by Stan Mason
He arrived there at ten thirty and sat in the waiting room reading one of the magazines which he picked up from the coffee table. It was an entirely new experience for him and he had been allocated Dr. Harding to examine him. He waited patiently noting that the sickness had dissipated and, in due course, his name was called out over the loudspeaker informing him to go to Room Three. He entered and sat down while the doctor completed the notes on the last patient on the computer.
‘What seems to be the trouble?’ he asked looking up into the eyes of his new patient.
‘I think I have an ulcer,’ declared Bitch tersely. ‘My father had one when he was thirty-five so I think it’s hereditary. I was violently sick a number of times this morning. I mean, I’ve never had to see a doctor in my life.’
‘Violently sick, eh,’ repeated the doctor slowly. ‘Have you experienced these symptoms before?’
‘No, this morning was the first time,’ related the patient. ‘I was sitting at the breakfast table and suddenly the food began to nauseate me. I couldn’t control myself and I ran into the bathroom to vomit. It happened twice. I tell you, I’ve never had to see a doctor before in all my life.’
‘Take off your clothes and lie on the couch over there,’ suggested the practitioner.
Bitch obeyed the order and lay down naked at which time the doctor rose and placed the stethoscope to his ears. He advised his patient to breath in and breath out at appropriate times as he used the instrument on his chest and abdomen and then a strange look appeared on his face. When he had finished the examination, he sat at his desk in some confusion and wrote a few notes on a pad.
‘Can I dress now?’ asked Bitch feeling a slight chill.
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Dr. Harding, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. ‘Please get dressed.’
The patient complied and returned to the chair facing the doctor. ‘Well,’ he asked with a worried expression on his face. ‘Is it an ulcer?’
‘I’m going to arrange for you to have a scan,’ the doctor told him facing his computer and typing an instruction.
‘A scan?’ repeated Bitch naively. ‘Is it serious?’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied the general practitioner.
‘You don’t think so!’ snapped Bitch sharply. ‘What does that mean?’
The doctor turned to stare at him closely. ‘If I didn’t know you to be a male I’d say that you were two months pregnant.’
‘You have to be joking, of course,’ guffawed the patient in amusement. ‘Pregnant? Pregnant? That’s a laugh.’
‘Are you married?’ asked the doctor.
‘No, I have a partner. We’re both gay if you must know.’
The doctor paused for a moment to consider the matter. ‘And I presume that you have regular sex with him.’
‘Well of course. That’s the whole idea of a mutual relationship, isn’t it. Regular sex.’
‘And I presume that you’re the female element of the partnership. The female part.’
Bitch nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that’s right. I am.’
‘Tell me, Mr. Carter, how orientated are you to the female sex?’ The question was blunt... aimed point-blank.
‘Let’s say that if I was reborn and had the choice I would come back as a woman. People don’t understand the way I feel. I appear to be a man on the outside but inside I feel like a woman, wanting to behave like one. That’s the problem.’
‘I’ve had some experience in these matters,’ declared the doctor candidly. ‘It’s not unusual for some men who are born male to have all the elements of a female within them. I fear that your hormones tend to veer conclusively on the female side which has leant itself to your pregnancy.’
‘I think I know what you’re trying to say but, tell me, is this an immaculate conception... like it’s told in the Holy Bible... or are you saying I’m pregnant from my partner?’
‘Indeed,’ came the reply. ‘Your body is behaving in a very female fashion. Clearly, you have the essence of a womb and your body has produced an egg which has been fertilised. That’s why you had morning sickness.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ stated Bitch sitting back with concern showing on his face. ‘My God, can you believe it? In seven months time I’m going to have a baby.’
‘Well let’s see the results of the scan first, shall we,’ intruded the doctor calmly. ‘But if it is so, the situation is far more important than that. You’ll be the first man in the world... and possibly the last... to give birth to a child.’
Bitch stared at him with astonishment. The first man ever to give birth to a child on this planet? It was something totally unforeseen, remarkably strange, universally unique!
‘Normally,’ continued the doctor calmly, ‘arrangements are made for the expectant mother and the father to attend classes to attune themselves to the birth. However, in your case, I see no need for that. As a man, it will be necessary to conduct a Caesarian operation to assist with the birth. I’m sure you’ll understand the reasons why that’s necessary.’
‘Is it possible that when you do the Caesarian you can remove the male parts of my body so that I can become wholly female?’ asked Bitch pleadingly. He was so determined to be a complete woman that sometimes it caused him to ache inside.
The doctor breathed heavily for a moment as he turned over the request in his brain. ‘I suppose it’s possible. You’ll have to get the views of the surgeon in due course when you go into hospital. In the meantime, I’ll arrange for the scan and you’ll receive a letter giving you the time and date of the appointment.’
