‘And that makes it all right, does it?’ asked Mum bitterly.
‘Yes, it does. That’s the whole point,’ Dad replied.
‘Stop it! Stop it, both of you!’ I shouted.
I couldn’t bear to listen to any more. I turned and raced up the stairs, stomping down with my feet as hard as I could as I ran. I only got halfway up the stairs before I started hurting, so I slowed down, but I didn’t stop.
‘Cam? Cam, wait,’ Mum called out.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. But I wanted to let both of them know that I was here. They were talking about me as if I didn’t have a mind of my own, as if I couldn’t make my own decisions. How could they? How dare they? It was my body. My heart.
I threw myself face down on my bed. I’d barely caught my breath when there came a knock at the door.
‘Cam, can I come in?’ asked Dad.
‘I suppose so,’ I muttered.
Dad walked into the room, followed by Mum.
Without preamble, Mum asked, ‘Did you hear what we were talking about?’
‘I think the whole street heard,’ I replied as I sat up.
Dad sighed. ‘I’d rather you hadn’t heard the idea that way . . .’
‘What way?’ I asked.
‘With your mum and me arguing about it,’ he replied.
I didn’t see what difference it made. At least by eavesdropping I’d heard the truth as both Mum and Dad saw it. But now they’d change their way of talking. Now they’d talk to me in a way they thought I could understand. A way suitable for a teenage boy – all false smiles and falser promises.
‘Cam,’ Dad began as he sat down on the edge of my bed. ‘Cam, a few months ago I wrote to a man, a doctor, called Dr Richard Bryce.’
I looked across at Mum, who was leaning against the door. ‘Who’s he?’
‘He was a surgeon, but now he’s an immunologist specializing in transgenics.’
‘Huh? What’s that? What’s trans . . . transgenics?’
‘Transplanting the organs of one species of animal into another.’
‘Why would anyone do that?’
‘Because there aren’t enough human organ donors,’ Dad explained carefully. ‘So people like him are trying to find other ways of keeping people like you alive.’
People like me . . . I winced at Dad’s phrase.
‘I mean, people who need hearts or kidneys or livers to have a decent quality of life,’ Dad added.
I said slowly, ‘So you want me to have a pig’s heart?’
‘I want you to have a heart that will allow you to do all the things you want to do. All the things a boy of your age should do. And that’s where Dr Bryce comes in. Transplants are his area of expertise. I wrote to him via a newspaper to tell him about you and your case. I thought he might be able to do something to help you. I also sent him a letter of permission so that he could get your notes from our doctor and the hospital.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I didn’t know if Dr Bryce would want to help you. I didn’t want to raise your hopes only to see them dashed again. We’ve been down this road twice before when we thought you’d be able to get a heart transplant from a human donor – remember?’
Yes, I did remember. How could I forget? Once, I’d even got as far as the hospital, only to be turned back. A greater emergency had required the heart. I had been pipped at the post. Mum and Dad were furious. They stood and ranted at the hospital staff for a good thirty minutes. It wasn’t their fault. The heart had been diverted to another hospital. There was nothing they could do about it. And then Mum had burst into tears. No, I wasn’t about to forget that little episode – not if I lived to be ninety.
I sighed. ‘Dad, I still wish you’d told me.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Cam. He didn’t tell me either,’ Mum piped up from the door.
I looked at her. She was so unhappy, so tired and unhappy. This was what I was doing to her. Doing to my family. Tearing them apart.
‘So what’s happened? Has Dr Bryce agreed to do the heart transplant then?’ I asked.
‘It’s not that simple.’ Dad shook his head. ‘Dr Bryce has agreed to come and see us to talk about it. I certainly wouldn’t agree to it without talking to you first.’
‘So when does Dr Bryce want to see me?’
Dad looked from me to Mum and back again. ‘He’s coming to see you tonight.’
Chapter Four
Dr Bryce
‘Tonight? Tonight! And you didn’t think to tell us before now?’ Mum’s body was rigid with rage.
