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Days later, Nick was still in denial, even as he lay in a hospital bed, preparing for surgery. Everything was happening so fast – good for the cancer, bad for him. He felt like he was in one of those scenes in a movie when the main character’s stuck in slow motion, while everyone around him is moving in double time. There was probably a name for that kind of special effect, but Nick couldn’t think of what it was. Being interested in film, it bothered him not to know the name of a technique he might like to try in one of his short films someday, so he let himself obsess over it for awhile. It was a good distraction from obsessing over losing one of his balls, anyway.

A soft knock on the door broke his concentration, and he looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a shapeless hospital gown and a pair of fuzzy, pink slippers. “Hi,” she said shyly, in a husky voice.

“Hi,” repeated Nick, wondering what she wanted. He wished she’d leave him alone. Where was security when he needed them? Fans weren’t supposed to be allowed into his room.

But when the woman asked politely, “Do you mind if I come in?” he couldn’t bring himself to say no. She looked harmless. Big, for a woman, but far from a screaming teenybopper. So he nodded, and she came in, pulling up a chair next to his bed. The shapeless gown didn’t hide her size, and he watched in wonder as she towered over him briefly, before sinking into the chair. She gingerly crossed one leg over the other, the pink slipper dangling off one of her massive feet.

“How tall are you?” Nick blurted out, before he could stop himself.

His visitor blushed and ducked her chin. “Five eleven.”

Sensing her embarrassment over it, Nick smiled and added, “Hey, own it, girl. I like to be able to look a woman in the eyes without looking down. Big is beautiful.” He thought of Lauren, almost his equal in height, and Paris, whom he could have shared shoes with if he’d wanted to. He definitely had a thing for tall chicks.

“Thank you,” whispered the stranger, fluttering her eyelashes, which were so long and thick, they had to be false. The hair on her head also seemed too perfect, the auburn curls cascading over her shoulders in thick, glossy waves. No one’s hair could look that nice after lying in a hospital bed, so Nick decided it must be a wig. Fake hair… fake eyelashes… a big, beastly woman in full makeup who seemed self-conscious, despite her obvious effort to make herself look good. The clues led Nick to only one conclusion:

Cancer.

She must have cancer, too, he thought. She probably lost all her real hair from the chemo. Instantly, he felt sorry for her. Losing a testicle was going to be hard enough, but at least that was something he could hide. For a woman, losing her hair must be just as traumatic.

“So what’s your name?” Nick asked, deciding to make conversation. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from her, before he started treatment himself.

“Carla,” said the woman in a sing-song voice, emphasizing the last syllable.

“I’m Ni-” he started to say, but she interrupted him.

“I know who you are.” She fluttered her lashes again, offering a shy smile.

He grinned sheepishly. “You do, huh? Guess the secret’s out.”

“I saw you in the hall the other day,” she said, in her soft, breathy voice. “What are you in for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

I do mind, Nick would have replied to any other stranger who had the nerve to ask, but seeing this woman as a kindred spirit, he decided to come clean. “I’m having surgery.” The next words were difficult to say; he had to force himself to spit them out. “I found out I have testicular cancer.”

Carla’s eyes widened, as the implications of his words hit her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Self-conscious, he looked away and coughed into his hand, a nervous tic he’d always had. “Yeah… sucks, don’t it? But what about you? What kind of cancer do you have?”

He looked up again, as her eyes got even rounder and her cheeks flushed even redder. “Oh, I don’t have cancer,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. “I’m here for surgery, too. A different operation… but really, not so different, if you stop and think about it.”

“How so?” asked Nick, eager to turn the topic back to her.

Carla spoke haltingly. “I’m, uh… having… gender reassignment surgery.”

It took a few seconds for Nick to fully process what this meant. Fake hair… fake eyelashes… a big, beastly woman in full makeup who seemed self-conscious, despite her obvious effort to make herself look good? He’d drawn the wrong conclusion. She wasn’t a woman with cancer. She wasn’t a woman at all. “So you’re a…?” He didn’t know how to finish his question. Drag queen? Tranny? That probably wasn’t politically correct.

Carla saved him from the embarrassment by answering, “I was born Carl, but I’ve always felt like Carla, a woman living in a man’s body. I’m counting on science to correct what nature got wrong.”

“O-oh,” said Nick, not sure how to respond. “Well, um… good for you!”

Carla smiled and batted her eyelashes again. “Thank you.”

An awkward silence settled over them after that. Nick felt uncomfortable with her sitting next to his bed and wished she would leave. But then Carla broke the silence by saying, “You know… when you told me what you were here for, I had an idea.”

Nick just raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.

“We’re going in for the same surgery, more or less, just for different reasons. When we come out, you might feel like damaged goods, like you’re less of a man because you’re missing a precious piece of yourself. I, on the other hand, will feel like a complete woman for the first time in my life. And maybe I can help you to feel complete again, too.”

“What do you mean?”

Carla smiled patiently. “What I mean is, there’s nothing wrong with the parts I’m having removed. They’re not diseased or damaged. Perhaps I can donate one of them to you.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

“A testicular transplant!” cried Carla, looking pleased with herself.

Nick was taken aback. Again, he found himself at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “You would do that for me? You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do. Maybe I don’t know you personally, but honey, I’ve been a Backstreet Boys fan for fifteen years! And trust me, what you’d be getting, I can’t wait to get rid of!”

This had to be the most embarrassing conversation of his whole life, but Nick swallowed his pride and forced himself to reply, “Thank you… Carla.”

Carla beamed, looking positively giddy over her solution to both of their problems. “No problem, Nick.” She took his hand and patted it. “I’m going to help you get through this. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

Feeling the warm weight of her meaty hand pressing down on his, Nick smiled. For the first time since his diagnosis, he felt like he was going to be okay.


I need this, I need love, I need you.
I don’t need one heartbeat, I need two.
There’s an emptiness I need to fill,
And only one emptiness will do.

Only a woman can brighten up my day.
Only a woman can touch me the right way.
Only a woman is allowed to touch me there.
All I ask is that you’re a woman.

I like rain, I like ham, I like you.
You’re around, you’re right here, so you’ll do.
I wanna tell you how much I love your mind,
But it simply isn’t true.

Only a woman can brighten up my day.
Only a woman can touch me the right way.
Only a woman is allowed to do what you’re doing right now.
All I ask is that you’re a woman.

And on Saturdays when I’m busy partying hard,
And it’s four in the morning, and I’m on my fifth tab of E,
That’s the only time I don’t even care if you are a woman.

Only a woman can brighten up my day.
Only a woman can do it just the right way.
Only a woman should be doing that right now.
I just want you to be a woman.
Please just be a woman.
Just any old woman.

Or a man…

- “Only a Woman” by Trey Parker


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