Right to Life: The Brain Donor

Chapter 2 - Recovery.

I spaced out for the next few days. Orderlies came in and changed my bedding, nurses fixed my colostomy bags, and drained the catheter bag. I got sponge baths, and they manually manipulated my limbs, so my muscles wouldn’t tighten up and atrophy. All the while, I sat there in a fugue. Things happened, and I was aware of them. But I didn’t give them any thought, and I certainly didn’t respond to anyone.

I sat there feeling sorry for myself, when I heard a voice. I looked over to the doorway, and saw the blurry image of someone. I didn’t have the glasses on, and I couldn’t see them. I could tell that the person was coming closer. The individual reached over to the bedside and grabbed the glasses. I knew that because they were on me in a matter of seconds.

Standing in front of me was a woman. If I were still me, I’d be drooling over her. She was perhaps about 5’5” - 5’6”, with her long blonde hair braided into a long braid that fell down to about her mid-back. She had blue eyes, that were emphasized by the round glasses she wore. Her Doctor’s coat didn’t quite cover up the fact that she was very curvaceous and somewhat busty. She had on a crew-neck shirt under the coat. I could see that she had on a leather skirt and smokey hose.

“I’m Doctor Westerlain.”, she said in a melodious voice. “Doctor Thompkins thought that after your reaction to your new reality, that it might be best if someone else took over your rehabilitation… Someone that wasn’t involved previously.”

I looked at her. As I did, I could feel a tear roll down my cheek. Surprisingly, she reached into her coat pocket and produced a tissue, and wiped the tear away.

“I understand that things are rather traumatic for you. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for me to wake up one day trapped in a new body, and certainly not one of the opposite gender.”, she said with a sympathetic smile. “But you have received a gift. You might not think it now, but it truly is. Without this surgery, you would be dead. You have the chance at a whole new life.”

I looked at her and tapped my finger repeatedly, tapping the two taps for “no” over and over.

She looked at me and gave me a smile. “There are worse things than being an 11 year old girl. I was one once. I survived it. And so can you. You can wallow in misery, or see it as a challenge. Your life isn’t over, it’s beginning a new chapter. You can go back to school, you can start a new life. Your possibilities are nearly endless.”

I sat there and took that in. She might be right about that, but still… I was a little girl. A crippled one, at that. Weak and helpless and blind as a bat.

Dr. Westerlain spoke up again, “I have an idea that will make things much easier for both of us. I will be right back.”

With that, she turned and left.

I sat and thought about my situation. Yes, I was an 11 year old girl, but I was alive. I don’t know if I’m okay with that, but as she said… I am alive. I couldn’t sigh too well due to my breathing tube, but I felt like doing so. It was then that the doctor returned. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, and she quickly wheeled over the table that sat in the corner. She opened up the bag, and pulled several things from it, and placed them on the table. She adjusted the table-arm, so that it fit over my lap. After that, she placed a small devise on it.

“This is a tablet that has been programmed to translate your finger taps from Morse code to English text.” She said, as she pulled something else from the bag. It was a stand that attached to the table. It had on it a copy of the alphabet, and the corresponding Morse code representations of each letter.

“With this, you should be able to communicate more effectively”, she said cheerfully. I tried the tablet, and it was frustrating, but after a while, I got the hang of it.

>Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck.<, I tapped.

She laughed and spoke. “Perfectly understandable, under the circumstances. Now that you can communicate, do you have any questions?”

I thought about it for a moment.

>What do I look like?<

She paused and looked me over before responding. “You are about 5 foot tall, maybe 85-90 Lbs, I’d estimate. A little on the thin side. Very pretty blue eyes. Your hair is just starting to grow back, but I would say it appears to be a dark brown, maybe black. Certainly very attractive for that age. Would you like to see?”, she asked cautiously.

>Yes<

She held up a hand mirror and I looked at it. I could see the face, If not for the bandages and breathing tubes and other apparatus attached, it might be cute. The nose was as dainty as I thought, based on my impression of seeing it from the corner of my vision. The eyes were big and wide open, expressing an innocence that the real me had lost long ago. I couldn’t tell much about my mouth, as the breathing tube covered it up. If I am to be stuck as a girl for the rest of my life though, it’s better to not be an ugly one, I guess?

