Your 40 year old father, Don Connors

“I’m afraid it was your father…” Dr Saunders looked had pity in his eyes, and what might have been very real regret. “The damage to his brain was catastrophic. He had begun the process of brain **** when he was brought in. I’m sorry, Tim. There was nothing to be done.”

You felt as though someone had kicked you hard in the belly with a steel capped boot. Your pulse came fast, your skin felt feverishly warm and you began to sweat in your scrubs. One moment you were in the car with your family and friends, you were laughing at some stupid joke and then the next…it felt surreal. You were in a nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from, no matter how much your body ached and how putridly sick you felt inside.

Your father was dead. Your Dad, with his corny jokes and his absolutely terrible taste in music. Your Dad, who had taught you how to ride a bike, who had taken you camping and shown you all the best fishing spots, who had taught you how to throw a punch and stand your ground in the face of bullies. Your Dad, who had smiled when you first got your licence and told you he was proud of you. Your Dad…

The machines that you were hooked up to beep alarmingly, sensing the physiological result of your distress. You felt like you needed to hurl, it was difficult to breath…

“Tim,” Saunders soothed, “listen, I know it’s hard. What you’re going through…it’s agonising. I know, as I’ve lost a family member myself, but listen, son,” he made sure to catch your eye, “just…breath in,” he inhaled through his nose, before releasing through his mouth, “…and out.”

Eventually you mirrored his movements, and found a sense of fragile calm settle over you. When that became clear, the doctors continued their speech.

“The brain was largely destroyed by the impact, but his body was relatively unharmed,” Dr Kerry told you, significantly less sympathy in his expression. “With our intervention, we were able to not only keep his other major organs intact but also his nervous system and a few key pieces of brain tissue that could be woven into the damaged parts of the other patient’s brain.” His eyes shone brightly. “We were able to use your father’s body to save another life. It was a matter of profound heroism.”

That confused you. “What do you…what the hell are you talking about?”

Kerry explained it with flourish, while Saunders peppered it with more humane language that you could follow. They had taken your father’s body and kept it on life support, and had then used the brain of another victim in the crash and performed a kind of bizarre transplant. Using the new brain, and a few key pieces from your father’s, they had created a functioning organ that had successfully been placed inside your father’s inert, vegetative form.

“So…” you croaked, throat awfully parched. The words were difficult to bring forth, thick as they were with horror. “You mean to tell me that…that there’s someone in my Dad’s body?”

Saunders closed his eyes, let out a breath. “It’s not as simple as that…”

“As I had suggested earlier,” Dr Kerry said, “there were complications. The brain is a wonderful thing, the greatest machine in nature. There’s much we still don’t know about it and …we hadn’t considered that remnants of the original host would linger on. The process has not only saved the life of the other patient, but has in a sense kept your father alive as well. Two personalities, though with the new donor as the dominant.”

That brought forth another question. “Well, whose brain was it? Who is in there with my Dad?”