Bitch emerged from the surgery in a state of confusion. He was going to have a baby. The first man ever to give birth to a child. However, he was totally ignorant of the implications for it was a secret that could never be kept for very long. A man expecting a child! It was too much to expect. Despite the element of patient/doctor confidentiality, there were other people involved... the receptionist dealing with the papers at the doctor’s surgery, the nurses contacted at the hospital for the scan, the administration clerk at the hospital, and a host of others to whom the rumour would quickly pass. Consequently, it was of little surprise that the information soon leaked to the Press. Bitch was surprised to receive a visit one morning from a reporter accompanied by a photographer from the local newspaper. As it happened, the fancy had taken him to dress female clothes that day. He wore a wig and a slight touch of blusher and lipstick and to all intents and purposes he was the image of an attractive young woman.
‘I’d like to see Mr. Carter,’ began the reporter, with the photographer waiting patiently in the background with his camera held in front of his face, ready to take a photograph. ‘Mr. Edward Carter.’
‘That’s me,’ retorted Bitch suspiciously, who despised the glare of attention. ‘What do you want?’
‘My name’s Dale. I’m a reporter for the Gazette.’ He paused to reflect the response more clearly. ‘I’m looking for Mr. Carter?’ he went on. ‘Your husband perhaps?’
‘Yes,’ responded Bitch tiredly. ‘I told you that’s me. What do you want?’
‘You’re Mr. Carter?’ continued the reporter in astonishment.
‘That’s what I keep telling you!’
‘But you’re dressed like a woman. Like a woman.’
‘So what?,’ returned Bitch with a wistful twist of his lips.
‘Are you the person who’s supposed to be pregnant. The one who’s having the baby?’
‘That’s my private business. It has nothing to do with you or the Gazette.’ The camera clicked and Butch became angry. ‘Do you mind not taking photographs please!’ he urged acidly.
‘Is this some kind of a trick?’ continued the reporter. ‘We were told that a man at this address... a Mr. Edward Carter ... was having a baby.’
‘It’s not long a
fter April the first, is it?’ replied Bitch. ‘They’ve been having you on.’
‘Strange. It’s usually such a reliable source.’ He paused to reflect his position. ‘Are you sure there’s not another person living here by the name of Carter. Edward Carter.’
‘Not to my knowledge. There’s only two of us living here and I’m the only Edward Carter.’
‘Are you telling me you’re not a woman?’
‘I wish,’ retorted Bitch sadly. ‘But that’s my business and not yours. Now will you please go away. I have things to do.’
He closed the door firmly in their faces and the two visitors stared at each other in confusion.
‘It’s usually such a good source,’ repeated Dale. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on. ‘He admits he’s Edward Carter but he’s dressed as a woman. I reckon he’s right. Something’s not right. I reckon someone’s having us on.’
That should have been the end of the affair for a while but it wasn’t. Very shortly, reporters came from the National Press and Butch received an invitation from a network studio to take part in a programme on television. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse. However, before embarking on such matters there was one important thing to be done, he had to advise Butch, his partner, of the change in their circumstances. Contrary to his impression, his partner was not too pleased to hear about the new and strange development.
‘Pregnant!’ he gasped on hearing the news. ‘How can that be? How do they reckon that came about?’
‘Well, the doctor told me I have a woman’s womb inside me and that an egg formed in my body. Apparently, it was your sperm that set off the pregnancy,’ informed Bitch smartly.
‘I don’t understand it,’ muttered Butch frowning heavily. ‘I mean we’re both men. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘There are other changes which I haven’t told you about,’ admitted Bitch waveringly. ‘I’ve started to grow breasts and my body has taken on a different shape.’
Butch stared at him blankly. ‘When did you notice all this starting to happen?’
‘’About three months ago. I think I’m changing into a woman bit by bit. First I noticed my legs getting thinner, then the shape of my waist changed, and now I’ve grown breasts. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed, but then you don’t notice a lot of things about me, do you?’
‘I’ve noticed you’ve become more female recently.’ muttered Butch quickly. ‘That much is obvious.’
‘I’m sorry, Butch. It’s not my fault,’ bleated his partner.
Butch shrugged aimlessly. ‘I know. I know.’ He placed his arm around the shoulders of the other man and hugged him briefly. ‘We’ll just have to see what happens.’
‘I’m going to have to have a Caesarian operation when the baby becomes due. I’m going to ask the surgeon to remove my male parts at the same time. Do you have any objections?’
‘No, you go ahead as you want,’ concluded Butch, although he was extremely concerned at the sudden change of events.
The day arrived for Bitch’s appearance on television. He sat in the make-up room at the television studio reluctant at being portrayed totally as a man. The director persuaded him not to wear the wig he had brought with him or the dress in which he had arrived and he was forced to don a smart suit, a shirt and a tie, being allowed him to go on with a modicum of make-up. He emerged from the make-up room to stand hesitantly in the corridor. Technicians ran to and fro, cables littered the pathway, while voices could be heard at all levels barking orders and relating technical terms, accompanied by whirrs, bleeps and other noises emanating from the standing equipment. The whole place buzzed like a beehive although there was a strict division in the staff who, despite their annoyance when things didn’t go right, offered total dedication as they jostled with an element of complacency and smugness in their actions. Nonetheless, one could almost feel the adrenalin run through their veins as they undertook the urgent work before the programme went live to the public. And then, almost without warning, the feature music began to play and Bitch, seated on a swivel chair, was catapulted into the limelight.
