I had gotten used to the suffocation of the sterile white walls in the private locked unit where I was admitted. There was no television, no reading material, not even laces for my shoes in the room. Just myself, my hospital bed, and the pink dressing gown they changed every day. Days ago I had asked for a blue one, but the nurse coldly insisted that, “girls have to wear pink gowns.”
I simply sat with my chin on my knees, as I had for – what, a week? Longer? Staring at the walls, with nothing but time to think. The first week in the neurology wing had been worse: my head in a brace, forced to lay flat in an unilluminated room. Staff had come and gone, taking blood samples and inserting IVs, and when they examined me it was rarely at the bruise on the back of my skull. Early on they inserted a catheter, and I reacted kicking and snarling. They effortlessly held me down and strapped me to the bed with nothing but the ceiling to stare at. I learned quickly to not resist whatever indignities they subjected me to.
The hardest part was regaining control of my body. My orientation was off – when the brace came off I would take too long of a stride, or couldn’t grasp objects in front of me. At times my arms and legs would spasm on their own, but gradually I was able to adjust and was able to move somewhat normally even if the world still felt too large for me to navigate. I had been under constant observation, first by intensive care nurses, and later by what I assumed was a psychologist who introduced herself as Dr. Walters.
No one addressed me by name.
I overheard enough from the staff to know why. Someone in authority wasn’t satisfied that my parents hadn’t concealed my gender. I wasn’t leaving the hospital’s custody until an investigation was concluded as to why the world thought I was male.
Once I was moving on my own power, I was transferred to the room I sat in currently, in what I assumed was a psychological observation unit. Mom had been able to visit me a couple of times, though never without the supervision of Dr. Walters and a resident, and always briefly. Mom was always on guard, constantly looking at Dr. Walters as if seeking approval. The rest of the time, between meals and hygiene visits from nurses, it was just myself and whoever was monitoring from behind the mirrored window in front of me. At least the nightmares had calmed down and I stopped waking up screaming.
I heard the door click open, and as usual I flinched with panic. There was almost always a group of doctors, talking amongst themselves as if I wasn’t there. They discussed chromosomes, blood work, or endocrine levels when they thought I wasn’t listening. This time, it wasn’t a team of phlebotomists or geneticists. It was Dr. Walters and a stern, older woman I didn’t recognize. I eyed them warily as Dr. Walters greeted me.
“Good morning, dear. How are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” I answered quickly, my eyes locked on her.
“Good. Good. This is Ms. Halverson, she would like to ask you some questions. Would that be okay?” Dr. Walters wasn’t asking permission.
I nodded hesitantly, as Ms. Halverson pulled up a chair next to my bed, as she opened her folder and prepared her paperwork. I glanced at the badge on her blouse, and inhaled sharply.
It said Minnesota Department of Social Services.
“Miss Brown,” she started, smiling carefully at me. “I want to ask you some questions about your mother and father.”
I forced myself to remain calm and took a deep breath. “I’ll answer any question you want.”
Ms. Halverson nodded. “Do you know the difference between boys and girls?”
“Yes.”
“Did your mother or father ever tell you your body was different?”
“No.”
“Did you have special rules for when you took a bath or went to school?”
“No.”
Ms. Halverson scribbled something into her notebook. “Do you think you are a boy or a girl?”
I anticipated this question. It’s what I had been rolling through my head as I sat staring at the ceiling for days on end. I thought about every possible answer I could give, and every scenario I could imagine for whatever happened to me. None involved non-human entities ripping me apart and placing me in 1991. The last thing I wanted was a straight-jacket. I gave my prepared response.
“Everyone said I was a boy. My teachers, the doctors, even people in my family. I thought there was something wrong with me, so I didn’t say anything. But now everyone says I am a girl.” I pushed the discomfort of my misdirection aside. “I think I have to be a girl now.”
I noticed Dr. Walters pursed her lips and jotted something down. Ms. Halverson did the same. “Did your body change? When did it happen?”
I prepared my next falsification. “I don’t know how I changed. It just…went away. I thought it would come back, but it was embarrassing so I didn’t tell Mom or Dad. It didn’t hurt, so I didn’t say anything to anyone.”
