Walsh Family Universe V2

"We have your three-year checkup this afternoon," Shannon announced at breakfast. "Dr. Reynolds wants to see how you're growing."

Ash's spoon paused. Doctor. He hadn't been to the doctor since... well, since the regression procedure. Since waking up in a body that was finally, physically right.

"What kind of checkup?"

"Just a regular well-child visit. Height, weight, making sure everything's developing normally." Shannon wiped a crumb from his chin. "You'll probably get a few vaccines too. You're due for some boosters."

Vaccines. Shots. Ash's adult mind knew they were necessary, knew the science behind them. But his toddler body apparently had opinions, because he felt an immediate surge of anxiety at the thought of needles.

"I don't want shots."

"I know, baby. Nobody likes shots. But they keep you healthy." Shannon started clearing dishes. "Dr. Reynolds is very nice. She took care of your brother and sisters when they were little."

Dr. Reynolds. The family pediatrician. Who'd seen Ash before—when he actually was a child, decades ago in his memory. Who would now see him as a patient again, knowing exactly what situation had brought him here.

The pediatric office was exactly as Ash remembered—bright colors, toys in the waiting room, cartoon characters painted on the walls. He sat in a small chair next to Shannon, watching other children play with the toy kitchen and read board books.

A little boy, maybe two, was crying in his mother's lap. "No doctor! No!"

His mother bounced him gently. "It's okay, sweetie. Just a quick visit."

Ash understood that fear viscerally now. The powerlessness of being taken somewhere you didn't want to go, poked and prodded by adults making decisions about your body.

"Noam Walsh?" A nurse called from the doorway.

Shannon took his hand and led him back. The nurse—young, cheerful, wearing scrubs covered in dinosaurs—smiled down at him.

"Hi Noam! I'm Nurse Katie. We're going to check some things, okay?"

They went to a room with a scale and a measuring stick on the wall.

"First, let's see how tall you are! Can you stand right here for me?"

Ash stood against the wall. The nurse lowered the measuring bar to the top of his head.

"Thirty-one inches! You've grown since your last visit." She made a note on her tablet. "Now let's check your weight. Can you step on the scale?"

Ash climbed onto the digital scale. Numbers flickered and settled.

"Thirty-two pounds. Perfect." More notes. "Okay, let's go to the exam room. Dr. Reynolds will be with you in just a minute."

The exam room had a padded table covered in crinkly paper, more cartoon characters on the walls, jars of tongue depressors and cotton swabs. Shannon lifted Ash onto the table, the paper crinkling under him.

"You're doing great," she said. "Just a few more things to check, then we're done."

A knock at the door, and Dr. Reynolds entered. She was in her fifties, gray hair pulled back, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She looked the same as Ash remembered from childhood—his actual childhood, decades ago.

"Hello Noam! I'm Dr. Reynolds." She sat on the rolling stool, bringing herself closer to his eye level. "Your mom tells me you've been doing really well. Starting preschool, making friends, playing sports. That's wonderful."

Her voice was professional and warm, but Ash caught the slight difference in her eyes. She knew. Knew he wasn't really three, knew the situation, but was treating him like any other patient.

"I'm going to do a quick examination, okay? Nothing scary. Just checking that everything's working the way it should."

She started with the basics—looking in his ears with an otoscope, checking his throat, listening to his heart and lungs with a stethoscope.

"Deep breath in... and out. Good. Again. Excellent."

She felt his neck for swollen lymph nodes, checked his reflexes with the little hammer, looked at his teeth.

"Everything looks great so far. Now I need to check your tummy. Can you lie back for me?"

Ash lay back on the crinkly paper. Dr. Reynolds gently pressed on his abdomen, checking for abnormalities.

"Does this hurt? No? Good. How about here?"

Then she moved to his legs, checking his hips and flexibility, making sure his joints moved properly.

"Okay, last thing. I need to do a quick check of your genital area—just making sure everything's developing normally. It'll be really fast, okay?"

Ash's heart rate picked up. This was it. The check that most kids found embarrassing or uncomfortable, but that for him carried completely different weight.

Shannon stood nearby, holding his hand.

Dr. Reynolds was professional and quick, barely a few seconds, checking for any abnormalities.

"Everything looks perfect," she said, pulling his underwear back up and helping him sit. "Healthy, normal development."

And that word—normal—hit Ash in an unexpected way.

Normal.

His body was developing normally. As a boy. As the male body he'd always been supposed to have.

No dysphoria during the exam. No horror at being examined. Just... a routine check of a body that was finally, correctly his.

"Now," Dr. Reynolds said, rolling back on her stool. "We do need to do vaccines today. You're due for DTaP, polio, MMR, and varicella boosters. That's four shots."

Ash felt his stomach drop. Four shots.

"I don't want them."

"I know, sweetheart. Nobody wants shots." Dr. Reynolds's voice was gentle. "But they're really important. They protect you from getting very sick."

"Can't we skip them?"

"I'm afraid not. These are required vaccines." She looked at Shannon. "Mom, do you want to hold him on your lap, or would he rather sit on the table?"

"Lap, I think," Shannon said, sitting in the chair and pulling Ash onto her lap, holding him securely. "It'll be over so fast, baby. I promise."

Nurse Katie returned with a tray of syringes. Four of them, lined up like tiny instruments of torture.

Ash's adult brain knew this was irrational. Knew the pain was minimal and brief. Knew vaccines were good and necessary.

But his toddler body was in full panic mode, heart racing, breath coming faster.

"No. I don't want them. I changed my mind."

"I know you're scared," Dr. Reynolds said. "But Mom's right here with you, and we're going to do them all really fast. One, two, three, four, and done. Can you be brave for me?"