‘How do you feel being the first man ever to hopefully give birth to a child?’ asked the presenter facing him directly on a another swivel chair.
‘I feel I’m like the host to an alien being inside me,’ replied Bitch bluntly. ‘But at the same time I feel very much like a woman.’
‘But you are a man at present, aren’t you? I mean you were born Edward Carter and brought up as a boy before reaching manhood. And you’re a man now. Isn’t that the case?’
‘Yes, I was born a male but I should have been a female. My hormones were obviously distorted. In my younger years I preferred to play with dolls rather than motor cars and planes. I hated sports, especially those of a rough kind, like football and soccer. I liked to dress in girl’s clothing and put on make-up. And over the past few months my body has begun to become more female than male.’
‘Are you saying that you’re turning into a woman?’ continued the presenter throwing caution to the winds on an extremely delicate subject.
‘I think I’ve always been a woman even though I was born a man,’ declared Bitch adamantly. ‘Something went wrong with the system. But now my body’s correcting itself... although I shall need some surgery to ensure the final change.’
‘You live with a male partner, don’t you?’
Bitch suddenly realised that Butch was going to be dragged into the issue. Had he considered that point, he would never have agreed to come on to the programme. However, it was far too late to change his mind now.
‘Yes, we’ve been living together for two years.’
‘And he’s responsible for fathering the child you expect.’
‘I presume so. I mean to say, I’ve never had sex with anyone else,’ commented Bitch frankly.
‘I’d like to introduce Dr. Partridge at this point,’ suggested the presenter boldly, ‘who’s an expert on these delicate situations.’ A light went on to highlight a person sitting on a third swivel chair. ‘Dr. Partridge, what causes a person born a male to believe that he should have been a woman? And how is it possible for a man to become pregnant?’
The doctor described the situation in clinical detail for the audience and the viewers and then the presenter reverted back to Bitch again. There were pauses in the programme where some film was shown on the subject and the half hour seemed to evaporate especially when a technician waved his arms frantically to identify that the programme was coming to an end. Afterwards, all the participants and the crew went into a small room where refreshments had been laid out on a table and where coffee and wine was freely available.
‘It seemed to go quite well,’ stated Bitch, holding a plate of sandwiches and a glass of wine in his hands.
‘Please don’t come anywhere near me,’ insisted the presenter coldly. ‘I hate being involved with mutants!’
‘Mutants?’ repeated Bitch meekly. He had never thought of himself as a mutant before. It had simply been a trick of nature which had plagued his mind and body. Mutant! He looked up the meaning of the word in a dictionary as soon as he got home. ‘An individual or organism differing from the parental strain or strains as a result of mutation.’ Well, in those terms, it seemed that the presented may have been correct. But it seemed a rather harsh comment nonetheless.
The hospital appointment was arranged for the following week. He dressed as a woman, complete with wig, when he attended the appointment only to be faced by a nurse who identified him immediately.
‘I saw you on television,’ she declared. ‘You’re the man who’s expecting a baby, aren’t you?’
‘Can we please get on with the scan,’ he retorted sharply. He had become quite a celebrity by now due to the television programme. However, his life was being turned upside down by people calling at his house and those st
opping him in the street asking for his autograph. The nurse carried out the scan and he watched the image of the baby on the screen noticing it move continually inside him.
‘It looks perfectly all right,’ stated the nurse. ‘Do you want to know its sex?’
‘No,’ returned Bitch fearfully. ‘I don’t want to know anything about it at all.’
He left the hospital clutching the photograph of the scan which he showed to Butch after arriving home.
‘There it is,’ he said boldly. ‘Our baby, Butch. Can you believe it? It’s our baby!’
His partner seemed much less enthused at the news. ‘Yeh,’ he muttered, ‘I can see it.’
‘Look, there’s its arms and legs. They said it was perfectly normal so it must be. They already know the sex.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ uttered Butch miserably, passing the photograph of the scan back to his partner.
‘We can go to classes together if you want. It might lead us into parenthood,’ suggested Bitch hopefully.
‘I’m not going to classes, not now, not ever,’ Butch angrily. It was quite clear he looked on the birth unfavourably. ‘Have you considered an abortion,’ he commented coldly.
‘An abortion? How are they going to do that? I mean, I’m a man not a woman. My body still functions like a man. It would mean a serious operation.’
‘Well it’s certainly not out of the question is it? I mean, surely they can give you something... some drug... to do away with it before it gets any bigger.’
Bitch stared at him with a dull expression on his face. ‘But they’d be destroying a life. A human life.’
‘Don’t come all moral with me,’ chided Butch acidly. ‘What do you want a baby for? You tell me that!’
‘It’s a child being born inside me,’ countered Bitch unhappily. ‘I don’t think an abortion is the right decision.’
‘Suit yourself,’ muttered his partner indifferently. ‘But don’t blame me if it doesn’t work out right.’