Mom Wants to Get That Part Straight First
The professor seemed slightly flustered by Mom’s direct question. He waved his hands for a moment, then dropped his head before lifting it again and speaking.
“Well… there still aren’t many cases worldwide, so we can’t confidently tell you it will get better. That’s why we’d like you to visit our hospital frequently—so we can monitor the treatment methods and any subsequent changes…”
The professor, who had been trying to coax us with benefits until the very end, gradually began speaking in plain language. It looked like he’d given up on circling around the point. The explanation that followed was extremely long.
“If the patient and guardian consent, we will provide the maximum support and convenience within our ability. Of course, participation in the research is ultimately a choice the patient and guardian must agree on together.”
It was such a long explanation that my head started throbbing just from listening. If I had to summarize the whole enormous speech, it came down to this: it was something we wanted too, but it had to be a completely voluntary agreement made by the patient and guardian. We had received sufficient explanation from the hospital, and there had been absolutely no financial pressure or excessive persuasion. The decision was made with full awareness of those facts.
In any case, the consent forms and stack of documents were covered in the hospital’s desperate attempts to avoid any legal trouble. Even while signing them mechanically, a dry laugh slipped out of me. Did it really have to go this far?
“How many more of these do I have to do…?”
“Ah, just a few more sheets.”
Even the law apparently couldn’t be helped. They said it would have been simpler if I had already been an adult. Unfortunately, being a minor made everything stricter.
Still, from my perspective it wasn’t a bad deal at all. Instead of spending money at the hospital, I would be receiving it. A ray of hope that could stuff my empty allowance full. The only downside was the strangely disappointing amount—much smaller than what my friends had expected.
Something feels less than I expected.
Fifty to a hundred thousand won per regular visit. Two hundred fifty to three hundred thousand won for tests like MRI or CT. It was nowhere near the “hundreds of millions” my friends had thrown around. Even so, where else was I going to find a deal this good? To me, it was still a huge sum of money.
“Did you bring your ID?”
“Ah, yes.”
At the short question I pulled my resident registration card from my thin wallet. It was a crisp one, issued only two months earlier. The professor took it and kept glancing back and forth between the card and me.
“You’re certain you changed from male to female?”
“Yes.”
My appearance probably didn’t match the photo at all, because he asked again, as if to double-check. I wasn’t used to my current looks either.
“There are no particular abnormalities in your body at the moment, so you can be at ease about that. I’ll contact you later.”
A few more questions and answers went back and forth before the professor finally released us, as if we were free to go. It must have been some kind of identity verification step.
“So there’s no guarantee of when I’ll get better?”
Sensing the conversation was about to end, Mom suddenly cut in and asked the professor.
“Yes. We’ll have to observe the progress and conduct research. It’s a disease with very few cases even in Korea, so we have almost no data. I’ve certainly never heard of a case where the gender changes.”
He kept repeating the same information, but the professor kindly repeated his guidance and explanations anyway. In the end Mom seemed to accept that there was no cure. At least I wouldn’t be dragged to the hospital anymore because of her.
A short while later we trudged out of the hospital carrying a test-results sheet packed with dense data.
“If even a big hospital is like this, where are we supposed to go?”
Mom sighed, clearly disappointed there was no treatment. Had she been planning to somehow force a cure? She hadn’t seemed especially bothered by my current appearance before.
Thinking that, I simply blurted out whatever came to mind.
“What can we do? They said there’s no method.”
“You’re not worried at all?”
Mom sounded frustrated by my carefree answer. Giving up early and compromising if it seemed hopeless—that was the bad habit she always scolded me for. Of course it applied even in a bizarre situation like this.
“They said I’m healthy for now.”
“Aigoo, I’m so worried. So worried.”
When I pushed the compromise I’d found onto her, Mom poured out her anxiety again. The tone practically screamed You’re way too relaxed about this. But if we didn’t compromise, what else were we supposed to do?
There were inconvenient parts compared to before—the ears and tail and such—but it wasn’t to the point I couldn’t live. So wasn’t that enough? It was a relief that it wasn’t the kind of illness that would lock me in a hospital for life. Like Seokjun and the others had said, my running speed had improved and I didn’t have any specific pains, so wasn’t it actually a good thing?
And, if things went well… maybe I really wouldn’t have to go to the military?
At that thought a corner of my heart fluttered strangely. The idea of having to enlist in two years had already started making me slightly resent my nationality and gender.
This is something worth looking forward to, right?
Before I knew it the corners of my mouth had crept upward. Only I was grinning while Mom remained deadly serious beside me.
