Sarah and Richard stare numbly at their daughter lying on the hospital bed, tubes and monitors surrounding her, constantly beeping and flashing.
“Take as much time as you need to say goodbye,” the Neurosurgeon said after telling them that Lucy had suffered catastrophic brain damage.
It’s so unfair, Sarah rages internally. Lucy had everything to live for. She’d just graduated from Uni and was about to embark on a traineeship at one of London’s top law firms. A bright, happy and successful future was mapped out for her, she wasn’t supposed to die at twenty-one.
Richard squeezes her hand, neither of them wants to be the first to utter those words, to accept that they’ve lost her.
The door opens quietly behind them, and they turn, grateful for the momentary distraction. Lucy’s Neurosurgeon beckons them outside.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he says seriously.
“We’ve already agreed to organ donations,” Richard replies bluntly, annoyed.
“It’s not that,” the Neurosurgeon continues calmly. “I want to talk to you about a partial brain transplant. It’s experimental but I think it could work in Lucy’s case and we have just received a suitable donor brain. I would, however, need your consent immediately”.
It takes a few minutes for Richard and Sarah to register what he’s said.
“If you replace part of her brain, are you sure she will still be Lucy?” Richard asks hesitantly.
“No question, we would just be replacing the Medulla Oblongata, not the Frontal Lobes, her personality will remain unchanged”.
Richard looks to Sarah, “In that case, do it, anything to save our precious girl, no question, you have our consent,” they say in unison, hugging each other, the pain and despair of the last few days suddenly erased.
The operation was a success.
I wake, my head immobilised in a metal cage, supporting numerous probes monitoring my brain. I frantically scan the room for someone, something familiar, but there’s nothing. I’m scared. Where am I?
“It’s OK darling, you’re in hospital, you’re safe,” a woman says, “Daddy and I are both here”.
Who is this woman? Daddy? It was only ever Mum and me, where is Mum? What’s happened to me? Panic rises rapidly inside me, and I start to scream.
A sharp scratch and drowsiness overcomes me.
“She’s likely to be very confused for the first few months and may act quite strangely,” I hear a doctor tell the woman, “it’s to be expected, she’s had complex surgery. Don’t worry, our team of psychiatrists will work with her to come to terms with what’s happened”.
The psychiatrists helped me to piece together who I am now, but every day when I look in the mirror, I know that it’s not my face looking back at me, that I’m a Cuckoo in someone else’s nest. I saw my real Mum once on the street. I called out but she didn’t recognise me, just walked by.
I have Lucy’s body and life now, but I am Anna.
Sarah and Richard stare numbly at their daughter lying on the hospital bed, tubes and monitors surrounding her, constantly beeping and flashing.
“Take as much time as you need to say goodbye,” the Neurosurgeon said after telling them that Lucy had suffered catastrophic brain damage.
It’s so unfair, Sarah rages internally. Lucy had everything to live for. She’d just graduated from Uni and was about to embark on a traineeship at one of London’s top law firms. A bright, happy and successful future was mapped out for her, she wasn’t supposed to die at twenty-one.
Richard squeezes her hand, neither of them wants to be the first to utter those words, to accept that they’ve lost her.
The door opens quietly behind them, and they turn, grateful for the momentary distraction. Lucy’s Neurosurgeon beckons them outside.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he says seriously.
“We’ve already agreed to organ donations,” Richard replies bluntly, annoyed.
“It’s not that,” the Neurosurgeon continues calmly. “I want to talk to you about a partial brain transplant. It’s experimental but I think it could work in Lucy’s case and we have just received a suitable donor brain. I would, however, need your consent immediately”.
It takes a few minutes for Richard and Sarah to register what he’s said.
“If you replace part of her brain, are you sure she will still be Lucy?” Richard asks hesitantly.
“No question, we would just be replacing the Medulla Oblongata, not the Frontal Lobes, her personality will remain unchanged”.
Richard looks to Sarah, “In that case, do it, anything to save our precious girl, no question, you have our consent,” they say in unison, hugging each other, the pain and despair of the last few days suddenly erased.
The operation was a success.
I wake, my head immobilised in a metal cage, supporting numerous probes monitoring my brain. I frantically scan the room for someone, something familiar, but there’s nothing. I’m scared. Where am I?
“It’s OK darling, you’re in hospital, you’re safe,” a woman says, “Daddy and I are both here”.
Who is this woman? Daddy? It was only ever Mum and me, where is Mum? What’s happened to me? Panic rises rapidly inside me, and I start to scream.
A sharp scratch and drowsiness overcomes me.
“She’s likely to be very confused for the first few months and may act quite strangely,” I hear a doctor tell the woman, “it’s to be expected, she’s had complex surgery. Don’t worry, our team of psychiatrists will work with her to come to terms with what’s happened”.
The psychiatrists helped me to piece together who I am now, but every day when I look in the mirror, I know that it’s not my face looking back at me, that I’m a Cuckoo in someone else’s nest. I saw my real Mum once on the street. I called out but she didn’t recognise me, just walked by.
I have Lucy’s body and life now, but I am Anna.
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