‘I didn’t know myself until about two hours ago. Dr Bryce phoned me at work and asked if he could come and see us this evening. What was I supposed to do? Say no?’
‘You were supposed to talk to me and Cameron first.’ Mum’s voice was getting quieter and quieter. She stared at Dad at that moment almost as if she hated him. I turned away. I couldn’t bear to watch.
‘I’ve just told you. I couldn’t say anything until I knew Dr Bryce would take Cameron’s case and I didn’t know until a couple of hours ago. If I’d said something beforehand you just would’ve got upset for no reason.’
‘So you knew I’d get upset . . .’ Mum’s eyes narrowed. Her voice chilled like liquid nitrogen.
‘I thought you might, until you’d had a chance to calm down and really think about it—’
‘Don’t patronize me, Mike,’ Mum snapped.
‘Look, Dr Bryce will be here soon. And if we don’t present a united front then we can all forget it,’ Dad snapped back. ‘He’s hardly going to take this any further if you sit there glaring at him and making it obvious that you’re against the whole idea.’
‘Then I’ll sit there with a blank expression on my face and I won’t say a word. Happy now?’
‘If you two are going to argue, can I go downstairs?’ I sighed. ‘I came up here to get away from you.’
Mum frowned. ‘Cameron, that’s enough. Don’t be so cheeky.’
‘I’m not being cheeky,’ I replied, bitterness spilling out in my voice. ‘I’m just tired. Tired of you two fighting about me all the time. Tired of dreading coming home to listen to yet another quarrel. Tired of being piggy-in-the-middle . . .’
My voice trailed off as I realized what I’d just said. Piggy-in-the-middle . . .
I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh. Dad’s lips twitched. Mum looked wry as she too started to smile. She couldn’t laugh, though. But me and Dad were laughing, loud, raucous laughter – unexpected and all the more welcome because of it. Then I burst into tears. It was hard to say who was more shocked – Mum, Dad or me. Mortified, I tried to stop. I tried to choke back the tears but that just made it worse. I gulped hard and tried to take a deep breath, but the tears kept flowing. They ran down my cheeks and under my nose and into my mouth, salty and unwelcome. I wiped my face with the back of my hands, wishing the bed would open up and swallow me.
‘Cameron darling, what’s the matter?’ Mum flew across the room in a moment.
‘Cameron, don’t cry,’ Dad said, anguished. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. If you don’t want to meet this doctor then you don’t have to. I wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.’
‘No. No. I . . . I w-want to meet him,’ I stammered.
‘What’s the matter, Cam? Why are you crying?’ Mum asked, her arm around my shoulders.
I shook my head but didn’t speak. How could I answer? What was I supposed to say when, for the life of me, I had no idea why I was crying?
‘Cam . . . ?’ Mum got no further. At that moment the doorbell rang.
‘Dr Bryce,’ Dad said. ‘Cameron, are you sure you want to see him? Because if you don’t, I’ll send him away.’
‘It’s OK. I’m all right now.’ I shrugged away from Mum’s arm. ‘I’ll go and wash my face. I’ll see you downstairs.’
Without giving my parents a chance to say another word, I stood up and ran to the bathroom. Once
there I locked the door. I needed a few seconds of peace. I still had no idea what had made me blub like that. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried. Where had that come from?
‘You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.’ I scowled at my reflection in the mirror above the basin. ‘Stop it! Stop it now!’
I turned on the cold tap and allowed the water to run colder and colder into the basin. Pulling the plunger to set the plug, I waited until the water was almost to the top. Then I plunged my face into it. Instantly my skin began to tingle. I opened my eyes and reluctantly straightened up. That was better. It was just a shame I couldn’t stay longer with my head beneath the water. I emptied the sink, then sat down on the edge of the bath. As I dried my face, my thoughts turned to Dr Bryce. Something told me that if and when I met this man, my life would change – one way or the other – for better or for worse. And all I had to do was go downstairs. Or I could call Dad and tell him that I didn’t want to meet Dr Bryce and that would be the end of that. Life would go on as normal.
And I’d be dead before my fourteenth birthday.
