Dream Come True - Chapter One - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, we meet Melissa and learn of her fate, for better or for worse.

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DISCLAIMER: Admittedly, overall, this story is inspired by a combination of Swishy's Kate Draffen story, Issy's Changing Cal, and all of the works by Bad Guru (FictionMania). I've seen several iterations of the tale elsewhere, too. However, having not dealt with the holidays in a favorable manner, I've had a dark cloud over my head. It's been impeding my work on ChangeDay: Advent. I needed something to uplift myself. If I've plagiarized anything without permission, I apologize. That was not my intention. I, personally, needed to tell a story like this. Maybe there are others who derive the same feelings that I hope to convey in this tale. Yes, it is in fact quite autobiographical, with names and situations changed not only to protect them but also add to the fantasy. I hope it makes the readers feel the same way I hope it makes me feel.

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— Chapter One —

“Full Name?” Came the cold, clinical bite of the woman’s voice. If social workers really hate what they do so much, why can’t they find a better job?

“Melissa Deanne Sterling.” Was my reply, somewhat proud and happy with the fact. Sadly, though I’d been working on it for almost a year, my voice didn’t sound as feminine as hers did. Which was a blow to my self-esteem because she sounded as though she’d chain-smoked in her younger years.

“Age?” Again, cold and monotone. Did I hear her sigh?

“Twenty-five. I just had a birthday…” I was trying to make small-talk. Obviously, an exorcise in futility.

She cut me off. “Sex?”

“Female.”

Again, she sighed. “Look, Mr. Sterling, it won’t do you any good to lie on legal paperwork. You know you could be held in jail for perjury?”

Suddenly, my cheeks flushed. I knew. I just didn’t want to admit it. Obviously, this woman had received no manner of sensitivity training when dealing with people like me. I cleared my throat. “It’s Miss Sterling, thank you. Are you aware of state statute…”

Now, she was getting grumpy. “I’m aware of the non-discrimination law that was passed eighteen months ago, Mr. Sterling…”

Now, I stood. “Look, this is difficult enough as it is. You don’t have to continue to patronize and disrespect me. I haven’t done that to you, so would it kill you to show a little common decency?”

She put her pen down. “I don’t care what you think. It’s my job to place you and you are making it more difficult with each question you lie about. If you’re going to act insubordinate, then our business here is done, Mr. Sterling.” She slammed the window shut.

That was my last nerve. “How fucking hard is it to say MISS Sterling?! Fuck off, you god damn prejudiced bitch!”

That was not the smartest thing I’d done all day. Angrily, I grabbed up my purse and began placing my identification back into the bill fold when I heard heavy footsteps behind me.

“Is there a problem here?” From the sound of the keys, it sounded as though one of the security guards had been alerted to the scene. When I turned to look, my conjecture was confirmed.

“Not with you, sir.” A sigh spilt from my lips as I continued my labor.

“Look, Mister…” He began, causing me to growl. “…if you’ve got a problem with the social workers, then you’ve got a problem with me. That’s just the way it is.”

Finished, I spun and stood to face him. He towered over me, but my resolve made me feel ten feet tall. “I am NOT a ‘mister’ and I am NOT a ‘sir’, thanks! Is there any way I can speak to a supervisor?!”

“I’m afraid not. They’ve all gone home for the day. If you behave yourself, maybe you can come back tomorrow and sort everything out?” He may have been trying to be polite, but I understood his innuendo: they wanted me out of the building and they wanted it five minutes ago. Social services really do have terrible “customer service”.

“You want me gone? Fine! I’m out of here!” I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as I made my way through the sea of the hopeless toward the door.

This was supposed to be my way out. I hate this town.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Water droplets cascaded downward from the heavens, splattering against all manner of surfaces. Clad in only my coat for protection, the hood was lifted over my head but provided little protection for the rest of my body. My jeans, socks, and shoes were soaked clean through. I could hazard a guess that the wheeled luggage performed a similar job of protecting all the clothing I had in the world from the same abuse the rest of me was receiving. Laundry day was only two days ago. Now, I’d have to find a dryer if I wanted to keep any of the clothes. With the smattering of droplets, my glasses did little to help my eyesight. The only good thing about the rain: it hid the tears flowing down my cheeks.

