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When Langa was young, his mother taught him that bad and scary things wouldn’t be able to touch him if he covered himself with his blankets. The monsters would just disappear.
Langa knew there would always be a blanket on his bed, ready to embrace him with warmth and dry his tears. It brought comfort, when Langa felt scared and alone.
But real-life stuff doesn’t disappear that easily.
This, Langa learned the hard way; during his early puberty years, at night he laid in bed with his blankets covering his head, hoping the way his body was changing would just stop if he stayed underneath them for long enough.
And even though a piece of fabric couldn’t make Langa’s anxieties and dysphoria disappear, it did make everything feel a bit lighter. It used to work like a charm, making things feel less real and daunting, even if it was just for a little bit.
It stopped working when Langa was faced with the mortality of his parents. His father’s passing couldn’t be pushed away by a blanket being draped over his head.
But he tried and tried.
Day and night, he spent lying in bed. Body curled into a ball, his stomach sending agonizing pain through his gut, as he laid there, sobbing for hours, to the point it started worrying his mother so much she decided contacting a psychologist for both Langa and herself, before moving countries to get away from everything that reminded them of Langa’s dad.
Ever since, Langa’s been sleeping with his head above the blankets and stopped crying.
It isn’t a habit Langa’s planning on allowing to return, but after coming home from a long and draining hospital appointment, he can’t help but long for a moment of peace and silence with his head under his blankets. Ignoring reality for a little, until he has to act on it.
He flops down on his bed, and right before he almost instinctively pulls the blankets over his head, he meets his eyes in the mirror. This really isn’t worth a fallback. Langa tells himself. It’s just a word put to what you’ve been dealing with anyway.
Sometimes being able to put a word to a feeling makes it less daunting; like when the thought “my body sucks” turned into “I’m transgender”, allowing it to become a good thing.
But that’s a little different this time. Because suddenly something Langa was hoping would go away with his grief slowly being worked through, turned into a diagnosis for something chronic. Something much bigger than the stomach aches and the exhaustion.
Up to this point, some of the doctors they consulted in Canada, told Langa it had to do with post-traumatic stress; who wouldn’t be stressed when losing their father in a snowboarding accident? Some just called it grief, which would grow less overwhelming with time.
This doctor called what Langa was experiencing “Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome” and all of a sudden things Langa had written off as him being lucky or simply part of his personality, became part of a diagnosis. A chronic syndrome.
He stares into his own eyes and swallows thickly. Maybe he’ll need the blanket after all.
Just when he’s about to give in, the doorbell sounds. Soon followed by a familiar voice asking, “Hey miss Hasagawa, is Langa home? He didn’t show up to school today.”
“He’s upstairs,” Langa’s mother replies. “He didn’t tell you he wouldn’t be going to school?”
“He didn’t.”
Langa closes his eyes. Please don’t tell him.
“Oh, well-“ She pauses shortly. “He wasn’t feeling well. You can go to his room and see if he feels up to hanging out, but don’t be surprised if he’s not feeling it, okay?”
Langa lets out a sigh of relief. But that relief soon leaves as footsteps rush up the staircase. And while Langa likes nothing more than spending time with Reki, Langa feels dread creeping up on him with every step Reki gets closer. The door opens and Langa’s eyes close briefly before turning around.
Reki’s eyes meet his and a soft sigh of relief leaves his mouth. “You had me so worried!” Reki tells Langa, walking over to his bed and sitting down beside him. “When you didn’t respond to my text, I thought you’d, like, died.”
“Not dying.”
Reki nods slowly, staring down at his lap. “I know now, but you still had me very worried.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Langa sits up, wanting to give Reki a hug to make up for ignoring his texts, but as he does so another one of those annoying pains shoots through his pelvis. A soft grunt makes its way from Langa’s mouth, his hand shoots to his lower abdomen.
“Is it the stomach pains again?”
“Hmhm,” Langa responds, trying not to make any movements as that’ll make it hurt worse.
Reki immediately places his hands on Langa’s shoulders, stroking them until Langa feels this burst of pain leave. He sits upright more and thanks Reki for being there for him.
“No problem.” Reki lets go of Langa’s shoulders, but his eyes linger on Langa’s face. “You should really get that checked out; it can’t be healthy to be having such stomach aches.”
“I-“ Langa takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “-already have. I went to the hospital today.”
“You had to go to the hospital?” Reki’s eyes grow larger with fear. “Wh- Are you okay?”
“Hm.” Langa shrugs. He doesn’t physically feel any different, it feels like it would be easy to forget he has a diagnosis at all, but mentally he feels a difference.
“Did they tell you anything? Were they able to figure out what you have?”
Langa hesitates before nodding once. “Yeah.”
“What is it?” Reki leans in closer.
“Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome,” Langa says, and knowing that will not tell Reki anything at all, he adds, “It’s something to do with my lady-parts.”
“Oh.” Reki glances away. Even though he’s been a very supportive friend, regarding Langa’s gender-identity, Reki is still a cisgender guy. And just like most cisgender guys he gets flustered whenever it’s about things like this. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to ask, but Reki being Reki still feels he needs to fill up the silence, so he just asks, “But there are many things that can cause stomach aches, right?” Reki thinks about it and adds, “I get them too, sometimes. That doesn’t mean I have Poly-something syndrome.”
“You’re a guy.”
“You’re a guy as well.”
Langa gives Reki a glare. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Reki waves it off. “But then what is making them think you have this and not, I don’t know, an irritable bowel or something like that.”
Langa sighs, letting himself flop back onto his mattress. He really doesn’t have the energy to explain everything he explained to the gynaecologist to Reki, but knowing Reki’s not going to leave it alone until he knows everything there is to know, he better get comfortable; it’s going to take some time, getting Reki to understand everything.
“For one, I don’t get my period. Not anymore, at least.”
“Okay.” Reki’s eyes narrow, like they do whenever he’s thinking really hard. “But that’s normal right? You’re on male hormones, aren’t you?”
Reki did his research, clearly, after Langa told him he was transgender. But, also clearly, he didn’t quite understand everything he read. Like how not every trans guy uses testosterone.
“I’m not on any hormones.” He would’ve liked to be, but since it’s not covered by health insurance in Japan, and it’s too expensive for Langa and his mother to afford at the moment.
“Really?” Reki’s eyes glance at Langa’s chin, where there’s currently some soft facial hair. “But you’ve got facial hair, more than me even. How’s that possible without hormones?”
The doctor Langa saw today said it’s hirsutism, telling him they’d be easy to get removed. But those little stupid hairs, women apparently hate having, are responsible for giving Langa the guts to say “fuck it”, buy a binder and start going by he/him pronouns once he and his mom moved to Japan, knowing he could easily pass for a guy with his long build, deeper voice and peach fuzz.
“It’s because my testosterone levels are naturally higher than they are for most people assigned female at birth,” Langa explains, at least that’s how he understood it when his gynaecologist explained it to him.
Reki turns to Langa, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “That’s so cool!”
Langa nods and smiles softly; hearing that is actually the most affirming thing he heard. Or well, it was, until his doctor explained this could have an influence on his sexual- and gender identity. He wishes she wouldn’t have said that.
It dawned on Langa that what he thought was part of him and his brain and his identity, part of him he was most proud of, might’ve been a symptom of a syndrome all along. And even though they’re not going to take it away from him, since there’s no cure for PCOS at all, it was still strange to realize Langa had no clue whether this part of him is or isn’t a symptom.
Just thinking about it, makes the pain in Langa’s stomach grow a bit worse, like it does when he worries too much about things he can’t control.
Reki seems to notice, immediately grabbing Langa’s hand to comfort him.
“What about the stomach pain?” Reki asks after a silence. “They know how to fix them now?”
Langa shakes his head.
“Why not? There has to be a way.”
“It’s chronic,” Langa tells Reki. “They offered some options, since not menstruating could, maybe, be dangerous; IUD, contraceptive pills and stuff. I told them I didn’t want it.”
“Why not?”
“They’re all filled to the brim with feminine hormones.” Langa swallows thickly.
“But if it could help-“
“That’s the thing, it won’t do me any good, physically,” Langa explains it wouldn’t even help with the stomach pain, it’s just to make sure he doesn’t get any abnormal cells in his endometrial, sometime in the distant future. It’s a slim risk Langa’s willing to take.
Reki opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Langa tells him, “Don’t try to convince me.”
Reki’s eyes glance away.
“I don’t want to lose myself, because of this,” Langa says. “It’s just a diagnosis, it doesn’t change anything. It’s just a word to put to the pain. But I’m not letting it change me.”
Reki stays silent for a couple of seconds, before rolling closer to Langa. He wraps his arms around Langa’s neck and pulls him into a hug. “I know. I wasn’t going to talk you into treatment,” Reki promises. “I was going to tell you that, whatever you do, I’m on your side.”
With Reki’s arms covering Langa’s head, Langa realizes this is what he needs; no blankets, no treatments. Just a friend who’s willing to listen to him, support his choices and willing to stand by his side when things do get a bit overwhelming from time to time.
Because Langa knows things are going to be overwhelming. It’s scary knowing he might get a bit confused about who he is sometimes and even scarier knowing the pain is here to stay. There are going to be moments, just like this, where he’s not going to be okay. Knowing he won’t have to face these moments on his own, makes everything feel a bit less daunting.
The End.