for the faint of heart (tordtom)

16

The room was bright, brighter than he liked.

He could feel the heat of the light piercing his skin and it was uncomfortable, almost horrid.

The post-op room was the worst

When he first woke up he was too high on all sorts of things, and almost always in pain.

His fingers were in just a bandage, his chemo port had been removed, and the bandages on his eyes were replaced with small bandaid like things.

Early in the morning, around 5 am, he went under to have the technical side of his implants put into his brain and eye socket.

There was a big bald spot on the back of his head where a small Y incision was made into his visual cortex. It was only two inches long but the bald spot was half the size of his head.

A series of wires were run through his optic nerve straight to the back of his head.

Then the doctors flipped him over and opened his skull in order to properly place the endings of the wire to restore or replace the damaged connections inorder to properly restore his vision once the visor camera was attached to the front of the wires.

That last part, about opening his skull?

He was wide awake for it.

For a few seconds he got the see the blue tile of the floor when they connected that visor camera to the wire port.

It was actually very cool, it ran off the natural electricy that his brain produced.

They even talked about how it was possible in the future that they would be able to transfer his consciousness from his brain into the visor, then into a clone or cadaver.

Effectively rendering him semi-immortal.

But for now he groaned about that big bald spot and reeled at the screeching headache he had.

He didn't even have eyes to have pressure behind, but fuck he had it.

"Hello?"
He called out as a nurse was always a few feet away from him.

"Over here, Tom"
It was Julian, she sounded tired.

He couldn't bare to turn his head as a tube was in the back of his head draining any fluid that built up in order to avoid death.

It hurt like a bitch to do anything.

"What time is it?"
He finally asked, on the table, while awake He was given enough drugs to just keep him able to talk, but everything else was great.

Except for the vibrations and sound of the bone saw and dril, and the feeling of his acctual skull bone being taken off.

The feeling of the cold air on his ACCTUAL brain.

He might've been high as shit, but dam that fucked him up.

"What's the time?"
Tom grumbled and felt the drool on the side of his mouth and grimmised.

She flicked he wacthed
"Quarter 9 am, your surgery was over a day man!"
She began writing the things he said and how he was acting.

Sluggish of course.

"You kept falling asleep so it probably only felt like half a day.
We only really needed you up for those few hours where we had your skull open.

But how'd you feel about that audience of medical bouard members watching you?"
She wasn't trying to be friendly, and honestly didn't care as those folks were a bunch of pricks, but she just wanted to know if Tom had cognitive though.