Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Six

Surprisingly, my first reaction to that bombshell was a dumb "Okay." My mind was still putting one and one together to get two.

No surgery at all? I was injured so badly, with two long gashes that would soon be impressive battle scars. I'll probably even be bragging about them to my grandchildren sixty years later. Not to mention the whiplash and concussion. And now he's telling me I freaking healed myself?

Dr Gordon shook his head, as much as he could with a blade at his jugular. "No, you don't get it. I did not perform the surgery on you."

"So who did it?"

He hesitated.

I smiled sweetly as I applied some pressure on the scalpel. "Mr Blade is getting a lil' edgy here." I reminded.

Dr Gordon stiffened. Then his face hardened. "I...I promise to tell you everything, but not with this scalpel digging into my flesh. The notion of getting my throat slit at any second doesn't help my brain recall."

I thought for a while. "Fair enough." I retracted the blade but kept it in my hands. I wasn't taking any chances.

Dr Gordon shifted uneasily. "You weren't supposed to live," he muttered, almost unintelligibly. "It has never happened before, never..."

I held up a hand. "Speak up." I commanded. "Who were the 'they' you mentioned just now? And what is it about me being not supposed to live?"

"Remember the time when I told you about your injuries?" he asked. I nodded. Gash-whiplash-concussion combo. Not hard to forget.

"Well, it appears that I'd kept a vital information from you. You were declared brain dead upon arrival."

"What?"

"Indeed. Your brain showed no signs of conscious or subconscious response; it was as if your brainwaves had subsided completely, with no nerve impulses along the cerebral cortex-"

"Wait," I interrupted before Dr Gordon could progress into PhD Neurology. "Aren't brain dead patients doomed to dwell in coma for who-knows-how-long?"

"No. Brain dead patients are already dead. Or at least, half dead, for their heartbeat and ventilation are basically supported by machines."

I struggled with the enormity of the news. "Wow. So who played Doctor Frankenstein?"

"That you must ask the ones who I was commanded to sent you to, immediately after you arrived at our hospital. They-"

"Wait a minute. You said someone commanded you to send them a brain dead patient?" Things were getting weirder and weirder.

If Dr Gordon was annoyed by my frequent interruption, he didn't dare show it. "Exactly. I received a phone call just moments before you arrived at the emergency room. The mysterious caller gave me an address and forcibly ordered me to send you there. I had no choice, so I personally drove you there in the same ambulance you arrived in."

"What do you mean 'you had no choice'?" I was incredulous. "Aren't there strict protocols around here about a patient's rights and privacy? And how could you be certain the caller wasn't just a sick, vile prankster?"

He squirmed uneasily. "No, he sounded dead serious. Said that if you weren't sent to his facility in half an hour you'll stay in a persistent vegetative state for the rest of your life. And I was dead sure I was unable to save you, no matter how hard I tried. So I thought, 'Why not give it a try?'"