My life had never been this dismal before. Certainly, it wasn’t great, but I didn’t have much to complain about. I had a decent upbringing. My parents were both stably employed through my entire childhood. Albeit small, I had grown up in a decent community. The schools weren’t too bad -- about on par with the national average. We never went hungry. We always had clean clothes and a new pair of shoes every year. I was able to indulge in some hobbies, but not too many.

Despite it all, I was still miserable, even then. I was living a lie.

I was always relatively feminine, compared to my peers. I never really did fit in with the guys. There was always an inherent empathy for the girls. However, acting on these impulses usually got me hurt. At school, I’d been the target of school yard bullies ever since I can remember. It never stopped and it seemed I had a new nemesis in every school. As a survival mechanism, I went on autopilot and became emotionally numb. Their enjoyment and fulfillment taken from them, the bullies eventually sought more responsive targets. To do so, I had to exhibit a kind of hyper masculinity that would make me “one of the guys”. I hated every second.

To make matters worse, school wasn’t the only place where I experienced such abuse. If it wasn’t enough that the kids were putting me down and beating on me at every available opportunity, there were similar experiences waiting for me once I got home. My parents had divorced when I was still in diapers, so I don’t remember spending extended periods of time with my own father. Then, my mother had married my step-father. To say he was an “alpha male” is an understatement. He demanded respect and control at every opportunity. My brother and I were typically the objects on which he asserted his power. Through intimidation, physical abuse, and psychological torment, he asserted the legitimacy of his regime. Living in China was likely better than being under “his” roof.

Needless to say, I engaged in as many extracurricular activities as I could get my hands on to avoid going home at night. Again, to assert masculinity, I’d joined the football team in high school (my step-father had forbidden me from doing such in junior high). I wasn’t a half bad running back, but far from the star of the offense. I was a little more effective on defense, but not by much. My small build and lack of sufficient muscle tone did me a disservice. There were also the many years spent in one choir or another which honed my voice into something I was very proud of. I wasn’t the best, but I wasn’t far from the top. My detriment was that that teacher didn’t’ think as highly of me as others in the class. Where I shined, though, was on the stage. Our school had a very good drama department and a great auditorium with which to work in whatever could be imagined. My only joy and acceptance through school came when I was on stage and it made high school culture much easier to deal with. I also learned two foreign languages, which have come in handy in my post-secondary school life.

The culture in my hometown was stifling, however. The rural, small-town, conservative atmosphere is what had caused my problems in the first place. Thus, in order to move forward with my life, I had to do everything I could to get out. In one last effort to attempt to “prove” some semblance of masculinity, I joined the Armed Forces after high school by enlisting with the Navy. It was not to last. I was discharged under the ten-year-old “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy when my stash of panties was discovered during a surprise inspection and they didn’t believe my “conquest trophy” excuse. They were, of course, ignorant to the fact that I didn’t even know what my sexual orientation was, at that time. They didn’t care, either.

My parents didn’t want me back, so I was on my own. Apparently, I had brought the family some kind of ultimate shame that was simply unforgivable. That’s when things went downhill and I was plunged into my current situation. Invisibly, there was another homeless veteran on the streets. The one concession was that I was near Seattle, Washington, and had all the benefits of living in a liberally-minded area of the country. Not only did the city have a non-discrimination policy considering sexual orientation and gender identity, but the state had a similar, albeit more comprehensive, law in place, as well.

One beacon of light was when a friend of mine had brought down to Lambert House, thinking it was just fine for me, given the terms of my discharge. If I ever see her again, I’m going to have to thank her. The place was good to me and I was finally able to be myself in a social setting. Gone were all my pretences and defense mechanisms. Through the program, I’d been given a stable place to live and all the meals I’d need while I tried to put my life back together. They also referred me to councilors and medical professionals that finally brought light to my feelings. I am a transsexual. For a year, I had state aid for my hormone medications and any appointments my therapist set. I was even able to get my name legally changed and update all my documents.

