Pig-Heart Boy, Page 3

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Mum persisted.

  ‘It’s not guaranteed,’ Dr Bryce replied. ‘I can’t say I’m one hundred per cent certain of success—’

  ‘But you can’t say that about anything, can you?’ Dad interjected. He gave Mum a warning look. Her lips pursed in angry mutiny for a moment, but she didn’t say anything more.

  ‘I’m hoping that this transplant procedure will become the norm – as common as an appendectomy or having your wisdom teeth removed, but to begin with we have to move very slowly and carefully. If we rush in now, we could set people against us rather than for us,’ said the doctor.

  ‘Dr Bryce, how many people do you have in mind for this first operation?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve narrowed it down to two likely candidates. I’m considering you and a woman in her twenties.’

  ‘Why’re you considering the woman?’

  ‘She’s strong. She’s an artist who has a husband and son. She has a lot to live for.’

  ‘And why’re you considering me?’

  ‘You’re young and strong and I feel you would derive enormous benefit from the transplant if we were to go ahead. You have your whole life ahead of you if we succeed.’

  ‘And as I don’t have much longer to live anyway, neither you nor I have anything to lose,’ I supplied.

  ‘Cam!’ Mum and Dad spoke in unison. For once they were in complete accord.

  ‘Cam, don’t say that . . .’

  ‘Cam, that’s not true . . .’

  Mum and Dad fell over themselves to deny my words.

  ‘I wish that for once, just once, someone somewhere would tell me the truth,’ I protested. ‘I know the truth already, don’t you understand that? I’d just like to hear it from someone else for a change.’

  My words echoed in the stunned silence of the room. First the tears, now the outburst. Where was all this coming from?

  ‘You’re right of course, Cameron.’ Dr Bryce was the first to speak. ‘The transplant does carry its own risks – every operation does – but it’s a question of carefully weighing the advantages and the disadvantages and seeing which side comes out ahead.’

  ‘And in my case?’ I asked.

  ‘In your case, you have everything to gain.’

  ‘And the only thing I stand to lose is my life,’ I said quietly.

  ‘But I promise you I’ll do my very best to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

  ‘But as you said earlier, you can’t guarantee it.’

  ‘No,’ Dr Bryce agreed after a short pause.

  ‘Cam, I really think—’

  ‘No, Dad,’ I interrupted. ‘It’s my body and my heart so I have a right to ask questions and say how I feel.’

  ‘What’s got into you today?’ Dad asked, bewildered.

  ‘I was wondering that myself,’ Mum added.

  ‘I realized something today,’ I said. ‘I’m running out of time. Every breath I take is a countdown. So I haven’t got time to pretend to feel happy when I’m not. I haven’t got time to keep quiet when all I want to do is shout at the top of my lungs. I haven’t got time for any more lies.’

  ‘My God . . .’ Mum breathed the words, stunned. ‘Cameron, we don’t lie to you.’

  ‘We never have,’ Dad agreed.

  ‘You don’t tell me the whole truth though. You leave things out. It adds up to the same thing.’ I knew my mum was hurt and upset and so was Dad, but I was too tired to search for the right words to water down my feelings. Prevarication and skirting around the truth took strength, patience and stamina and I was running out of all of them.

  ‘D’you have any more questions for me, Cameron?’

  Any more questions? Just a billion and one, that was all. ‘Are you going to operate on this woman or me?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s what I’m here to assess,’ said Dr Bryce.

  I looked from Mum and Dad to Dr Bryce. That’s the end of that then, I sighed inwardly.

  ‘I need to know how you feel about the possibility of undergoing this transplant operation.’

  I started with surprise. Was Dr Bryce really still considering me after all the questions and the snapping and the bad atmosphere so evident in the room? It would appear so.

  ‘It’s entirely up to you, Cameron. Your parents may sign the consent forms but it’s your decision.’ Dr Bryce smiled.

  This was it. The moment that I had been anticipating – and dreading. But, as my Nan said, it was time to tinkle or get off the potty!

  ‘While Cameron’s thinking about it, what about you two, Mr and Mrs Kelsey? How do you feel about it?’

