This choice: Your 43 year old father, Paul Conners. • Go Back...Chapter #3Your 43 year old father, Paul Conners. by: takacube   "...My dad...?"
The way that the doctor looked at you, a mixture of intrigue and near exaltation, would've made you do one of two things: vomit on the floor from the sheer shock of it all or punch the daylights out of him. As the monitor next to your bed started to blip ominously, the older doctor quickly stepped forward and leaned forward simultaneously pushing his overeager colleague a few steps back from you and out of the conversation, momentarily at least. "Yes...I'm sorry, we meant to break this news to you a bit more subtly but you beat us to it." He glared over his shoulder at the younger doctor who seemed to be oblivious to everything he had said. "You do understand, don't you?"
Your head hit the pillow as what little energy you had somehow managed to muster awakening had suddenly drained from your body just as quickly. The thought that your dad had been involved in the same accident as the four of you somehow made it much more difficult to handle. "S-So...what happened? Please, just tell me in simple, plain english..." you mustered, forcing the younger doctor to shut his mouth in undignified disquiet and the older doctor, stifling a laugh at his colleague's expense, looked back at you. "What happened to me?"
"In simple terms, your brain was functioning fine but your body was too badly traumatized and the injuries were too severe. Your father, Paul, was physically okay except for a few minor bruises and lacerations from glass hitting his cheeks. His brain, though, had a major impact near the back of the neck. In essence, the moment your father was impacted, his brain suffered a catastrophic blow that severed its functioning. It simply stopped." He rested his hand gently on your shoulder as he could see the news starting to fully impact you. "He didn't suffer, if that makes it any easier for you. It was quick, it was painless, and it is unlikely that he felt any sort of pain or discomfort."
Strangely, as your clouded brain processed the words coming from the man's mouth, you did find some solace in that. You never wanted to think your father suffered in any way, shape, or form from the accident or what had been the last few moments of his life. While you, or anyone in the room for that matter, would ever be absolutely sure about it, you could tell there was a mixture of truth in his words. Even the younger doctor nodded slightly at the sentiment. "Thank you..."
"Now, there's the matter of what happened to you." He slowly motioned for a nurse to move the side table over and you got a good glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. It took you a few moments to realize what you were staring at and not being haunted by the image of a dead man looking back at you. "Say hello to your new body, Mr. Paul Connors."
Oh shit...they weren't joking... you thought as your hands reached up and touched the very familiar yet very alien face looking back at you. Save for a few stitches up near your temporal lobe, the spitting image of your father's face looked back at you. His full mob of brown hair, his deep blue eyes, even the slightly angular shape of his face and cheeks were reflected in your eyes and you brushed your hand against your cheek, feeling the slight stubble from not shaving in a few...what...hours? days? How long had you been out?
Picking up on your confusion, the older doctor nodded. "You've been out for 2 weeks. We had to ensure that a lot of things went right with the transplant operation and thought it best to keep you in a medical coma until we were sure everything checked out." He looked back at the chart in his hands. "Like I said, though, other than a few cuts and bruises, and the obvious, you are otherwise fit and in good condition. We'll keep you here for a few days for observation but, after that, you should be free to go."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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