Then, I aged out of the program and the state cut back social programs. Economic recessions are a real bitch. I had, officially, fallen through the cracks.

No employer has hired me in a year and a half. My previous employer fired me because I’d begun my transition, but I couldn’t prove it nor did I have the financial means to hire a lawyer who could. All my money had run out a long time ago. Now, I had to deal with the adult shelters who were most unkind to someone like me, both “clients” and staff alike. I was back to my autopilot and numb emotions as I trudged from one soup kitchen to another, barely nourishing my meager existence.

Speaking of which, it’s feeding time. Slowly, I stood, grabbed my luggage, and began to trudge down the alleyway. The only sounds besides my soft sobs were the plastic wheels coming in contact with the asphalt and the distant sirens blaring through the downtown towers.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

You have to be really bored or a major insomniac to count the little dots on ceiling tiles. Yet, that was my current activity. All around me, there were snores and other evident sounds of people sleeping. I was hardly so lucky. Tonight, my jacket-turned-pillow offered little comfort. It was still fairly damp from the day. There would be no change of clothes, either. They were all in the same shape. The wool-ish rescue blanket draped over top of my body itched like mad. The prison mattress underneath me offered little comfort. I wanted to cry in self-pity again.

“Mel? You awake?” A soft, feminine voice beckoned to me.

For some odd reason, most places would discriminate and deny me access to transitional housing programs for women. However, emergency shelters didn’t care enough to question my ID card. At least I didn’t have to sleep around men who could rape me at any second to show me “how a real woman does things”.

“Unfortunately.” I whispered, trying not to sound distressed.

“Me too.” Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Pretty shitty day today, huh?”

She had no idea. “You could say that.” I finally rolled my head over to my right to face the voice. My eyes landed on a petite brunette who I’d come in contact with on several occasions. If anything, we were acquaintances. She was a year younger than I, but I couldn’t recall her name if you paid me.

“Did you have any luck?” She looked empathetic to my plight.

I gently shook my head. “No. Some bitch slammed the window in my face and kept talking to me like I was a man.”

She sat up. Her upper body was covered by a tank top and no bra. Didn’t the blanket itch her like it did to me? “What?! How can they be so heartless?”

I shrugged. “They’re in social services and there’s no shortage of homeless out here?”

“How do you know they were being discriminate, though?”

“She called me ‘Mr. Sterling’ and seemed to think I was lying about what my real name was. I told her everything that was on my I-D, but she seemed hell bent on denying me.”

“That’s, like, what? The third or fourth place?”

Tears welled up, again. “Yeah.”

She patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mel. There’s gotta be something for you down the line. There just has to be.”

“My faith in the truth of that statement is diminished as the days go on.”

She lay back down. I rolled my head back up to the ceiling. That was typically the extent of our conversations. She’d ask me how I was, I would tell her how bad it was, then she’d tell me it’ll get better. I wish I could believe that.

To make matters worse, I thought I might be coming down with something. I felt that my joints were a little sore and the room seemed both warmer and colder than it probably was all at once. Great. Just what I need.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Funny. I don’t remember falling asleep. Yet, there I was becoming aware that my eyes were closed, yet the sounds of my surroundings were very strange indeed. I could hear a bit of talking and the sound of a heart monitor somewhere nearby. Just on reflex, I decided to shift a little and my body felt as though it weighed a ton.

‘Lovely,’ I thought. ‘I am sick. How much is it going to cost, this time?’

I tried to vocalize something, but all that emitted from me was grumbles and moans. Next was to try and open my eyes. The moment I tried, there was much regret. My vision was really blurry and the lights were really bright. Immediately, the effort was abandoned. What the heck is wrong with me?

Suddenly, I could hear shuffled footsteps come from my left, cross at the foot of the bed, and move over to my right side. “Well, hello, there.” I heard the sweet, maternal voice greet. “How are we feeling?”

I tried to answer, but nothing seemed to be obeying my commands. The most I could muster was incoherent moans and grunts. At least, they sounded vaguely feminine. I was always afraid I’d come off sounding like a man.