I saw the two women look at each other, and the next barrage of questions began. I knew she was probing to see if there was abuse or coaching from my parents, but I stuck to my story. Mom and Dad loved me. I was the one who kept it a secret. I didn’t know any better. I’m scared now. It got easier to repeat the lies, since I knew the repercussions of not doing so would be far worse. I was desperate to get out of this room.
Once Ms. Halverson was satisfied, she nodded and exited the room, leaving me alone with Dr. Walters. She smiled sweetly at me, gently taking a seat in the chair next to me. I continued to regard her carefully, keeping my face as blank as possible. My fist tensed underneath my blanket.
“You’re a very good girl, Miss Brown. Thank you for talking to her.”
I flashed a plastic smile. “Thank you, Dr. Walters. I just…want to be a good girl.” My stomach churned, but I ignored it.
“I think you’ve been such a brave girl that we could get you out of this room. Where you can meet other girls, or play some games. Do you think you would like that?”
I squealed every so slightly. Enough to be convincing, but I was genuinely eager to leave the room. “I would really like that, Dr. Walters! Could I maybe get something to read?”
She nodded magnanimously. “Of course you can, Miss Brown. But there’s a problem, you know. You see, we have these charts with your information on them. They all say ‘Matthew’ on them, but that can’t be your name. That’s a boy’s name. What if we wrote a better name? We could write ‘Matilda’ or something that a girl like you would have.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Matilda sounds stupid, like the girl from that kid’s movie.”
Dr. Walters tilted her head. “What movie would that be?”
I froze. The movie Matilda wouldn't be released for several years. “Maybe it wasn’t a movie,” I pivoted quickly before she could lower her pen. “There’s probably a better name.”
She looked at me very carefully, still holding her pen from her notepad. “Is there a different name you’re thinking of?”
I scratched my head as I tried to recall something. “I dunno. Mom always said I would have been named ‘Maya’ if I had been –”
“Maya is a very lovely name for a girl like you,” Dr. Walters said approvingly, scribbling in her notebook. “I think we can write that on your chart.”
“But, I didn’t mean –”
I heard the buzz of the speaker next to the door, and immediately Dr. Walters stood to whisper into it. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but Dr. Walters happily responded and gave an affirmative to the speaker before turning back to me.
“Maya, I think we had a good talk today. In fact, I think we can invite your mother in to see you. Would you like that?”
“Well, yes,” I started, “but I’m not sure if Maya is –”
Dr. Walters unlocked the door, and an orderly entered with my Mom following close behind. She smiled carefully, but happily at me. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said to me, though notably keeping her distance from my bed. The orderly kept his eye on her.
“Mrs. Brown,” Dr. Walters announced happily. “Your daughter and I just had a very important talk. It seems that she likes the name ‘Maya’ and I think that’s what we should use for her from now on. What do you think?”
Mom laughed nervously. “It’s funny, that was the name my husband and I decided on if we would have had –” she stopped as she met eyes with Dr. Walters. She cleared her throat. “That…is the perfect name for my daughter. Maya Brown.”
The smile on my face became fixed, as a part of me died on the inside. I said nothing, as Dr. Walters discussed my progress with Mom, neither of them looking back and noticing me, painfully succeeding at keeping my tears at bay.
***
The next few weeks were plunged into the institutional drudgery of a pediatric psychiatric ward schedule. The bright colors on the walls or the fluffy toys scattered about didn’t negate that this was a prison in all but name. My pink gown had been replaced with a pink seclusion tunic and shorts, in contrast to the boys’ blue. I didn’t even consider objecting.
Everything I did was monitored; how I ate, how I bathed, how I interacted with the other patients. During open hours, I preferred to sit by myself as I quietly chose a book from the shelf. They even let me read newspapers, which were carefully edited to remove anything that might upset a patient. At least they left me the business section. I had fifteen years being a financial analyst in my skull, and browsing market summaries was the only normalcy I had in this place that they couldn't stamp out of me.
My privileges were doled out according to my behavior. I was given tasks, such as introducing myself as Maya to the other patients, or playing a game with them. If I complied, I was allowed the day’s newspaper which was the only engaging diversion in the ward. I could hear children’s cries in various “quiet rooms” adjacent to the common area, but I kept quiet and followed whatever criteria they set out for me.