  ‘I have every confidence in you, Doctor,’ Dad gushed.

  ‘I want whatever Cameron wants,’ Mum replied quietly. And although Mum’s answer was very diplomatic, it was still crystal clear how she felt. ‘I’m just . . . I just feel that It’s a Pandora’s box you’re trying to open here. I wonder if you’ve really thought about the implications of what you want to do.’

  At my blank look, Mum explained. ‘Pandora was given a box and told not to open it, but curiosity got the better of her and she did. The box contained all the evils of the world like spite and hatred and intolerance.’

  ‘But remember, it also contained hope,’ said Dr Bryce. ‘And that’s what I think our research team will give the world with our new methods – hope.’

  ‘How many genetically engineered pigs have you got altogether?’ I asked.

  ‘We have over a hundred, but only about twenty are suitable for human organ donation.’

  ‘D’you know which pig you’d use for the transplant?’

  Dr Bryce nodded. ‘We have two pigs who are particularly suitable – their names are Paul and Trudy – but I think we’d use Trudy. She’s very special. I think she’s our best bet. And once the first transplant is a success, there’d be nothing to stop us doing more. But Cameron, you have to decide whether or not you want to be the first one to undergo this operation.’

  First . . . I’d rather be second or third or fourth. That way, any mistakes they made in the first operation could be put right for the next ones. But I didn’t have time left to slip further down the queue. It was go first or not at all.

  ‘I think . . . I think, yes. I would like to be considered for the transplant,’ I decided.

  ‘I’ll just go and make some tea.’ Mum left the room abruptly.

  I looked at my dad, who looked down at the carpet.

  ‘Dr Bryce, I’d like the transplant very much,’ I said. ‘It’s quite simple really. I want to live.’

  Chapter Five

  Decision

  ‘Are you nuts? Are you completely round the twist?’ Marlon couldn’t believe his ears.

  I didn’t answer. I bit back the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

  ‘You’re not going to do it, are you?’

  ‘What d’you think?’ I replied.

  Marlon stared at me. ‘I don’t know,’ he said at last. ‘I . . . I’m sorry I reacted like that. It’s just that . . . you took me by surprise.’

  I shrugged, then added quickly, ‘But this is between you and me, right? You’re not to tell anyone, not your sister, not Rashid and Andrew, not even your mum and dad. Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ Marlon raised his right hand. ‘What’re you going to tell everyone – after it’s over?’

  ‘I’ll tell them I had a heart transplant – which will be true.’

  ‘And what happens when people ask where the heart came from?’

  ‘Why would anyone ask me that? And besides, if they do, I’ll just say a suitable donor was found at the last minute. And I was lucky enough to get the heart.’

  ‘But from a pig!’

  ‘No one will know that – unless you tell them.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ Marlon denied quickly. ‘But isn’t it bound to come out?’

  ‘I don’t see why. Dr Bryce said that after the transplant he’d wait six months before announcing it to the media, and even the
n, he wouldn’t tell them my name.’

  ‘But suppose they find out? The newspapers and the TV have ways of digging and digging until—’

  ‘Whoa! We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here. Dr Bryce hasn’t even chosen me yet. He said he’d get in touch with Mum and Dad at the end of the week to let them know his decision.’

  ‘D’you want it to be you?’

  Eyebrows raised, I tilted my head to one side as I regarded my friend.

  ‘I’m sorry. I guess it is a silly question,’ Marlon mumbled.

  I shook my head. ‘Not really. It’s just that you and Mum and Dad and all my other friends are perfectly healthy. From where you’re standing, you’re going to live for ever. But from where I’m standing, I can’t see myself here this time next year.’