“Ah, having a few difficulties? That’s pretty natural after a seizure like you had.”

WHAT?! Seizure? How? When? Why? My body stiffening seemed to convey the message I was trying to get across. She gently patted my shoulder.

“It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to answer or move around too much. Dr. Michaels is on your case. You’re in good hands, sweetheart. Thirsty?”

Slowly, I managed a nod. My throat felt like a desert. Somehow, my bed began to tilt upward. Was I on a gurney? Then, she helped me open my mouth, bringing a plastic cup to it and slowly pouring in the liquid. I could scarcely believe how much effort it was taking just to swallow. The effort exhausted me.

“Okay, dear.” She lifted the cup away from me. “That should be good for now. Why don’t you rest some more and I’ll see you when you’re stronger. Remember: you’re safe, now. No need to worry.”

I managed to groan out some form of “Thank You” before I lost consciousness once more.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

There is no way for me to know how much time had passed when opened my eyes again. Yet still, for some unknown reason, I awoke with a start, sat straight up in bed, and let out the most androgynous scream I’ve ever heard. Thankfully, the lights were turned out and the room was in a state of twilight. My eyes darted around and came upon linoleum flooring, cinderblock walls, and white everywhere. Apparently, I was situated in a corner with just a curtain separating myself and whoever happened to be my neighbor. Instantly, my mind recognized this to be a hospital. Whatever had scared me awake, I was a little more scared to know where I was.

The curtain was pulled to the side slightly and a plump older woman who, oddly, looked quite a bit like my mother entered the area. She had a nice maternal smile on her face, though. That helped.

“Well, well…” She began. “She does live. Everything all right?”

For whatever reason, I slowly shook my head and started to cry. Whatever the nurse happened to be carrying, she set on a table nearby and rushed to my side. Before I knew it, I was being embraced and soothed. On reflex, my body fell into her arms and soft sobs were the only thing coming out of me for the next few minutes. Soon, it seemed that just as quickly as they had come, my tears dried up and I was regaining some composure. The nurse let me go.

“There.” She stated sweetly. Who was this woman? “Feel better?” All I could do was nod and sniffle. “Good. Lovely to have you awake, finally.” She smiled as she pulled the table over. “My name is Janet and I’ve been your attending nurse.”

I liked her already. “Where am I?” My voice sounded like a bored frog.

“Welcome to Virginia Mason, my dear.” Another smile. Sensing some mild confusion, she continued. “You’ve been here about five days now. You’d be at Harborview were it not for your doctor’s insistence that you be placed here.”

Five days? Must have been some serious flu! “Yes, his office partners with you guys for patient records reasons.”

She nodded. “A good thing, too. We’ve got your whole chart here, so no need to fret about that.” She began to fiddle with my IV. Thankfully, they’d placed on the back of my hand, rather than in the bend of my elbow. I’d explained that preference to my doctor, so I was glad a note like that was communicated well.

“Why am I here, anyway?”

“Well, the majority of that will have to be answered by the doctor when she comes in. She should be along shortly. Though, the rest is easily answered. Do you have a history of febrile seizures in your family?” The quizzical look on my face delivered the answer. “Um, seizures when you have a fever?”

My mind wandered for a moment, searching for the intended information. “Yes, actually, but those only happen during early childhood, right? My mom and baby sister had them, but I don’t think I ever have.”

She nodded. “The doctor expected as much. After a CT scan and cranial MRI, we couldn’t find any evidence that you were epileptic and it isn’t in your chart, either. So, it was our thought that you experienced one of those febrile seizures. Though, yes, it is extremely rare for someone your age. Though, you did have a fairly high fever when you were brought in.”

My eyes closed as I tried to absorb the informational assault. Before I could continue, someone else announced their presence by clearing their throat. My eyes glided over to the form of the newcomer. She was quite pretty, I must say. Taller than average, for a woman, she stood almost silhouetted against the hallway light. Her blond hair was tied back in a somewhat messy bun. Silver wire framed glasses set on her nose and almost hid her blue eyes and well-manicured eyebrows behind them. She had a fair complexion with no visible blemishes. After that, she was clad in a lavender blouse, navy pencil skirt, nylons, and sensible flats adorned her feet. Over it all was the typical white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck. Her smile was as warm as the nurse’s.

