Guinea Pig by D.A.Cairns
‘How long have you
had this pain?’
Strom tilted his
head slowly and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
‘A few weeks I
guess.’
‘A few weeks?’
Strom nodded,
unfazed by the Doctor’s incredulous tone of voice.
‘A few weeks of
severe pain. Debilitating pain. And you’re only coming to see me now?’
This wasn’t the
first time Strom had heard such words from the doctor, but this time he was
almost certain it would be the last. He had beaten the old mongrel cancer three
times already even as his comrades fell all around him. Somehow he kept dodging
the bullets of death, just like the third Gulf War where his brothers in arms
had been cut down, left, right and centre. Strom had no idea why he had been so
lucky, and sometimes even the question frightened him.
‘Strom?’
‘Hey, sorry doc. I
drifted away for a bit.’
The doctor leaned
forward. ‘Have you been drifting away, as you say, a lot recently?’
‘Probably. It’s
hard to say. I mean I might not always know when I’m gone, so I don’t know when
I come back either and I don’t think about it.’
The two men
exchanged looks which said that Strom’s statement was a little confusing and they
silently agreed to move on.
‘Tell me about
your general health.’
‘Good as gold. You
know how much trouble I’ve had over the years, but every time those bloody
clever surgeons fix me up, I end up better than ever.’
‘It’s a miracle,
isn’t it?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Modern medicine.
I mean previous generations were dying in their millions from the kinds of
cancers you’ve had, Strom. Thanks to your bravery…’
‘It wasn’t just
me, Doc,’ said Strom humbly.
‘Anyway, you
played a huge part, but let’s get back to your headaches. What pain relief have
you been taking? Anything?’
‘Some pills with
heaps of Codeine, and marijuana.’
The doctor stood
and motioned for Strom to join him as he walked across the room. ‘Let’s rule
out the obvious first, okay. Sit down here please.’
Strom sat in the
wide leather seat which immediately began to recline as it simultaneously
elevated. The chair noiselessly unfolded and slid close to the portable MRI
machine.
‘Lie still, Strom.
This will only take a few minutes.’
As he slid inside
the white cylinder, he listened for familiar sounds. His own breathing, a faint
humming from the scanner, and rapid thumping sounds as the MRI captured digital
images from inside Strom’s head.
I’ve lived too
long, thought Strom. I’ve done so much, it feels as though there’s nothing left
to do, no new adventures to be had, no new thrills to be experienced. I hope
they can’t fix me this time.
‘Strom? Are you
all right. Open your eyes for me.’
Slowly, Strom’s
wrinkly eyelids, darkened as they were from sleep deprivation, opened to take
in the sight of the doctor’s concerned face hovering over his.
‘What happened? Do
you feel all right?’
Strom smiled.
‘Apart from the reason I came here you mean?’
The chair quietly
and smoothly folded and descended to its original position and Strom immediately
stood and walked over to the chair beside the doctor’s desk. He sat and watched
the doctor studying images on his computer screen, presumably the pictures of
Strom’s brain.
Apparently
reluctant to speak, the doctor allowed an uncomfortable silence to fall over
them, and Strom begin to fidget nervously. He stared at the images on the screen
but they meant nothing to him.
Finally, the
doctor turned to face Strom, who swallowed hard in anticipation of very bad news.
He didn’t really want to die despite his recent wish. It was just that
sometimes he became bored with life.
‘Has that leg they
gave you ever given you any trouble?’
Strom was aware
the doctor was avoiding the issue, but decided to go with him for the
moment. ‘Never. In fact it’s stronger
than the one I was born with ever was. Bloody marvellous.’
‘That was bone
cancer, wasn’t it?’
‘So it’s the big C
again is it?’
‘How about your
arm, and your hand?’
‘Doc? Come on.’
‘Bear with me
Strom. Your arm was damaged in the war, right?’
‘That’s putting it
mildy. Destroyed more like it. But yeah the replacement’s been incredible. I
can crush a golf ball in my hands without even trying.’
The doctor turned
back to his computer monitor and with a few stabs of his index finger on the
screen, he brought up Strom’s medical file.
‘Artificial heart
and lungs installed two days before your seventy fifth birthday, and a complete
reconstruction of you bowel at age ninety two.’
‘Thanks for the
recap doc, but could we get back to my head. I mean if you’ve found a tumour
just come out and tell me will you. I know they can’t rebuild a brain or pop an
artificial one inside my head so this could be the end, right?’
Swivelling his
chair away from the desk, the doctor folded his arms across his chest and
looked directly at Strom.
‘You’re dead
right, Strom. It’s a very big tumour and they won’t be able to cut it out. Its
wicked tentacles are spread widely through the brain tissue. I am amazed that
you aren’t dead already.’
Strom smiled. He
was almost relieved.
‘Medical
researchers have searched for decades and decades for some sort of medicinal
cure for cancer, or at least an effective treatment to ease suffering and
prolong life, but advances in surgical technology and breakthroughs in
cybernetics grabbed a greater share of the limelight and a greater share of the
available research dollars as well.’
Strom was getting
bored again. A lecture seemed totally inappropriate at this point. His eyes
began to roam, looking for something interesting in the bland sterile
environment of the doctor’s consulting room.
‘The reason I’m
telling you all this Strom is because there is another experimental drug trial
currently underway.’
‘They need guinea
pigs again do they?’
‘They are looking
for terminally ill patients to join the trial and receive an injection of this
new drug.’
‘What’s it
called?’
‘It doesn’t have a
user friendly name yet, and I can’t even pronounce its scientific handle.’
‘It’s risky I
suppose.’
‘Strom, I’ll be
straight with you. There’s a only a twenty five percent chance this drug will
kill the tumour, and new side effects are still being recorded, some of which
are awful including skin discoloration and severe nausea, but the tumour will
kill you and it won’t take long.’
‘How long?’
‘Like I said, I’m
amazed you’re still with us.’
‘I’m 101 years
old. Apart from this headache I don’t feel sick. I can’t remember the last time
I was unwell, and I don’t get tired, but I’ve been around a long time. Some
days I reckon I’ve been around too long. I don’t know why I’m still here, but
maybe it’s about helping others. Being a guinea pig. Taking risks for the sake
of others.’
Strom stood up,
straight and tall and looked at himself in the full length mirror on the wall.
There was no risk involved here except the possibility of more life. He had
never been afraid of death and had come to believe over his century of years on
the planet that death was probably scared of him. But did he want to go on
living? That was the choice before him and it was a more serious dichotomy than
any man should ever have to face. He turned slowly to face the doctor.
‘I could live forever
at this rate, said Strom confidently. ‘Sign me up, doc. Let’s give it a whirl!’
The air was fresh
and cool on his skin and it smelled clean and fragrant, like lavender. Strom
was lying on his back in a vast meadow of knee high grass, and he felt completely
at peace. A sense of well being stronger than he had ever experienced pervaded
his body and his mind. He smiled.
‘You never
mentioned a hallucinogenic effect from this drug, doc.’
A whisper in the
broad green leaves of a nearby Maple tree was the only reply.
‘Doc?’
Strom sat up
slowly, still feeling calm, and realised he must have been dreaming. Suddenly a
large hand landed softly on his shoulder from behind, and even this unexpected
event failed to disturb Strom.
‘Welcome,’ said
the voice. ‘Welcome to the life you’ve been trying to avoid for thirty years.
Welcome home. Welcome to Eternity.’
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