Meeting the Doctor, illustrated by Christian Roman
“Transplants
are commonplace nowadays, even routine,
so
no impediments remain to performing the process
on
oneself. Pleased to meet you. Doctor Kenneth Frank—Ken’s fine.
Transplants.
Symbiology. You’ve probably guessed
the
hand you shook just now was not always mine.
My
gardener, a former cowpoke and prizefighter, possessed
musculature
that was enviable, indeed.
When
he quite unexpectedly passed,
I
imagined a mutually beneficial arrangement. His cadaver agreed,
you
might say. His arm lives on, serves me and retains
the
strength and soul of his brawn and breed.
You
felt him in the handshake. You met him, too,
just
then. Sadly, his left hand would not accede
motor
control (damned thing). But look here! Mismatched, it’s true.
My
left belonged to a concert harpist. Female, yes.
It
was her dominant hand, so although in school,
I
was right-handed, I now find myself ambidextrous—
and
master of this limb’s delicacy. My sutures
have
become gestures with the power and finesse
of
music. See my ankle? The fine needlework
scarcely
left a scar. I’ll never suffer again with as scabrous
an
attachment as my first shoulder. I’m an artist now.
You’d
almost think this was the leg I myself grew as a fetus.
Realize
you are standing before a crowd,
all
of us animated by a medical brain ahead of its future.
The
procedure is costly, to be sure, but you learn to stop counting.
Take
my card in case I might help you out, someday, somehow.”
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