“Good morning, Melissa. Feeling well?” She glanced over at the nurse. “Hello, Janet. You may stay, if you’d like.” The nurse nodded.

There was only one question on my mind. “Is it really morning or are you just saying that because I’m awake?”

She giggled. Since when do doctors giggle? “Nope. It really is morning. It’s about 7:30, to be exact. I’m sure it’s a little weird for you, having been here so long and actually wake up in the morning.”

All my body would do is nod. “Yes, pretty weird.”

She moved over and set down some kind of computer pad she was carrying and moved over by the bed. “I’m Dr. Kaitlyn Michaels. You can call me Dr. Michaels or Katie, if you’d like.”

There was a lot of nodding going on this morning. What’s one more? “So, what’s the damage, Doc?”

Again, another smile. It helped that she was so pretty. “Well, we’ve got some lab results coming back in about an hour or so, but the overall prognosis is fine. You haven’t had a fever in two days and I’m glad to see your white blood cell count come down. Any headache, joint pain, or even a little nausea?” I slowly shook my head. “Then, I would say that you were the picture of health, but I want to see those lab results come back so that we can find what put you in this situation in the first place.”

“Yes, Janet was telling me that I had a fever, then a seizure?”

“Yes, very uncommon for someone who isn’t in Kindergarten. You can understand my reservations, then?”

“I guess so, yeah. So, no idea what’s causing all of this, yet?”

“Oh, I’ve got a couple hypotheses, but I’d like to have some conclusive results before I jump into telling you my master plan.” She smirked. “So, for right now, let’s see about getting the diodes off and taking out the IV just before getting you fed. Once I’ve had a chance to look over the labs, I’ll be back in here. Okay?”

“Sounds like a plan, Doc. Thanks.”

She smiled and gently squeezed my arm before she turned, grabbed her computer pad, and turned to leave the room. I was left alone with Janet, but I wasn’t complaining much.

The next several hours passed by quickly enough that they’re nothing but a blur. Most of it, I spent surfing the modest amount of channels on the TV. At times, Janet would come in to check on me and we’d engage in short conversation before she had to move along to her other patients. The culminating moment for me was during lunch. They brought me the first decent cheeseburger I’d had in a long time, such was not on the menu at shelters and soup kitchens. Though quite hungry, I savored as much of it as possible. Strangely, I didn’t really notice that I wasn’t actually wearing underwear. For obvious reasons, they had taped me into an adult diaper, but Janet defended her decision based on my financial situation and the cost of a catheter. Of course, she had also considered my comfort level, given my current biological status. Though utterly embarrassed, I thanked her for her foresight. After she helped me into the bathroom, I took the thing off and she handed me a clean pair of panties as mine were stashed away with other belongings. Thankfully, Janet had carefully removed all the IV tubes, so I didn't have those to fumble over. Still, she left the IV in if there was a chance they'd have to take more blood, I guessed.

Soon, there was nothing interesting on television. It’s a common lament, but how can there be even 50 channels and nothing of substance being broadcast? I let out a sigh. As if on cue, Dr. Michaels poked her head around the curtain and gave a smile. Politely, I shut off the TV and sat up.

“Are you decent?” She asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “As much as I can be while wearing a hospital gown. Why?”

She used her head to signal behind her. “I have a couple of men with me that are eager to meet you. Is it all right that I let them in on our conversation? They have some things to add.”

One thing came to mind: specialists. “Okay, Dr. Michaels, what’s going on? I thought this was just about blood test results.”

She didn’t answer. She moved into the room and two men followed her, as she’d stated. The first looked to be in his forties with a receding hairline, salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and a few wrinkles. He wore a navy blue three-piece suit. He was some official, I conjectured. The second man seemed closer to fifty, but he’d shaven his head bald. He was an African-American in a lab coat, an unfortunate rarity. Though, with his wire frame glasses and well-manicured mustache/goatee combination, he reminded me of Denzel Washington. My apprehension rose into my throat.

