The Stages of Grief in a Fragile Vial
Spring whimpered innocently like that, and several days slipped by. I had no idea how much time had passed since I collapsed. After the initial seizure, all I'd done was deny it. This can't be happening, I told myself. It has to be some bad dream. If it wasn't a dream, then it must be some elaborate hidden camera prank. Of course, I knew deep down that none of that nonsense could possibly be true.
The next stage was anger. Why the hell did this have to happen to me? I resented the world, hated my fate. The fact that it hit on the day of my interview, that Jin Seo-hye had dragged up the past to ruin it—all of it fueled my rage. Even knowing her ambush had nothing to do with this change, I couldn't help it. I hated the god who'd dumped this trial on me.
Then came bargaining. Or was it even bargaining? No, it was begging. I pleaded with the doctor, practically on my knees. Please, turn me back, rubbing my hands together desperately. When the doctor refused, I turned to God. Forgetting yesterday's curses, I prayed for the first time since childhood. Please, even now, let this all be a nasty nightmare. No answer came, of course.
And now, the stage I was in: depression. I felt a profound sense of loss and gloom I'd long forgotten, or thought I had. It was just like the process for someone sentenced to death. So, would acceptance come next? No way in hell could I accept this. The final fifth stage would never reach me.
I refused food. Unable to move properly, it was the only rebellion I could muster. I clamped my mouth shut, rejecting the porridge the nurse tried to spoon-feed me. A passive suicide attempt. I knew it was pointless—the IV drip kept me alive with the bare minimum nutrients anyway.
After a full day of refusing meals, they pulled out the big guns the next day: force-feeding. They pried my mouth open and shoved the porridge in. I didn't have the strength to spit it out, even if I wanted to. In the end, I surrendered to the nurses. I started eating the porridge they fed me.
Once that line was crossed, the rest was easy. My half-hearted suicide bid was blocked. With my stubbornness broken, I became a compliant patient. Not enlightenment, mind you—just resignation. They treated me like a fragile glass vial, and all I wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible.
My body was recovering bit by bit. Once I could move somewhat, I inspected myself right away. Tiny. The fairly big guy I'd been? Gone. My arms and legs were skinny and shriveled, my hair stark white. Height? Definitely shorter. My viewpoint had shifted. Small breasts had sprouted, and the manhood in my groin had vanished entirely. In its place, just a straight slit.
I hadn't checked deliberately; I'd glimpsed it when the nurse helped with urination. Horrifying. I'd come to recognize, on some level, that I'd become a woman. I couldn't accept it, but my brain could grasp it. And that dissonance shook me to my core. I'm a man, but a woman. Was a man, now a woman. But my mind's still male. Can you even call this a man's body? Hell, maybe it'd be easier if I were some lunatic with a mental illness, convinced I was a man when I'm just a crazy bitch. But my memories and the world proved my past too vividly. This was all real.
Had becoming a woman made my brain stupid too? I racked my mind all day, but clear thinking was hard. Sure, anyone hit with this freak event would be confused, but to me, it just felt like because I'm a woman now.
Once I could walk a bit, I noticed something off. The door. I tried opening it from inside—locked. I realized I couldn't leave this room. My novelist's brain instantly spun wild scenarios: SF tales of being a human experiment subject, locked away to cover it up. Or a mad doctor eyeing this rare specimen for free tests. Pure emotional fantasy, worthless drivel, but it unsettled me anyway.
I huddled on the bed, waiting for the nurse to prove my delusions wrong. At lunchtime, she entered, startled at my weird squat. "Excuse me."
"Yes?"
"I tried to go out earlier, but the door was locked. Why?"
"That's for patient safety."
"Patient safety?"
"Your condition's improving, so the doctor's coming soon. Ask him then."
Her words didn't sound suspicious, so I nodded and let her feed me. I could've eaten alone by now, but after the refusal stunt, I couldn't stop her. I left half the tasteless hospital slop, and she cleared it, knowing I truly couldn't eat more. My appetite had halved since this body; even a little extra made me bloated.
I sat dazed, waiting for the doctor. Soon after lunch, he arrived with nurses in tow. Ignoring me, he had them check my pulse, press a stethoscope to me, grope my body like a perv. Finally, he spoke. "Hmm... Physically, you're perfectly normal. If you keep improving, discharge in about a week."
I didn't beg to be restored—I'd tried that multiple times; he just dodged awkwardly. Probably impossible for him too. Instead, I asked, "The door was locked when I tried to leave earlier. Why?"
"Patient safety, of course. Same reason there's no window."
That meant locked to prevent suicide or escape. But the nurse had implied something else. "Is that the whole reason?"
"Since you're recovering, there's something I should tell you. Around evening, someone from the NIS will visit."
"The NIS?"
My face paled instantly. Was the country really doing human experiments? But he explained, quashing the fantasy. "Sudden Gender Transformation Syndrome is a rare disease popping up worldwide. Cause unknown, but it fully swaps your body to the opposite sex. Mr. Seol-guk—your current body's not robust, but it's a completely normal, average woman's."
"...What's that got to do with the NIS?"
"By national policy, patients with no ID are under NIS management. Some support's provided, but no solid system yet—you might struggle. They'll explain details."
I didn't pry more about the lock. He warned my normal-but-fragile, unstable body was prone to illness, advised caution. Medical talk dragged on, but I half-tuned out; it didn't feel like my body. Until one line snapped me back.
"Your body hasn't fully matured. Age-wise, it's younger than before—like middle or high school. No signs of menstruation yet, but it could start anytime, so be careful."
"...Menstruation?"
"Yes, periods. You'll have them soon, probably."
"Me? Periods?"
"No pregnancies recorded yet, but physically possible. So if you have sex, take precautions..."
"What the fuck do you mean, sex?!"