"Promise me ice cream," I said, making my chin quiver.

 
Butterscotch

25. Injection

by Erin Halfelven

What did I want?

I looked from Mom to the doctor then back at Mom. Neither was offering much in the way of clues as to what I should say.

"Uh—," I cleared my throat. "Are you saying I can start taking hormones today to—to become Kissy? Or stay David and become a man?"

The doctor nodded. "Or do nothing and let your body work slowly as it has been. Ultimately to have a male puberty, though it will probably be a less complete one than a little intervention could provide. You're getting a late start, and you would still be moving slowly," he said, almost as if apologizing. "It's possible to run out of time to make major changes in the body."

"Huh," I said. I looked at my hands with my painted nails, then down at my feet in my green and pink flip-flops, again with painted nails. And my bare legs, smooth and hairless, and, like the rest of me, lightly freckled.

None of those things had any place on anyone who wanted to be a man; well, maybe the freckles. Tank top, shorts, earrings and padded underwear all said the same thing: this person is a girl.

I turned to Mom. "If I choose to, can I be Kissy all the time?"

"If you want to, hon," said Mom. "Sure. Would that make you happy?"

"I guess so," I said. I shook my head. "That didn't come out right. See, I'm not unhappy being Davey, though it would be nice not to—to be sort of in the middle. Be one thing or another."

"That's an option I hadn't mentioned. To become what they sometimes call these days gender-fluid or non-binary."

"I don't think those are the same thing," Mom said.

"Perhaps not," agreed the doctor. "And there may be other choices we aren't seeing because we think of just male and female."

"Wait, no," I interrupted. "I think—I mean—I want to be who I am." I took a big breath. "And, I think I'm Kissy." I closed my eyes and waited for some reaction from them.

"You don't have to make a decision right now," Mom said.

I opened my eyes. "But Dr. Forbes said I could start—therapy right away." My voice was a bit higher than I intended. Don't start whining, I told myself.

The doctor looked at me and smiled. "I'm prepared to make what I call a diagnostic prescription."

"Meaning?" Mom asked.

Doctor Forbes looked at me. "If you like, and if your mother agrees, I can start you on female hormones—just enough that you will begin to see some sort of results in a week or three. Hmm?"

"Uh—?"

"This is my experience; if you are truly sure of your decision, that you are Kissy and not David," he waved a hand, "then even minor results will make you more sure. And if that doesn't happen, then you're probably not ready or may even end up deciding the other way."

I looked at Mom. She sighed. "It's really up to you, hon," she said. "But for what it is worth, coming from me, I think there's more of Kissy in you than David. And even though you started down this path only yesterday, I think you've always been Kissy."

Then why is this almost painfully embarrassing, I wondered?

Mom went on, "I just don't want you to rush things if it isn't necessary."

"It isn't a final decision," the doctor pointed out. "Even after a month or two of therapy, effects will still be reversible at the doses I'm proposing."

Mom nodded, looking at me.

"What—what effects can I expect?"

"The principal effect you're going to see—or feel—in that period of time is not going to be physical. Perhaps some minor breast growth, very minor. The big thing will be emotional."

"I—what?"

"You'll experience the quick flow of emotions that young women go through during puberty. This is why I call this a diagnostic prescription. If you're not ready to feel like a girl, a woman, you're going to hate it."

Mom frowned, and I blinked. For my part, I thought about the roller coaster of emotion I'd been through in the last thirty hours or so. Would it be worse than that?

Mom had a different thought. "I remember that," she said, "and I did hate it. How is that going to be diagnostic?"

If the doctor were an anime character, he would have steepled his hands. Instead, he just put one elbow on his desk and gestured. "I've done this perhaps two dozen times. The girls who are determined to press on, to become the women they want to be, welcome the changes. Even the uncomfortable, unpleasant changes. Some girls," he smiled, "can even get euphoric over feeling bloated."

"Bloated?" Mom looked doubtful. "But Kissy isn't going to have a period."

"We simulate the female hormone cycle, mildly, but enough to produce some of the same symptoms women from birth experience."

"Oh, lord," said Mom. "Kissy, run!" she said, but I could tell she was kidding. She shook her head. "Doctor, I'm not sure whether you're a genius or a devil."

"Let's do this," I said. I felt a nagging anxiety that they were going to keep talking and finally close this opportunity off.

Mom reached out and took my hand, and we gripped each other tight.

But the doctor had conditions. "In order to do this, you have to agree to see a therapist, a counselor. I can give you referrals. Also, at first, we'll be doing weekly blood tests to avoid certain possibly serious complications."