  Marlon turned away, the way he always did whenever the subject of my life span came up. I tried not to mind, I really did. After all, Marlon certainly wasn’t the first to do that and I knew he wouldn’t be the last. It was such a common reaction. Mum and Dad argued. My Aunt Louise always had to go to the bathroom and everyone else turned away or changed the subject – or both. Except for Nan. But then she was always talking about death and dying. She said that at her age it was a topic that interested her! In some ways, it made a refreshing change. It was just a shame she lived over 200 miles away in Bolton. And pouring out my troubles to her on the phone rather than face to face wasn’t the same. I longed for someone – anyone – I could just talk to. Someone who would listen while I said all the things that boiled and bubbled deep inside me but which had never been said out loud. All the things that felt like molten lava just waiting to erupt – and then, watch out! But that person didn’t exist. It made me feel alone, and very lonely.

  ‘But from a pig . . .’ Marlon still couldn’t get over it. ‘Don’t you mind? I mean, I know it’s a chance for you to . . . to be healthy and all that, but don’t you mind?’

  ‘Marlon, if it was the heart of a cockroach, I’d still want it,’ I told him straight.

  ‘Yes, but a pig . . .’

  ‘Marlon, you’re not listening to me,’ I said patiently. ‘I don’t mind. The truth is I don’t care. If it means I’ll live longer . . .’

  ‘But aren’t you afraid that the pig’s heart will somehow . . . change you?’

  ‘Change me – how?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe it will . . .’ Marlon trailed off, anguished.

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. ‘Turn me into a pig? D’you think I’ll start walking on all fours and grow bristles and turn pink?!’

  ‘Cam, It’s not funny,’ Marlon fumed. ‘You don’t know what that thing will do to you once it’s inside you.’

  ‘I know it won’t turn me into a pig – that’s for sure. My brain will be the same and my soul, the thing that makes me me – that’ll be the same.’

  ‘You believe you’ve got a soul?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, surprised. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know much of anything. You confuse me.’

  ‘I don’t mean to,’ I sighed.

  ‘I know. But you . . .’

  ‘Go on . . .’

  ‘Never mind.’ Marlon looked away.

  ‘Marlon, I’ll be exactly the same after the operation as before, except I’ll be fitter – that’s all. Nothing else is going to change.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  I stared at Marlon. For one brief instant I thought that maybe he was on a wind-up, but his expression was deadly serious. ‘Marlon, look at me,’ I ordered. ‘Take a good look.’

  Marlon looked me straight in the eye.

  ‘Physically, I’ll change. That’s the whole point. I’ll be healthier. But inside, I won’t. I mean, of course I will. I’ll have a new heart. But inside where it counts – I won’t change. Don’t you believe that?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘It’s simple really. This is my chance at life and I’m going to grab it.’

  Marlon smiled faintly.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

  ‘You like saying that, don’t you?’

  ‘Saying what?’

  ‘“It’s simple really”! That’s your catchphrase.’ Marlon’s smile broadened.

  ‘Is it?’ I hadn’t realized.

  ‘Everything to you is always “simple really”,’ said Marlon. ‘You’re one of the brainiest in the class, your house is brilliant, your mum and dad think the sun shines from your nostrils and you’re always so cheerful. How do you do it?’

  ‘It’s my natural wit, charm and sophistication,’ I said, my tongue firmly planted in my cheek. ‘Marlon, sometimes you come out with some real rubbish. My mum and dad are always too busy arguing with each other to notice the sun shining from anywhere – including my nostrils. Our house is always a tip and as for being one of the brainiest in the class, it’s just that I do a lot of reading. I don’t have the energy to do much else. I wish I did. And that’s what this is all about. D’you understand?’

  Marlon looked at me and nodded slowly. I sighed inwardly. Had Marlon got the point now? Maybe on a very basic level, but how could he or Mum or Dad or anyone else not in the same boat understand just what I was going through? How could they know what it was like to drink in every sight, every sound, every taste, every word around you, because it might be the last time you had that experience? No one else could begin to imagine what it was like to go to sleep each night, wondering if you’d see the morning.

  ‘I guess it’s lucky you’re not a Rasta . . .’ Marlon said wryly.

  ‘Or a Muslim.’

  ‘Or a vegetarian.’

  Marlon and I both began to chuckle.

  ‘There you are. My luck’s getting better already!’

  A strange thought entered my head. At least Rastafarians and Muslims and vegetarians believed in something. What did I believe in – except life and living? Life and living . . . Surely that was enough . . .

