Dad! Help Me!

Dad, I am sick of repeating myself. No, I am not a woman trapped in a man’s body. There is literally a woman trapped in my body. Thank you for being so open-minded, but gender dysphoria is not the issue at hand. Currently, we have a live woman stuck inside of me with minutes worth of oxygen left for her to survive.

I am in serious amounts of pain. Yes, I see your Legalize Trans shirt. That’s great and I do think it’s important to talk about Trans rights, but not right now. Right now, we need to call some sort of doctor or surgeon or EMT. I am not sure how much longer this woman will live inside of me and I can feel all of my organs shifting.

Yes, Orange Is the New Black is a good show and I have heard of Laverne Cox. But you are missing the point. I need immediate medical attention. I am worried about the livelihood of two people. Me, and this woman clawing at my insides.

I get that gender is a spectrum. You do not have to put that dress on as part of a lesson that deconstructs the rigid guidelines of social masculinity! Just call the police. Call someone! I would, but I am currently preoccupied.

Dad, my vision is blurring. I have a splitting headache and I have a severe pain inside of me the size of a petite, middle-aged mother—I’m guessing. I’m not sure. I can only see the outline of her as she is bulging through my skin.

You actually can’t see this? No it is not metaphorical.  Don’t you see this elbow stretching out at my belly button?! Dad, please turn off Orange Is The New Black and come over here and help me!

Oh, I guess you’re right. I don’t know if this person identifies as a woman. Thanks for teaching me a valuable lesson.

The next time someone is trapped inside of me, I will be sure to ask for their preferred gender pronouns. But right now, let’s get her—I mean them (zer?)—out of me!

-DZ ’16