Page 5 of Composed at Randy's
This is seriously no bueno.
I mean, I live in a really liberal area, but it's still nerve-wracking to go to a hospital as a trans guy without someone else there to hold my hand. Doctors can be a bit weird about things like trans folk.
I need to call Kai. No, wait. Kai is gone. So is Marty. Oh gods, so is Shelly. What do I do?
Can I call my publicist? No, I don't know how to get in contact with her. Hell, I don't even know her name. Dammit, me. Why do I have to be like this?
The door opens, and the voices get less muffled.
“I'm sorry, Bael, but you need to wait outside. Patient-doctor confidentiality, remember?”
“I just want to see if he's okay. Then I'll leave.”
“He'll be fine. Now fuck off before I slam the door in your face.” The voice sounds more amused than threatening, and I'm oddly comforted by this.
A tall woman with light brown skin enters the room and asks, “Hi, honey. How are you feeling?” Her eyes are warm and reassuring.
“Honey?” I ask. Doctors don’t usually call patients honey.
“Shit, I'm sorry, we tend to be informal here. I'd call you by your name if I knew what it was, but Bael didn't know, so here we are.”
“My name is Wren. Can you tell me where I am, please?” Yes, I said please. A little bit of politeness goes a long way, especially when you're in a strange and unfamiliar environment.
“We’re in my private practice, and I promise you’re perfectly safe here. No, don't sit up, and don't move until I take out your IV.”
“My what?” I turn my head and see I'm attached to a tube coming out of a clear bag filled with fluid. I shiver a little because, ew, needles.
“First things first, Wren. Can you tell me your pronouns? Mine are she/her.”
That answers a question I hadn't even gotten a chance to ask myself—whether or not she'd noticed I was trans while I was unconscious. She seems pretty cool about it, and I can physically feel the tension leave my body.
Phew. I am so glad nice people found my dumb, unconscious ass instead of mean ones.
Go me!
“He/him. Thanks for asking.” I give Doctor Nice Lady my sunniest smile. “Are you the one who found me?”
“No, that was Bael. He?—"
The door opens again and in walks a big, scary dude in leather who looks like he can and will eat three of me forbreakfast if he wants to. “Did I hear my name?” His voice is like smooth, dark amber honey, and, oh my god, he has freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.
Absolutely delicious.
I get all tingly in the pants region immediately. It could be the voice, or maybe the piercings. Or the dog collar. Or the way he needed to stoop slightly to get through the door frame… It could be a lot of things. I want to climb him and get my tingles all over him.
“Get out, Bael.” Doctor Nice Lady shouts.
“But you said my name!”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality, Bael! Look it up!”
“But I’m the one who found him.” The big, scary man starts pouting and transforms into a big, adorable man.
Oh, my…
Doctor Nice Lady grabs Bael by one arm, turns him around, and shoves him back out the door. She slams it behind him and shouts through the door, “Get your ass down the hallway, Bael, and stop listening, or so help me god, I’ll tell Trina to dye your hair neon orange!”
She turns around and her expression transforms from irritated to kind in a flash. “Sorry about that, Wren. Bael means well, but he’s not great at thinking before he acts.”