Over time, my parents’ visits were lengthened and became more regular. I could tell they were coached on what to say. They distinctly used the name Maya, to which I answered with a forced smile every time. Despite my environment and circumstances, seeing Dad alive when he visited was an elation that I had never thought possible and I hugged him desperately every time. They talked about how Tim missed me, or how proud they were that I was such a resilient girl. It felt like they had almost as much difficulty calling me a girl as I did.
Initially I was non-communicative in my private sessions with Dr. Walters. I bristled inside if she suggested a question about my parents forcing me to keep a secret or mistreating me, but I kept every childish impulse to lash out firmly in check. I told her how much I missed them, and how sorry I was for not telling them about myself. How I didn’t understand that no one knew, including myself, that I was a girl. Dr. Walters would quietly smile to herself as she jotted down the notes. I mentally noted that every time I gave her the answer she wanted it got easier for me to repeat.
I felt a shift in the behavior of the staff towards me. I was a model patient; never complaining, never needing to be disciplined. I performed morning hygiene calls without being reminded, even folding the newspapers when I returned them to the nurse. I rarely participated in art activities; I wasn’t about to tip off that I could draw reasonably well. The last thing I wanted to do was signal anything above-average which might form inquiries – I immediately stopped making notations on stock listings when I noticed a nurse examining what I marked.
It was the middle of June when my parents were allowed to bring in street clothes for me to wear. Our visits were not nearly as monitored as they were before, but there was a tense moment when they produced a red and blue plaid skirt. Dr. Walters watched carefully as they produced the feminine garment, but steeling myself I accepted it and ducked into my room to put it on right away. It got the reaction that I expected, and while it was far more comfortable than what the hospital provided me to wear I still felt humiliated wearing it.
Based on my astounding progress, I was scheduled for discharge shortly thereafter. On the day in question, my parents and I were brought before a panel which included Dr. Walters, as well as doctors I recognized from several of the tests I had been subjected to. They mostly immersed themselves in the folders in front of them, and I forced myself not to glare at them. I kept a happy, girlish smile plastered on my face as I fussed with my skirt and sat between my parents.
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Brown,” Dr. Walters began. “We just wanted to state that several parties have been particularly interested in your daughter Maya’s case, and we’re very certain that the corrective gender assignment has been successful.”
“Yes, it’s been an ordeal but…we’re happy that we can finally take her home again,” replied my father with a hint of exhaustion in his voice.
Mom placed her arm around my shoulder protectively. “Doctor, would you be able to explain exactly what happened? Why didn’t we know M-Maya was a girl?”
The first doctor opened the files on his desk, looking at them carefully. “The long and short of it is that this is an extremely unique case. We can’t say exactly what happened, but as you know we ran several procedures. The blood work was fine; unusually low cholesterol levels and blood sugar, but healthy. Obviously, Maya has never had a DNA test, so we unfortunately have no previous samples to compare to. What was of most interest was Maya’s chromosomes. It was XX, as expected, but strangely enough they were identical to the sample you provided us, Mrs. Brown. No evidence of a patriarchal X chromosome.”
The second doctor flipped through several black and white images. “The MRIs we took showed nothing out of the ordinary, as did the x-ray and the anatomical survey we performed. All internal scans showed everything normal for a prepubescent female. Ovaries, uterus, vaginal canal…all present and all within normal developmental stages of a child at ten years. In addition, hormonal levels are within normal ranges. She’s a normal, healthy girl.”
I stared at the floor, trying to process what they were saying but forcing myself not to react. The world was the same as I remembered; it was just me that was changed. Flesh and bone. Forty plus years of memories crammed into essentially the young female version of myself. A great cosmic joke.
“How is it possible though,” asked Dad cautiously. “There was a…circumcision. We changed her diapers for years.”
“The only thing we can surmise is that, at birth, Maya had a superficial scrotum and penis. There were no testicles to descend, and likely no blood vessels. Just skin and tissue. As she got older, it’s likely that they slowly diminished over the years until eventually atrophying completely and exposing the vagina. I can only assume that you didn’t notice?”