After we got home I hummed cheerfully, already thinking about Saturday and Sunday. Hyeonseo had gone out to play with friends like she’d said yesterday. With my sister gone, I started rolling around comfortably in my room. I tucked a pillow under my chest to make space, lay face-down, and tapped at my smartphone.
“Hyunwoo, did you put on the tail cover?”
Mom’s shout reached me not long after. Still lying on my stomach, I answered half-heartedly.
“Yeees—”
But my reply didn’t stop her. The sound of Mom’s heavy footsteps grew closer. The moment I turned my head toward the footsteps my big ears had caught—
Something soft and rustling dropped onto my head with a plop.
“Eek!”
The scream burst out reflexively. A crinkling sound covered my scalp, and at the same time every noise around me grew muffled.
“Mm, it fits perfectly.”
“…What is this? What did you put on me?”
Mom sounded satisfied that whatever she’d placed on my head fit just right. Not understanding what was going on, I reached up. It had some stretch but felt like plastic. A slightly rougher texture than vinyl lingered on my fingertips.
“It’s a hairnet. Your orange hair keeps shedding everywhere.”
“Ehhh~?”
I let out a weird noise at Mom’s explanation. What she had put on me was the kind of sanitary cap food-factory workers wore. The exact same thing the lunch ladies always had on in the cafeteria. Now I had to wear one at home too?
While I was still fiddling with the new annoyance on my head, Mom asked another question.
“Did you organize your bag the moment you came into the room?”
Of course I hadn’t. I’d flopped down the second I got home.
“Not yet…”
“You always say ‘not yet.’”
Exactly as she’d expected, Mom nagged me and immediately unzipped my bag. Ziiiip. My body still refused to move. The rummaging sounds stopped.
“What is this?”
“Huh?”
I finally whipped my head around. In Mom’s hand was the pet brush. The one my desk mate had given me because her cat hated it. Crap, I forgot about that.
“Ah, that…”
“Why is this in your bag? Where did you get it?”
Mom turned the brush over, inspecting it from every angle. Our family didn’t keep any pets, so there should have been zero reason to own a pet brush. But recently a person who shed as much as any animal had appeared. Mom seemed to realize that too; she stared at me silently.
“I don’t want to. I’m not doing it.”
“Why not? You brought it home, so you should use it! Come here.”
When I cut her off first and refused, Mom pressed me, saying it was only right to try it since I’d brought it. But no matter how much she urged, I stayed planted in place, scrunching my face to show how much I hated the idea.
“Ugh, I really don’t want to.”
Even if it was family, I didn’t want to be brushed by someone else. If I did it myself, maybe… but for some reason the thought of someone else doing it gave me a strange sense of resistance.
“Then you’re just never going to use it?”
“…I’ll try it by myself later.”
“It’s better if I do it for you. Come on, let’s groom my son’s tail once.”
“Mom, what kind of sentence is that?”
That wasn’t the sort of thing a person should say to another person. Groom my son’s tail? When I kept standing there refusing to leave the room, Mom held the door and beckoned.
“Come out to the veranda, quick.”
“Aish, seriously.”
In the end I got up reluctantly and followed her. The moment I squatted on the veranda with its square tiles, Mom pulled off the tail cover with an expression full of anticipation. For some reason she looked even more excited than I felt.
The bristles looked pretty stiff—wouldn’t it hurt? After that vague worry, Mom began brushing.
Scratch, scratch.
A tickling sound reached my ears, and then a bizarre sensation I had never felt before.
“Mm.”
“Why? Does it hurt?”
The unfamiliar feeling made me unconsciously let out a sound, so Mom immediately stopped and asked if it hurt.
“Ah, no… it’s fine.”
I answered that it was okay even while flustered. Mom resumed brushing with careful strokes.
“Tell me if it hurts.”
No, it wasn’t really pain so much as… how should I describe this feeling? It was like having the outside of my ear gently scraped with an ear pick. Ticklish, yet impossibly refreshing. Part of me wanted someone to keep doing it forever.
But the pleasant time didn’t last long.
“Oh ho ho, this is great!”
After brushing my tail in one direction a few more times, Mom seemed to have had enough fun watching. She praised the brush as a wonderful item and stood up without a shred of regret.
That’s it? After all that pushing?
I felt a little disappointed that she hadn’t brushed much despite how much she’d urged me, but I hid it and started to get up. That was when Mom suddenly shoved the bristle side of the brush toward me.
“Wow, look at all this fur.”
“Whoa.”
Thick orange fur was packed densely between the fine bristles. After just a few strokes, this would be enough to make one whole cat, wouldn’t it?