  ‘Maybe you’ll change your mind when the crunch moment arrives,’ said Marlon.

  ‘And maybe I won’t,’ I countered.

  ‘Cam, are you scared?’ Marlon whispered.

  I considered the question, then nodded. ‘I’m scared in case Dr Bryce says no. And I’m scared in case Dr Bryce says yes.’

  ‘You can’t win, can you?’ Marlon sighed.

  ‘Not so far,’ I agreed sombrely, my smile all but gone. ‘Not so far.’

  The longest three days of my life followed. Each night I sat at home waiting for the phone to ring. Each morning I was the first one at the door when the letters dropped through the letter box. But nothing. I felt as if I was going quietly crazy. If I didn’t hear something soon, my heart would give out from all the anticipation! I found myself wondering about the woman who was the other candidate for the heart. What had Dr Bryce said? The woman was an artist? And she had a husband and a son too. Surely the doctor would give the heart to her. The artist woman seemed to have a lot more going for her than I did. How would Dr Bryce make up his mind? And why couldn’t he hurry up about it?

  Even Mum and Dad weren’t arguing as much any more. A stillness had descended on our house as each of us waited for some word from the doctor. More than once I caught Mum watching Dad, her face an unreadable mask. For me, it felt like the calm before a storm.

  And then, on Thursday evening, I came home from school and entered the living room to find Dr Bryce there waiting for me. I searched for clues on the faces of my mum and dad but had no luck.

  ‘Hello, Dr Bryce.’

  ‘Hello, Cameron. How are you?’

  ‘OK.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’ The doctor indicated a chair as if it was his house, but my mum and dad didn’t even notice. I realized that they were as much in the dark over the doctor’s decision as I was. I sat down, my legs suddenly shaky.

  ‘I felt I should be here to tell you of my decision in person,’ Dr Bryce explaine
d.

  It’s not me . . . It’s not me . . . The words spun in my head. I wasn’t surprised. I had no right to be surprised. But the sense of intense disappointment I felt was overwhelming.

  ‘. . . so I’ve decided that you should have the heart transplant. I thought about it long and hard in consultation with my colleagues and . . .’

  I stared at the doctor. His words faded to nothing. I could see his lips move but I couldn’t for the life of me hear a word he was saying. It was as if, with a snap of the fingers, I’d been dragged to somewhere outside normal time. I saw Dr Bryce turn to my mum and dad and continue to talk. Dad leaned forward, eager and impatient to catch every word. Mum sat back, her arms folded across her chest. I could even see myself, nodding at what appeared to be all the right moments. Dr Bryce turned and asked me something directly. And with that I jumped right back into the present. I stared stupidly at him. I had no idea what the man had just said.

  Dr Bryce smiled as if he knew what was going on. ‘It’s OK, Cameron. I know it’s a lot to absorb in one go. Do you still want to go ahead with the transplant?’

  I nodded. I couldn’t trust myself to speak.

  ‘Good.’ Dr Bryce’s smile broadened.

  ‘Will you be doing the operation?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Yes. My colleagues and I will be carrying out the procedure.’

  ‘Are you qualified?’ Mum asked.

  Dad squirmed as the doctor answered.

  ‘Yes, of course. I was a doctor, then a heart transplant surgeon before I ventured into transgenics.’

  ‘And where exactly will all this take place?’ said Mum.

  ‘We have a clinic and private hospital wing attached to our research facility. I would anticipate carrying out the procedure there.’

  ‘Where is this research facility?’

  ‘In Yorkshire.’

  Mum still didn’t look satisfied. She opened her mouth to ask another question but Dad got there first.

  ‘When d’you reckon all this would happen?’

  ‘I was thinking sometime in the next two to three weeks,’ said Dr Bryce.

  I wasn’t the only one to be stunned.

  ‘So soon?’ Mum squeaked, dismayed.

  ‘I see no reason to delay now that we’ve all made up our minds.’ Dr Bryce shrugged. ‘I’d like to take Cameron into our hospital sometime next week, when we will run extensive tests, and after that we can arrange the date to perform the procedure . . .’