“Well, I haven’t seen Maya naked since she was a toddler,” Mom muttered, trailing off into thought.
The second doctor spoke up. “There have been various conditions that resulted in altered external gender characteristics,” the doctor continued. “For example, there’s a condition called Swyer syndrome which causes –”
The first doctor flashed a combative look, and audibly cleared his throat. The folders on the table were suddenly more interesting than the family before them.
“There are conditions,” the first said carefully, “that can affect external presentation at birth.”
“None that explain this cleanly,” the second argued.
Dr. Walters folded her hands. “What we do know,” she said, evenly, “is what we’re seeing now. Chromosomes are XX. Internal anatomy is female. Hormonal levels are normal. Whatever anyone thought they saw ten years ago isn’t something we can act on.”
One of the doctors hesitated. “So we’re calling it—”
“A correction,” Dr. Walters finished. “Not a transition. Not a discovery. A correction. For the patient’s stability and long-term functioning. This has to be treated as a clerical error for her benefit and rehabilitation.”
My parents both cautiously nodded, while both doctors leaned back in their chairs uncomfortably, but compliantly. In all honesty, it was a relief the medical professionals came to whatever logical conclusion they had on their own. It was better than anything I could come up with, and if I began talking about extra-dimensional beings with a cruel sense of humor they would put me into one of the quiet rooms. I clenched my fists in my lap as I readjusted myself once again. Innocent. Compliant.
“Well, we are eager to bring our daughter back home,” Mom stated definitively. “It’s been very difficult for all of us. But we are proud of her.”
Dr. Walters nodded approvingly. “You both have been adjusting to the new circumstances well, and following the reassignment protocol to the letter. Regular therapy appointments will be once a week, as well as bi-weekly medical checkups with the research teams. Several University of Minnesota teams are interested in Maya’s unique case. But she must be monitored for the foreseeable future…”
I closed my eyes and calmed myself as the adults went over the logistics. It was fine. I was getting out of here. I did what I needed to do. I beat the system, I thought to myself.
For now.
***
We arrived back at the house after an exhaustive amount of discharge papers to sign. I was self-conscious walking out of the hospital in a skirt, and even more so when we arrived back at our house. Tim was in our next-door neighbor’s yard playing, and ran to the car as we pulled into the driveway. I stepped out of the back seat, and he stopped in his tracks seeing my outfit. He started to snicker, and I felt the heat rise to my cheeks.
From behind me, I felt the stare of death from my mother aimed at Tim. He saw it as well, and froze on the spot.
“Welcome home, Maya,” he recited from what I could only assume weeks of coaching from Mom and Dad.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” said Dad as he led me inside.
As we walked to the door, I could hear Tim behind me eagerly asking Mom, “I'm really the only boy, now?” I grimaced to myself and went inside.
The house was exactly as I remembered it, and I realized as soon as I entered how overwhelmed and exhausted I was. I went downstairs to my room, grateful that I could finally relax and have privacy after months of being observed and recorded. I opened the door to my bedroom, which now sported a pink sign with MAYA written on it.
The room now was slightly different than I remembered, and it reeked of orchestrated compliance. The baseball posters were gone; as was the pirate ship I had left unopened in its box. My dinosaur rug was now a unicorn, and the blue blanket I had had on my bed was replaced with a white comforter sporting pink frills. There were now rainbows adorning my walls, which I sneered at as I threw my bag to the floor. My dresser had been repainted white with purple handles, and opening it I discovered all of my clothes had been folded and replaced with various blouses and dresses.
I slammed the drawers shut. I snarled in anger as I pressed my head against the dresser, furious that my identity as Matthew was thrown away and replaced with…whatever I was now. I kicked the wall, screaming inside of my head, and clutching my temples I threw myself back onto my bed, throwing the teddy bear resting on it across the room.
My breath burned with anger, and as my head touched the mattress, I started to weep. I hadn’t cried since that first week in the hospital, and the dam had broken. I clamped my teeth on my forearm to prevent myself from wailing too loudly in despair, but I just couldn’t stop. I had been playing a role for weeks, but the role was now my life. It wouldn’t end, it would just continue. Every day. Every moment.
All I could do was stare at the ceiling, blurred by my tears.
For now.