Micah Perez sits on the edge of the exam table. His legs dangle down like pendulums, swaying in alternation as he anxiously waits to meet his new gynecologist.
For the past year, Micah had tried to connect with anyone underground who could get him testosterone. It didn't matter what form, as long as he could get his hands on it without being caught violating Oswea's strict reproductive mandate. He thought he'd been careful.
The gynecologist enters the exam room, the door on the other side of the privacy curtain opening abruptly as he steps inside and allows it to shut behind him. The sudden noise makes Micah jump. He flinches as the doctor pulls the curtain back, the hard plastic half-rings screeching against the metal track that divided the room.
"Why, hello," the doctor says, looking Micah up and down as he tucks a clipboard under one arm, placing his pen in the front pocket of his white coat with the opposite hand.
He chuckles lightly as he notes the young man's anxious fidgeting and self-protective posture.
Holding out his hand to Micah, he says, "You must be Micah. It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Dr. Jerard Pruitt."
Micah reluctantly takes his hand, Dr. Pruitt shakes it before he can lift his arm to perform the gesture himself. He pulls his hand away with a slight blush, feeling already a bit humiliated by the emasculating slight.
"Yeah, hi," Micah croaks.
Dr. Pruitt sets his clipboard down on the exam room counter and leans against it, placing one hand at his own hip, his face reflecting an expectant expression.
"I, uh... we discussed, over secure mail... you know, the... reason for my visit," Micah says, awkwardly attempting to hint toward a question without asking it aloud.
It was a tricky game, trying to get hormone replacement therapy in a place like Oswea; all of the nods, winks, nudges, and stilted talk were an irritation but they were necessary security measures when getting across the fact that you needed to medically transition.
It wasn't as if you couldn't 'be trans' in Oswea. There were a few major pockets of queer Osweans in the coastal cities. The national courts had never prosecuted someone 'for being transsexual' (at least, that's not how it was ever legally viewed). You could, of course, be transsexual in this country... as long as you followed the federal mandate requiring participation in national reproduction.
Clearly, people were able to obtain it somehow. Although, the only times Micah had ever heard of someone successfully medically transitioning, they had already been caught. When he'd finally gotten in touch with people sharing 'safe' doctors, it didn't occur to him that there might be bad actors in the midst of all the other VPN-using transsexual Osweans speaking in code on message boards and secret forums. Perhaps he should've been more careful.
But, when Dr. Pruitt nods knowingly at Micah's hinting, he seems safe enough. He's a soft, middle-aged man whose entire demeanor reads as friendly and non-threatening.
"Yes, of course," Dr. Pruitt says.
"Okay... so, do I really need to be stripped-down for this?" he asks, pinching at the modesty sheet wrapped around his midsection.
When he'd been escorted into the room by the nurse who took his weight and blood pressure, she'd told him to strip from the waist down, insisting that the doctor wanted him to do so. The white cloth is draped over his legs. He sits precariously over the folded-over portion keeping the sheet in place, still anxiously letting his legs swing back and forth.
"We still need for this appointment to be entirely above-board on paper to evade suspicion. This way, I can confirm that you're 'sterile' and I can put you in touch with a... trusted source," he says, sort of winking.
Micah's expression doesn't change.
"Is this your first exam?" Dr. Pruitt asks, proceeding to wash his hands and talk to Micah over his shoulder at the sink.
"Yes..." he admits nervously.
"Your intake forms disclosed that you are... nineteen, is that so?" Dr. Pruitt asks, drying his hands as he peers over his clipboard, sitting on the counter to double-check the number.
Micah averts his eyes, his cheeks flushing. He simply nods slightly, his lips compressing into a thin line as he tries to appear nonchalant despite his discomfort.
"And not sexually active, hm?" the doctor tuts his lips. "I'm guessing you haven't even had a Pap smear before... all up-to-date on your HPV vaccines, though. Excellent."
Micah doesn't seem to find it very funny, now looking at Dr. Pruitt with an anxious, pleading stare.
"Don't worry. We can do one early, as part of your pelvic... and then you won't need another until you're twenty-two," the doctor says, clearly trying to inject a bit of lightheartedness into the atmosphere of the exam room.
It works well enough to ease some of Micah's fears--or, at least, enough to still his nervously-swinging legs.
The doctor slides a mask over his face and nose.
"I suppose 'first exam' also means they didn't schedule your transvaginal ultrasound prior to my appointment with you... but that's alright. We'll make sure we get the necessary tests performed by... 'in-network' specialists," Dr. Pruitt notes, giving the impression that Micah would be seen only by physicians helping him in his goal of obtaining testosterone.
Carefully, Dr. Pruitt moves to the side of the exam table where Micah is sitting, unfolding one stirrup before doing the same on the other side, positioning them each at the correct angles. His eyes widen a little as Dr. Pruitt moves things around, extending the place where he'll be setting his feet, his body tense in anticipation of what's to come.
"Now, I'll have you sit on the very edge of the table and lie back," the doctor instructs him, patiently making a beckoning gesture with his hand to get Micah to move how he needs him to.
Micah hesitates for a moment, gaze darting from the stirrups to Dr. Pruitt's face before slowly complying. He eases himself back, keeping his knees lifted and legs together under the modesty sheet, nervously watching as the doctor gently places his hands under the bottoms of his sock-clad feet to guide them to the stirrups.
"I'm just going to have you put these here, Micah," says Dr. Pruitt. He has to ease his patient's legs apart, slowly, as Micah remains tense and guarded. "Just relax, the sheet will cover your legs and everything in between down there, even while they're apart," he says, turning his back on Micah to push the privacy curtain back, shielding the exam table from the door.