"Like blood clots or liver damage," Mom put in.

"Exactly. But I believe in avoiding stressing the liver as much as possible, so hormone doses will be delivered by intramuscular injection, once a week. We can add oral anti-androgens if needed or desired." He went off into a technical discussion of options, and I stopped listening.

This was real. The doctor could provide me with medication that would produce the same sort of puberty natural girls experienced, as much as possible. And I wanted it. I wanted it so bad. Forty-eight hours ago, I might not have had a thought in my head about the possibility. But now….

Now, it turns out I've wanted this for a long time and just didn't know myself well enough to see it. Marjorie had opened my eyes to who I really was and who I wanted to be.

"I'm ready," I said when the doctor paused in his info dump.

He looked at me then at Mom. She nodded.

"I'll go prepare the first injection," he said, standing up.

"Injection?" I said. I had missed that.

Mom laughed. "She hates shots. If you get her to take one willingly once a week, that's pretty diagnostic right there."

The doctor looked at me.

"Is it going to hurt?" I asked.

He nodded. "It's intramuscular in order to have an effect spread out over days. So, yes, it will sting. It may even ache for a bit."

"He means hours," Mom supplied.

I glared at her.

"She's right," said the doctor. "Discomfort can last for hours but seldom as long as a day."

I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. Do it."

Mom smiled at me and squeezed my hand again. "Proud of you, baby," she said.

"If I start whimpering, promise me ice cream," I said, which was how she used to get me to take shots when I was little. We both giggled a bit.

The doctor told us to wait, handed Mom a list of counselor referrals, then left to prepare his torture instrument.

"Really, truly," I told Mom, "I do hate shots."

She patted my hand. "I know, honey. That's why I'm proud of you."

I nodded, hoping that the doctor would return and get this over with. "Thanks," I said. "I'm going to need a lot of help with this." I got up to pace around the room.

"I'll do what I can," Mom said.

"I expect to be a terribly spoiled Hollywood princess, y' know," I said, trying to sound like the part. "I mean, we live only a block off Hollywood, so it isn't an unreasonable expectation." I couldn't keep that up, but we got more giggles out of it, and it distracted me.

Suddenly, I had an image of the three Amazon shipping boxes we'd found on the doorstep that morning. They had to have come from Marjorie. And if there were three at nine a.m., how many were there at home waiting for me now? I pictured a stream of boxes arriving, filled with expensive gifts from my stalkery "girlfriend."

At first, I wanted to share this idea with Mom and harvest another round of giggles, but the more I thought about it, the less funny it seemed. I remembered the messages on my phone from her. Those would have to be looked at too.

I suddenly knew how Marjorie had gotten my number and how my phone knew hers. One of several times yesterday, when I had seen her thumbing a phone, it had been mine. We both had iPhones with white plastic cases, though hers was a later model.

I shook my head. "Sneaky," I said out loud.

"She is," Mom agreed.

I looked at her startled. "You've been reading my mind again!"

She waved a hand vaguely. "It wasn't hard, honey. Who else do we know who really would like to make a spoiled princess of you?"

She had a point, but I couldn't just leave that alone. I bit my lip and made my eyes wide, looking off in the direction I hoped was west, toward the Philippines. "Daddy?" I said in a little-girl voice.

We had another good laugh about that. "Harold is going to shit bricks when he finds out," she said, shaking her head. "He always claimed I had turned you into a sissy."

"Good job, Mom," I said. "But I think I helped with that. According to Rory…." I began, but just then, the doctor returned with Nurse Donovan carrying a tray with a syringe on it.

"Nurses give better shots," said the doctor.

"We certainly do, especially for 'fraidy-cat patients, hmm?" She grinned at me. "Sit down, honey. It's good you're wearing shorts because this works best given in the thigh."

I sat. "Sitting down? It goes in front?"

She did the ritual with making sure the syringe had no bubbles in it. "Uh, huh," she said. "Third largest muscle in the body, the quads, and even easier to find the right spot for an injection on than the glutes. Ms Parker, do you want to hold her down in case she tries to get away?" She put a hand on my bare thigh.

I glanced at Mom, who hadn't moved but was grinning at me. I started to say something, but Nurse Donovan had swabbed a spot with an alcohol pad and given the shot as soon as I looked away from her hands.

"Ow," I said. It did sting, and I felt an ache beginning, like a bruise. I wanted to rub it.

"Tsch," said the nurse without any sympathy at all. "Who needs a lollipop?"