"I don't want to be brave."

"I know. But sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do because they're good for us." Dr. Reynolds prepared the first shot. "Shannon, hold him steady. Noam, squeeze Mom's hand as hard as you need to."

Ash felt Shannon's arms tighten around him, holding him still. Not violently, not meanly, just firmly. Preventing escape.

"Look at Mommy," Shannon said softly. "Look right at me, don't look at the shot."

But Ash couldn't not look. Watched Dr. Reynolds come closer with the syringe.

"Little pinch," she warned.

The needle went in. Sharp, sudden pain in his arm. Ash yelped.

"One done," Dr. Reynolds said immediately, already preparing the second. "Three more."

"No, wait—"

Second shot, other arm. Ash cried out again.

"Two done. Halfway there."

Tears were streaming down Ash's face now. Not just from the pain—which wasn't that bad, objectively—but from the helplessness of it. Being held down while someone hurt him, even for a good reason, even briefly.

Third shot. This one in his thigh. Ash was fully crying now.

"Almost done, baby, almost done," Shannon murmured, holding him tight.

Fourth shot. Other thigh.

"All done!" Dr. Reynolds said, putting the last syringe down. "You did it! Four shots and you were so brave."

Ash was sobbing into Shannon's shoulder, his body shaking. The rational part of his brain knew he was overreacting. The toddler part didn't care.

"Shhh, it's okay, it's all over," Shannon rocked him gently. "All done. No more shots."

Nurse Katie appeared with stickers. "You get four stickers for being so brave! Which ones do you want?"

Through his tears, Ash pointed at random stickers. A dinosaur. A rocket ship. A baseball. A rainbow.

She stuck them on his shirt. "There you go! Super brave patient!"

Dr. Reynolds made final notes. "He might be a little sore in his arms and legs for a day or two. Tylenol if needed. Otherwise, he looks great. Growing well, healthy, hitting all his developmental milestones. I'll see him again in six months."

She stood, giving Ash a gentle pat on the head. "You did a great job today, Noam. I know shots are scary, but you got through it."

Shannon carried Ash out to the waiting room—he was capable of walking but she seemed to sense he needed to be held. She scheduled the next appointment at the desk while Ash hiccupped against her shoulder, tears finally slowing.

In the car, Shannon buckled him into his car seat and handed him his stuffed dog from home. "How about we stop for ice cream on the way home? I think you earned it."

"Okay," Ash said, voice small and watery.

At the ice cream shop, Shannon got him a small chocolate cone and they sat at an outside table. Ash ate slowly, his arms and legs already starting to feel sore where the shots had gone in.

"I'm proud of you," Shannon said. "I know that was scary."

"I cried."

"Lots of kids cry at shots. Even some adults cry at shots." Shannon smiled. "It doesn't mean you weren't brave. Being brave doesn't mean not being scared. It means doing the hard thing even though you're scared."

Ash ate his ice cream and thought about the appointment. About being measured and weighed and examined. About the shots that had hurt and scared him even though his adult brain knew better.

About Dr. Reynolds checking his genitals and declaring everything "normal."

That part, at least, had been good. Better than good.

His body was developing normally. His male body. The body that finally matched who he was supposed to be.

No dysphoria. No wrongness. Just... normal.

Even if getting there had involved four painful shots and crying in his mother's arms like an actual three-year-old.

That evening, Patrick came home to find Ash subdued, sitting at his table coloring with less enthusiasm than usual.

"I heard you were very brave at the doctor today," Patrick said, crouching beside him. "Four shots is a lot."

"I cried."

"That's okay. Shots hurt. Crying is a normal response to pain." Patrick examined the stickers on Ash's shirt. "Nice collection here. I especially like the dinosaur."

"My arms hurt."

"I bet. Want some medicine to help?"

Ash nodded. Patrick got children's Tylenol and measured out the dose. "This should help. And tomorrow you'll feel better."

After dinner, Shannon gave him a gentle bath, careful of his sore injection sites. Changed him into soft pajamas. Put him to bed early with extra stuffed animals for comfort.

"You did such a good job today," she said, tucking him in. "I know it was hard. But you got through it, and now you're all caught up on your vaccines. You don't have to go back for six whole months."

Six months. By then he'd be three and a half. Would probably be taller, heavier, more developed.

Would be that much further into this life as Noam.

Lying in his bed, arms and legs aching, Ash thought about the appointment. About all of it.

"My name is Ash," he whispered. "I'm twenty-five years old. Today I got vaccines and cried like a little kid."

But also: "Today a doctor checked my body and said it was developing normally."

Both truths existed simultaneously.

He'd cried during shots—genuine, uncontrollable tears that his toddler body produced whether his adult mind wanted them or not.

But he'd also had his male body examined and declared healthy and normal and developing correctly.

The body he'd always wanted. Finally his. Finally right.

Even if getting vaccines in it hurt like hell and made him cry.

Five thousand four hundred and fifty-nine days to go.

But today his body had been measured and weighed and declared healthy.

Today he'd grown three inches since the regression.

Today he'd been checked thoroughly and everything was normal.

Normal.

That word still echoed in his mind.

His body was normal. Was his. Was right.

Even if the circumstances of getting here were anything but normal.

He fell asleep with his arms and legs aching, stickers still on his shirt, chocolate ice cream flavor lingering in his mouth.

And dreamed of growing taller, growing stronger, growing into the body that was finally, correctly his.

Even if it meant being three years old for now.

Even if it meant shots and tears and check-ups every six months for the next fifteen years.

At least it was the right body going through it all.

At least that part was normal.

That had to count for something.