q said, flipping his long black hair.

            Kris smiled, reaching out to stroke it. “Yeah, it’s great.”

            Q took out the lip piercing and the eyebrow piercing. “I’m leaving in the earrings though.”

            “That’s fine,” Kris said.

            “And the tattoos, mainly because I don’t know how to get rid of them.”

            Kris nodded. “That’s fair.”

            Q stroked all his hair to one side, showing off the Greek letters tattooed on his neck. “When is Theo’s performance?”

            Kris checked her watch. “In an hour or two.”

            Q nodded. He smirked devilishly before commenting, “They’re going to be surprised to see me.”

            Kris snorted. “Especially since you look like a raver.”

            Q shrugged, not entirely sure what a raver is. “What should I go by?”

            “What was the guy’s name on the image?”

            Q checked. “It’s not in English,” He said. “Do you want me to translate it?”

            “Sure, or we could make something up.”

            Q typed and after a minute, “It means song.”

            Kris laughed. “That sounds very hippie,” She joked.

            Q suddenly stood up and loomed over Kris. “Do I look funny to you?” He asked with a growl in his voice.

            Kris’s mirth disappeared. “No, not at all,” Kris responded.

            Q lightened up, smiling. “Then I’ll go by Song,” He decided.

            “Okay,” Kris said, crossing her arms. “But you’re going to need to smile more, or people are going to s**t their pants around you.”

            Song smiled widely, revealing sharp white canid teeth. “Or maybe not,” Kris commented.

+++++

            “Thanks for coming, you guys,” Theo said to the team, standing outside a small theatre. “It means a lot to me.”

            Looking up at the simple, brick building with its sign promoting the play, Paul smiled. “No problem,” Paul responded, flipping his hand dismissively. “I always thought the team should hang out outside of practice.”

            Theo opened the door for them and they walked in. “So, how’d you hear about this, Theo?” Alicia asked.

            She looked around, taking in the wooden ticket stand, velvety red carpet, and the humble concessions. “I heard about it from a friend,” Theo answered. “He works-slash-volunteers here.”

            “What was the pun on this troupe again?” Kris asked. “Trans-forming culture? The trans-mission? The trans-genda? People in trans-ition?”

            “Ha ha,” Theo responded dryly. “Queer in trans-lation maybe? I don’t know. The name doesn’t matter. It’s the purpose and intent.”

            “Which is to promote transgender and other LGBTQIA+ culture,” Alicia supplied.

            They went to the ticket stand and purchased tickets. Q placed his hand on Kris’s arm. “Can we get some popcorn?” He pleaded with puppy eyes.

            Kris rolled her eyes, bemused. “Sure,” She said, handing Q some money. “Knock yourself out.”

            Q smiled and skipped to the concessions stand, talking amiably to the man behind the counter. The team chuckled at the man’s befuddled, slightly fearful expression. The rest of the group walked into the theatre as Q hurried to catch up with them.

            They picked a row near the front of the partially filled theatre. It wasn’t long before the curtains opened. A few men lounged about on the stage as a man sitting behind a piano played. Another man lying on a futon centerstage moaned, “If music be the food of love, play on…”