Jean was crying.
"I think I need to see my brother, see how he's doing, how she's doing."
I knew Jean's brother was serving time for drug dealing. "Of course, sweetheart." I stroked her hair.
Jean's next wish brought us to the prison where her brother had been held. It was a strange scene. The ultra-macho men and gang leaders had been regressed all the way back to little girlhood, in a few cases back to infancy. Bereft of guidance from born-women, the newly female prisoners, most of whom had regressed to adolescence or childhood, seemed not to know what to do, although a few were caring for the new toddlers and babies. Jean looked around frantically for her new sister.