“Now that we can communicate, I’m going to be honest with you. It will be tough. Physical therapy will be long and grueling. But If you put effort into it, you will be able to resume a normal life. The neurologists tell me that your nerves and muscles are in good shape, and there weren’t any issues with the surgery. So if you are willing to put in the work, you will be able to walk and talk and do everything that the average person can do.”, she said with a stern, but sincere tone.

Progress went slowly, but I was expecting that. It took me another month to get full use of my hands, but with that progress came the ability to type. I wasn’t exactly burning up the 45 WPM rate I used to be able to do, but could get by hunting and pecking.

Shortly after that Dr. Westerlain came with news. Based on my tests, I was strong enough to be taken of the ventilator, and be allowed to breath on my own now, with only an oxygen tube in my nose. Additionally, I could leave my room for short periods in a wheel chair to get fresh air. I was overjoyed, because I was understandably getting stir-crazy.

My first outing took me to the park across the street, it was late spring already, and it was warming up. I felt a little chill, as it was still slightly on the cool side. Dr. Westerlain carefully put a blanket over me, as I sat there and watched people come and go. There were children playing, and I watched as one little girl teased an older boy. They looked like siblings. I watched her having fun, and I realized that she was probably the same physical age as my body. She danced and spun around, joy evident on her face. I watched, and the tears came. After a little while of watching, I tapped at the tablet mounted to the arm of the chair.

>Take me back please<

We went back to my room, and after I was placed back in bed, I sat there thinking. I didn’t want to be a girl, but I wanted what that girl in the park had. Joy, laughter… life. I wanted my life back, even if it was not to be as ‘me’. For that, I would try to cope with my new reality.

A few more days passed. Dr. Westerlain... or as she recently advised me to call her… Heidi, was here and we were working on my conditioning. She would push against my hands and I had to try to push back. I was making slow progress. I was able to move my forearms a little,

“I was thinking”, she said. “Things are going well with your physical therapy. There is something else that needs working on though… something that might be more difficult. Have you given any thought to your future?”

I sighed, and swallowed. I knew that eventually I would have to face this. Since the procedure had been experimental, my healthcare and stay were being picked up by the hospital, various research groups, charities, and foundations. When I would be “healthy” enough to leave, I had nothing really to return to. I had no family, and since I had likely been declared dead, my full-ride scholarship and housing at the University were gone. I think that Heidi noticed my fear, because my hands were shaking.

She took them and held them and reassured me. “Don’t worry, we won’t just throw you out on the street when you are fit enough to leave. We will find a place for you, and methods of support. What I was referring to is your future. After all, a young girl named Thomas would draw attention. We can work on that, but I thought it might suit you to think about it now.”

After Heidi left, I sat there thinking about it. Who am I? Who was I? Who was she? There were so many things I didn’t know, and so many questions left unanswered.

The next day came, and I had questions. Many questions. Heidi was working on my legs, massaging the muscles and flexing and bending my knees. I typed a message for her, and then tapped on the talbe to get her attention.

>Who was she?<

Heidi looked at me, not quite following. I sighed.

>The body. Who was she?< I asked again.

Heidi sighed herself, and stopped working on my muscles for a moment. She moved over beside me, and sat down in a chair at bedside. “I wish I could tell you something. But due to legal reasons and privacy issues all that information has been sealed. I don’t have any access to the donor’s personal information. All they provided to us doctors is medical history. I can tell you that whoever she was, she died of a sudden brain aneurysm. It was most likely over pretty quickly, I doubt she would have suffered.”

I breathed out slowly. I suppose there is some solace in that, that she didn’t suffer. I felt guilty though. Having her body. Whoever she is, I hope she can find some peace. I shed a tear and said a silent prayer for her.

Heidi noticed my mood, and decided I needed some time to myself. I was grateful to her, and I sat in the darkness, musing on life and death. The enormity of it all was getting to me. Why was I saved? I looked down at my hands, gazing over my body, my flat chest, the shape of my legs as they lay covered by my bed sheet. Surely this girl was more deserving. But now I am this girl. There is no more me, there is no more her. We are both but ghosts… only I am cursed to walk the Earth, remembering what I once had. Maybe she was the fortunate one? I had no answers, and the fates would supply none.

I laughed, as a stray thought floated through my mind. John Lennon once said “Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.”

No truer words were spoken. I had a new life, and no plans. I knew no future for myself. I had no name, no identity, no purpose. Just a person who should not be.