This choice: You felt incredibly awkward and uncomfortable in your mother's body. • Go Back...Chapter #4You felt incredibly awkward and uncomfortable i... by: Wassel   Slowly, you opened your eyes. Gone was the groggy, drug-induced haze. You felt rested and reasonably good, but something felt ...off. As you moved to sit upright in the hospital bed, you could feel something move on your chest. Taking a deep breath, you lowered your gaze. Two rather sizable lumps create a tent in the chest area of your hospital gown.
"Oh God..." you whispered to yourself. You had desperately hoped that it had all been some perverse nightmare. You cringed as a heavy dose of reality began to set in. Mom... Mom is dead, you thought. I'm... I'm in her body... You began to tremble. You felt an anxious panic take hold. You didn't know what to do. You wanted to get away. To escape. More than anything, you needed to get out of that bed! You didn't seem to be connected to anything, no sign of a drip bag. You started to feel dizzy. Your breathes were quick and sharp. As you moved to get out of bed, you felt your stomach turn. I'm going to be sick!
The second your feet touched the floor, you were moving steadily toward the bathroom. You threw the door open and fell to your knees just in time as a stream of bile erupted from your mouth. Tears stung your eyes as you longed for the comfort of your mother. Blonde hair obstructed your vision as your stomach continued to empty it's contents into the bowl. You brushed it out of the way only to have it fall again. Frustration compounded the tumultuous feelings of fear and grief. You were a mess of tears and sick, desperately clutching the toilet bowl.
Eventually, your guts ceased their onslaught. A calm settled over you, a numb sort of feeling. It was too much to take in, at least for the moment. You flushed the toilet and moved to wash your hands. You deliberately avoided looking up into the mirror. You were both tempted and afraid of what you would see staring back at you. You could still remember the macabre sight of your mother's face looking back from the mirror, mimicking your every expression. Get your shit together, Tim! you coached yourself. The last thing mom would want is me wallowing in some hospital bathroom afraid to look in the mirror. Bracing yourself, you looked. You gasped at the sight.
The startled face of Jennifer Connors, your mother looked back at you. This is definitely going to take some getting used to... It seemed someone had taken the time to touch up your appearance while you had been under. Your shoulder length blonde hair looked clean and brushed, the bits of your throw up notwithstanding. Your face, your mother's face, looked... normal. The area around your eyes was red and puffy, but it seemed your sedation had rejuvenated your features. The stitches above your eye had been removed, having left a barely noticeable scar. No more stitches... Just how long was I gone?
Objectively speaking, your mother was a very pretty woman, especially given her age. Her face was youthful with fine features, full lips, and bright green eyes. You ran your fingers over her face. Your face. Testing your reflection, you made a variety of stereotypical expressions, some of which you'd never seen your mother make before. It was surreal to see the least. You looked down at the green hospital gown you were wearing. It was ugly and somewhat drafty underneath. Aside from the prominent bulges on your chest tugging at the material, it managed to hide your new shape well. You desperately avoided thinking of what lay beneath the gown. Having your mother's face was difficult enough to consider. Having her body was and what it would mean was more than you wanted to think about.
"It's going to be okay, Tim," you told yourself, still looking in the mirror. It was oddly reassuring. Though you were the one pulling the strings, in someways it was easy to imagine it was your mom telling you so herself, watching her lips move and hearing her soft and caring voice in your ears. You shook your head, dismissing the notion, and moved back into the room proper. No sooner had you sat back on the bed, there was a knock at the door.
The pale face of Dr. Saunders leaned in through the crack in the door. "Hello, Tim. Glad to see you are back amongst the living," he said, moving into the room and carefully shutting the door behind him.
"I guess you could say that," you said. You tried to keep the bitterness from your voice. After all, in spite of the circumstances, you were glad to be alive. "Um, how long was I out, doctor? I noticed my stitches were gone..."
Saunders paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, Mr. Connors, in light of the shock from the news and the experimental nature of the surgery you underwent, we thought it best to keep you under for awhile, to ensure your condition was, erm... stable." He sighed. "It's been almost a month since your accident," he added softly.
"Holy shit! A month?!" you said, shocked. You ran your hand back through your hair, an action you'd often performed, but never with so much of it. "Am... am I okay?"
"Of course. It was just a precaution after all. So far, it seems that your recovery is off to a rousing success. There is no danger of rejection and your body is in perfect health."
"Where's my family? Do they know about..."
"Your father is in the waiting room as we speak. I already explained the, um, nature of things so to speak, awhile ago. Both to him and your siblings."
"Nature of things?" you asked. You could tell from the agitated look Saunders was giving you that there was another detail you were unaware of. Something clearly unpleasant.
"Well, that's why I'm here, Tim. I know waking up was a big shock for you. You were already so upset, I didn't want to overburden you with details." The doctor took a seat at your bedside. "As I've already mentioned, the procedure which saved your life was experimental. The truth of the matter is, it wasn't officially sanctioned to be performed on humans yet..." You didn't like the sound of where this was going. "Dr. Kerry and I, well, we had to choose between breaking the law to save your life or letting you die, so..."
"Doctor Saunders," you interrupted, "I'm sorry if I've seemed ungrateful for what you've done. I promise I won't do anything to get you guys in trouble. I literally owe you my life."
"Well, I'm glad you feel that way, Tim," Saunders said, forcing a smile. "I know you didn't ask for any of this, but there are some consequences you and your family are going to have to deal with." He handed you a stack of papers from the clipboard he was carrying.
"What's this?"
"It's a non-disclosure agreement," he explained. "In the interest of protecting ourselves, the assets of this hospital, and you and your family, you are going to have to assume the identity of Jennifer Connors, your mother." The doctor cleared his throat. "Son, I know this has to be last on the list things a teenage boy wants to hear. Now, before you get to worked up by the idea, this just means publicly. Behind closed doors, how your family chooses to handle this is up to you. We don't want any kind of media attention swarming about and I'm assuming, neither do you." That's the truth... you thought. "It isn't all doom and gloom though. Part of the contract stipulates that your part in the surgery and this ruse entitles you to a bit of monetary compensation. You won't be a millionaire by any means, but it should be more than enough to significantly increase the lifestyle of your family."
"What did everybody else have to say about this? What about my dad?" you asked.
"They've already agreed."
"Oh," you whispered softly. The enormity of what they were asking you to do was crushing. The fact that your family had already agreed to it only added to the pressure. In all likelihood, they had weeks to process this and you had only been conscious for around twenty minutes. It felt like the world had decided for you. "There's really no way out of this out of this, is there, doc?"
"No, Tim. I'm afraid not," said Saunders, sadly. "As far as the world is concerned, you died last month. They already held your funeral." Somewhere, your body was dead and buried. That news hit you like a ton of bricks and the queasy feeling in your stomach started to return. "Hang in there, son." Saunders put his hand on your shoulder. "If there is anything you need, anything at all, Dr. Kerry and myself are always here to help. In addition to your regular check ups of course."
"You mean I can leave?" you asked, feeling excited by the prospect of getting away from the bed you were in. "You guys don't need to run a million tests on me?"
Saunders laughed. "We were able to test you sufficiently already. No need for that. Just sign the contract and you are good to go." Reluctantly, you signed and handed it back to him.
"So, my dad is here?"
"Yes. Shall I send him in or would you like a moment to yourself?"
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