The black doctor spoke first. His smile was as warm as Dr. Michaels’. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Abraham Carver.” I shook his hand anxiously. He pointed to the official. “And this is Agent Anthony Donovan…”

“C-D-C.” Agent Donovan interrupted.

“Wait, Centers for Disease Control? What the heck is going on, here?” Now, I was frightened.

Dr. Michaels quickly dismissed that it was as bad as I was thinking it was. “No, Melissa, it’s not like that. You’re not infested with the Black Plague, I promise.”

“Then, what do I have?”

Dr. Carver cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Before we answer that, I’m going to ask you a series of seemingly redundant questions. Are you okay with that?”

“Did a doctor just tell me he was going to ask me some dumb questions? I better mark this on the calendar!” The mood was lightened. Everyone but Agent Donovan had a good chuckle. “Go ahead, I guess.”

Dr. Carver opened up a manila folder of some kind. “First: Have you traveled outside the United States to Canada, Europe, Mexico, Central America, South America, Australia, Japan, or the African continent anytime during the past 12 months?”

“No. I can’t afford to pay attention, much less travel anywhere.” Dr. Michaels hid a giggle while Dr. Carver managed a smirk.

“Next: Have you eaten any questionable food in the past 3 months?”

“I’m homeless. To me, it’s all questionable.”

“That answers the next question about whether your living environment would contribute to expedient disease communication. We’ll move on to the next question: Have you participated in any clinical trials in recent months?”

“Yes. Three. One for depression. Another one for birth control. And, the last was for anxiety.”

“What type of birth control?”

“Some new oral contraceptive. ‘The pill’ is evolving, I guess.”

“Why did you engage in such a clinical trial.”

I blushed. “I’ve been cut off the state Medicaid program. It was an easy way to get some kind of hormones.”

“They let someone like you participate in a female-only clinical trial?” Agent Donovan interjected.

“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” I growled.

“Agent Donovan, you’re upsetting my patient. If you cannot control your outbursts, I will not hesitate to ask you to leave. Am I clear?” Dr. Michaels stepped in. He grumbled something incoherent and folded his arms. Then, she moved over to the bed and held my hand. “Melissa, we found something in your blood work. A virus, we think, or evidence thereof.”

“Well, I had assumed that. I mean, I somehow fell asleep in a temporary shelter then woke up in a hospital five days later. I know that I had a high fever and then a seizure resultant from that. What else is there to tell?” My thoughts spilt out of my mouth as I tried to grasp the situation.

“Well, what we have to report could either be good news or bad news. Though, given your situation, I’d hazard it was good news.” Dr. Carver smiled, again.

Dr. Michaels nodded. “Yes, probably good news. What we found is something we think to be some kind of retrovirus, but I’ve only seen something like this before in medical journals. You, however, are the first recorded case in the United States.”

“First case of what?”

“Well, it’s been called a number of names, but we’re sticking with Human Transmutation Virus, or H-T-V for short. We’re not sure of the causes or how it’s spread, but I’m sure you’ve heard of the common vernacular of ‘Girl Flu’ coming from the United Kingdom or Australia. Have you heard of it?”

My brain performed a self scan, but for all that was in me, I couldn’t pinpoint anything relevant. “I don’t think so. I haven’t been up on current events, I’m afraid. Surviving takes up a lot of a person’s day, it seems.”

Dr. Michaels smiled again. “Well, then this is your lucky day.”

Dr. Carver nodded. “Indeed it is. HTV seems to affect its host differently with each case, as one would suspect, but the end result is always the same. I’m sure you’ve heard the term ‘sex change’ before. To my knowledge, HTV is the only thing known to man that can actually accomplish that task. As the retrovirus takes its course through the body, it takes the host from one biological, genetic, and physiological sex directly to the opposite sex.”

“Wait… does this mean… ?” The blood left my face.

“Yes, Melissa. When this is all over, you will be female, totally and completely. Not even a gynecologist like myself will ever be able to tell that you had once had a male body. HTV even changes your DNA.” Dr. Michaels explained.

The world went black.

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm