Toxic Masculinity

I just got back from the gym for the evening when the pain started in my back. I'd pushed myself a few times but nothing too serious, certainly not enough to cause this sort of pain. I knew the pain of leg-lifting things which would make others tear muscles just to push them. This was not that pain.

It was like having a big, hot pimple inside my body, throbbing and craving pressure. Adding that pressure just made it worse. I roared as I tried to find a good spot to sit. At home, leaning up against the couch in the dark was only a brief respite.

I flexed and breathed like I could lift off this weight like any other. That didn't help. In the mirror, I figured I looked bad. My inch-deep, rusty beard curled around my fingers. My color was paler than usual. My nose was red around where I'd been wearing my shades through my workout. The dense meat of my arms trembled with all I'd put in and the pain echoing through me.

At least the one, resounding beat of pain in my side made everything else fall hush. Downing several bottles of sports drinks and a tall bottle of water got me gushing when I stood over the bowl, but the sweaty heat remained.

Bed rest seemed impossible, so I laid out some stuff on the floor. It hadn't been vacuumed lately but I didn't care right then. Rocking, turning, shifting, and shouting. That was all I could do.

I had so much other stuff planned for the night but not much you can do. It was tolerable until my stomach got involved.

I tried to swallow it back but the tickle on my tongue was urgent and impossible to ignore. Cleaning an old bucket was better than trying to clean the whole bathroom. Of course, the bucket filled with those sports drinks sent back by my body and some mystery stuff I didn't want to think about. Some was blue.

It certainly cleared out my nose. Washing my beard in the sink, my fingers lingered. It wasn't as dense as when I felt it before. An odd thing to think about when sick.

But yeah, I was sick. Damn. Way to waste my sick days but not much I could do about that. Weird that the pain was around my back though. If I ate something bad, then it should be more around the front. Shame I never really paid attention to my past pain and all its details.

Bumping up against a rough wall as old 80s songs played in a frantic loop in my head was a shitty way to burn through an evening but that helped me nod off ten minutes at a time until I needed the bucket again.

This time, I unearthed the older stuff, which had been stewing for a while. The smell didn't bother my nose. I'd mopped worse. Just get it over with, body. Rinsing and disinfecting the bucket, I glanced up in the mirror and stopped to stare. Something was wrong.

Poking my fingers through my slick beard, it felt patchy, like how it was when I first started growing it. Where had the rest of it gone? The floor, though a matching color, should've shown some bits. But it was clean and clear. Retracing my steps and where I rested didn't answer anything either.

Returning to the mirror, there was one more thing I had missed. The hair on my head definitely had gotten thicker while my beard had dwindled. Of course, this was all some sort of fever dream from the pain or I had deliriously shaved while...massaging something into my scalp to grow my hair. It didn't make sense, but I took a picture with my phone.

Rest was still futile. I roared and yelled into my hands. It was night and I had neighbors to consider. Lighter, whimpering moans abused my ego, but no one would hear them.

Standing in the shower was a brief, delightful pack of ice on a hot poker, which only lasted till I was panting, drowsily hunched over the toilet. Even though my legs should've been numb, I managed to nap quite a bit on the seat. The boys had pulled in slightly despite the fact the air had to be cooler than my core.

The third time I went for the bucket, I made sure to check my face and beard before I started to fill it. I had no interest in describing what came up this time but at least it finished with a dry, urgent press of whatever was left. I placed a fearful, sweaty hand on the bare skin of my cheeks and chin.

No dense beard growth. No patchy growth. No twists and tangles. We were down to the roots. Maybe some scruff but no more than what was left by a dull razor. Staring at my altered reflection in the mirror, I saw my face as I hadn't in well over ten years. It was glossy with sweaty highlights and the hair on my head was officially shaggy. I took another photo, my eyes not exactly wide but blinking to clear away a sight that seemed impossible.

Holy crap, I had to be really sick. I didn't hear about this sort of thing outside of maybe treatments for cancer. It certainly didn't happen this fast. A big dose of radiation? But it was just my face and no scarring. I'd seen enough Internet to know what happened when someone got radiation through their face, even though I never wanted to. And my skin didn't look like it was getting ready to slide off. I wasn't waiting for that though.

I called for a cab to the ER because I didn't trust myself to drive with pain like this. The driver, some Arabic dude, was quiet and didn't ask questions. I took a couple plastic bags with me in case my stomach decided to make something else to toss or found some deeper wellspring.

Aside from the hot pain and the frantic mix of terrible 80s music on a speed loop, the trek wasn't too bad. Not giving a crap about how I signed my name as I hunched over the admissions table was my bigger concern.

They handed me a bright green bag that looked like a condom intended for the Incredible Hulk or a balloon at a lame birthday party. Either way, it was phallic to the extreme and made me feel less shitty right then.

The waiting room chairs were a goddamn treasure. They hit my back in such a way that the pain went away for longer than anything I'd tried so far. Being a weeknight, the place was still crammed with stupid teens, teetering landwhales, and angry old fuckers.

They had to go off my state card, but I was hurting too much to make a big deal of it. At worst, they'd make jokes at me, pass me some high-level pain pill, and say "suck it up". I had photos of my face tonight though. Neither the lady there nor where they took vitals said much about my beard falling out. They just asked if this was the first time it happened. Yeah...

Along with all the other stuff going on, I felt like something was still inside me after all my time on the toilet. However, my ass wouldn't so much as quiver when I tried to pass some gas. I waited with the two-foot, green mega condom in front of me. Mostly, I shifted again and again as the seat wasn't quite as magnificent as a moment before. Standing, flexing around, and going back was only a half-measure until they let me go back to the Green Zone.

I hung out in a long hallway as people randomly passed. The chairs were all hooked together so that banging on one to counter the pain also sent a shudder to everyone else. Fortunately, it was just a curvy black lady with an older black guy. Her clothes were weird though.

I expected a tight pair of pants and a mid-rift-flashing top with rhinestones. That daddy's girl look among chicks who liked to prance around the store. But, no, she wore pants like she'd lost a lot of weight recently and a top that swarmed her arms. Still, you could tell she had a decent booty and chest to spare. The look was different but not bad. She probably had some screwed-up reason like a boyfriend throwing her out with only his clothes or something.

Looking at her a sec distracted me from the hive of wasps hanging out in my lower back. Otherwise, I had to fidget. I caught some of her conversation. About what I expected. What will mom say. This is crazy. The hell am I supposed to do. I feel terrible. My penis is gone.

That last one was a little weird, but I was snooping so I was probably missing all the context. I wore myself out enough to actually get drowsy and only press my face to the Hulk condom once. I hung out there a long while, longer than really felt necessary. Long enough that some random nurses from the more urgent parts of the hospital actually started to question why I was in this spot. In my malaise, I hadn't realized that the sign which marked the area I was supposed to go didn't point to here but actually continued on for some time.

Wearily, I sighed and nodded at a lady in blue scrubs who offered to get me a wheelchair. It wasn't really a wheelchair if I was being honest. It was like a metal hoist with some cushions slapped on and a bar to keep your feet up and arms from dangling. But it was kinda great because the air of the hospital brushed me as a scrawny guy in pink scrubs took over and pushed me around the hall and into a series of even longer halls.

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Sleep was impossible to escape, even as I was moving and bouncing and slipping past blurry distractions. The unnatural feeling of the cool hall air on my cheeks was enough to get me to doze off as safely as possible in that blasted half-chair.

I blinked off for at least a little while as things and people flew past me. When my eyes snapped open, we had stopped, and I was in an area of the hospital I had never seen before. It looked really old. It must've been for those people they just think have the sniffles. I'd only ever come in for serious stuff, where I eventually had to check myself out against medical advice. I toughed through those episodes.

The Green Zone looked like someone's dusty, dirty backroom barely cleaned up and turned into a care facility. The walls were a little gray. The floor was even more so. I wanted to run one of the store's industrial mops through it.

Since I had been waiting at the wrong place, I got a spot right away. Not that it was terribly impressive. This particular section looked like a classroom repurposed for triage. The bed barely had a blanket on it and there was no table for my stuff or other signs that equipment would be coming, just the bare basics.

Lying flat on the bed earned me instant moans from the surge of sweaty and prickly pain. I repeated all I had said so far and only got a "weird" about the fact my beard had fallen out and my hair had gotten thicker. I swore lightly instead of saying to them what was in my head.

I waited my turn, as I always did, while panting and clutching my over-sized condom. I did move up but trying to kick off my shoes meant I might lose them half a room away with how dirt-slick the tiles were. Wait wait wait...over and over.

Fortunately, a nurse with sticks in her rusty hair came over and started some stuff going, like fluids after a tube in my arm. She was pretty good and, in the state I was feeling, she looked pretty good. I told her as much.

"Glad to have a nice, pretty nurse."

She gave me a quick look and a smile. "You seem nice too. Shame. But let's get you started."

Her answer was a little weird, but I just replied, "yeah" to it. I considered telling her about my hair, but she kept me busy with a urine sample first.

I had downed a lot of stuff before my workout and during, but I guessed that didn't matter when everything else since then had just come up. I adjusted myself in the bed when I got back. For some reason, the way I was sitting didn't cause horrifying pain. Always a good sign. The nurse returned and noted, "I have a standard regiment here and I'll get you going with a lot of things, along with some morphine."

That already sounded like a plan. The pain was a lot less, but I let them do whatever they were gonna. I tried to make a call into work for the morning and to a friend, but the drugs were doing a number on me even as I tried to make words.

Eventually, sleep was the only answer. Dreamless, restful, druggy sleep with the presence of my body slipping away from me.

Waking was instantaneous and in the same spot. The fluids were done. A lock of hair fell across my smooth cheek. Hair was easy to see at the side of my vision. Not sweaty, matted, or a wig. Just lots of rusty hair like that nurse.

A thermal blanket obscured everything else, but I felt warm without feeling hot and with a weird sense of calm. My mouth was still a minefield of desolation though. Someone came to detach me from the machine. Another guy wheeled my entire gurney over to radiology for a CT scan. it was a better ride than that chair but with wheels which refused to spin in the right direction.

I still had my regular clothes on and that damn condom at my side. Pushing past the door, they wanted me to stand. I wasn't ready for that. My hair was strange but everything else felt off too. My dick felt like it had sunk into a meaty, crushing sleeve. But all that was a side worry because of my urgent need to use the condom.

The radiologists waited while I first hacked then dry heaved till a deep, blue liquid swelled and filled the bag. After a solid minute, the coughs I was making sounded different, smaller, and fainter but not necessarily softer. My hair hung like a hot, feathery towel. My shirt was too large but still stayed on. My evening shorts were even worse, but I was able to knot the drawstring to keep them from plunging. I didn't feel any of the muscles I had worked on so desperately, but I couldn't think about that. I had to get up and over to the CT machine.

The drugs in the line burned and my chest felt hot. They warned me about feeling like I'd peed myself but, with the state of things, that didn't seem too weird. I just wanted to know what the heck was happening to me before something worse happened.

I was done quickly and back in my little dusty corner. They eventually even gave me some ice chips. My doctor was another lady with bright hair who flipped open a chart. Before I could say much, she told me, "You have something toxic inside you and it's been poisoning your body. Fortunately, you were able to expel most of it. We can break up the rest and let it pass naturally."

All this for a kidney stone or a gallstone or whatever? Geez. "Surgery?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Bedside procedure. Just about thirty minutes start to finish. Sign this consent."

A wasting ache hit me between sharp needle pricks. Whatever they said I needed. I could build up my body again and get a haircut whenever. Once I signed, stuff moved fast. The machine was in another room and pretty compact. A probe got hot and rumbly as it pushed against my flesh. It ached but also felt like a warm compress followed by one drenched in wintergreen.

I was beginning to see a few bruises around my wide hips when she was done. I got help to the unisex bathroom, where I gingerly sat on the toilet and gushed out everything. Down down the drain and tired again.

While I only nodded off a second, an entire world seemed to pass me by. My boxers had too much space in the front and tickled lower, weird spaces. In the mirror, a woman's face stared back at me with dark-ringed eyes.

Back on my gurney, the wintergreen sensation passed through my entire body as things rose and fell. I tried to sleep and not come up with explanations.

"Come on, you're discharged."

Opening my eyes, I received a heavy medical packet. I didn't understand any of the long terms of my diagnosis but the lady said it was too much "male secretions" and it formed a large, disruptive, toxic thing inside my body that needed to go. As a "benefit", I wouldn't be secreting those things anymore.

Most of the document was about my new, prescribed sex. Hygiene, care, regulation of those matters, safety. And a sunny section from my medical group and the state provider touting my increased lifespan, overall improved health, and so forth. It also urged that if I became pregnant at any point then I could be elevated to the state Platinum program related to fostering "social formations".

I still felt sick even though the nausea had finally passed. I just nodded to everything and kept quiet. Some shelter of my soul imagined that I had been thrown into a dystopian purgatory upon a dying dream. But if I was dead or dying then it sure was taking a while to get to me.

I was decent to drive even though I'd have to use my medical papers as verification of what my driver's license couldn't say and my car was back home. Another cab, another Arabic guy.

I picked up antidepressants, pain pills, relaxation pills, and other stuff on the list at the 24-hour drugstore along with some clothes that I could at least wear for a day.

Bed and the next day off helped. It let me sob and freak out until I could get some pills down. I was a woman between my soft, lean legs. I was a woman with my wide hips and narrow chest which didn't do the kind of workouts I'd put myself through less than a day ago. I was a woman of wiggly arms but unkempt fingernails. A woman of long, redheaded locks and cheeks that refused to make facial hair. Was I a woman between the ears? I had just enough on my chest that some sort of bra would be necessary before I could get back to work.

I did a lot of lying on my side and moping. My body had turned toxic and I had broken it, or something had. By the end of the day I knew just sulking wasn't going to change anything. I was here and I would have to make do with what I had left.

That meant lifting the little weights in the closet I had long surpassed until my arms were too tired to hold them, eating to bulk up, and stretching. I did it once, I could do it again. I could be healthy; I could be better. One step, one pull, one push, one tired night to one victorious morning.

My body, my way.