Or I could go downstairs into the unknown and take it from there. I took a deep breath and headed downstairs.
I scrutinized Dr Bryce and made no attempt to hide it. But, unlike most grown-ups, Dr Bryce didn’t look annoyed or try to give a false smile; instead he met my gaze unwaveringly.
‘I’m sorry if we seem a bit . . . preoccupied.’ Dad glanced at Mum. ‘It’s been one hell of a day.’
‘Please don’t apologize.’ Dr Bryce waved Dad’s apology aside. ‘I should have given you more notice that I was coming, but I have to be very careful, as I’m sure you can understand.’
Dad nodded sagely. Mum gave a closed mouth acknowledgement of Dr Bryce’s words.
‘Why d’you have to be careful?’ I asked bluntly. Mum and Dad might know but I certainly didn’t. I was fed up with everyone talking around me and past me and through me. It was as if . . . it was as if I was dead already. And I wasn’t.
I wasn’t.
‘Well, Cameron, we’ve been trying to solve the problem of the lack of human organs available for donation for some years now.’ Dr Bryce spoke directly to me, his tone earnest. ‘Some doctors are developing mechanical or robotic hearts. Some are working on ways to prolong the life of an already defective heart. My team and I have tried another approach.’
‘Pig hearts,’ I supplied.
‘Pig hearts.’ The doctor nodded. ‘But a number of animal rights and animal welfare groups don’t agree with what we’re doing . . .’
‘Why?’
‘They feel that we shouldn’t be experimenting on animals. They believe it’s wrong to sacrifice pigs and all the other animals we use in our research to help humans.’
‘But you obviously don’t believe that,’ I stated.
Dr Bryce shook his head. ‘I eat meat and I see nothing wrong with using animals in medical research as long as it’s done in a humane way. We’re not cruel to our animals.’
‘Isn’t that a matter of definition?’ Mum asked.
‘Cathy, I really don’t think—’
Mum interrupted Dad’s saccharine smile: ‘Mike, I’m only asking. Or would you rather I didn’t?’
I winced. They were at it again.
Dr Bryce frowned. ‘I’m not quite sure what you mean, Mrs Kelsey.’
‘You say you’re not cruel to your animals. But you breed them specifically for the purpose of killing them and using their insides to help humans. Some would call that cruel.’
‘Do you?’
‘I didn’t say me.’ Mum shook her head. ‘I said “some”.’
‘Chickens, pigs, cows and sheep are bred all over the world for the sole purpose of being killed to feed the human race. We’re talking about domestic animals here. Is it any worse to breed them to save and extend human life? Should they be bred for food and food alone? I guess it is a matter of definition but, believe me, I can sleep at night and I have no trouble looking in the mirror either,’ said Dr Bryce.
‘Do the animal rights people write you lots of letters then?’ I asked.
‘Some do. And I don’t mind that. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion and I respect that.’ Dr Bryce licked his lips before he continued. ‘I don’t want to alarm you here but you should know what you could be letting yourselves in for. My house has been fire-bombed – twice. We’ve had faeces through our letter box more times than I care to remember and the house was also flooded when one group put a hose-pipe through our front door. We’ve had to move three times and as a consequence everyone involved in my project tends to guard their privacy very fiercely indeed.’
‘Is that why you didn’t let us know you were coming until the last second?’ Mum asked.
Dr Bryce nodded. ‘And that’s why it’s crucial that if we do go through with this, none of you says a word to anyone about the nature of the transplant. I wouldn’t want you to go through all the things I and the rest of my team have had to put up with.’
‘Why do you still carry on?’ I asked. ‘Why don’t you give up and do something less controversial?’
‘He’s dedicated.’ Dad tried to laugh off my comment.
I frowned at my dad. What was the matter? Was Dad afraid Dr Bryce might quit right there and then?
‘I can’t quit. It’s what I was born to do.’ Dr Bryce replied to me directly. ‘I’m one of the lucky ones who have found the one thing that makes their life complete. I couldn’t do anything else, even if I wanted to. And besides, it’s the only thing I’m good at.’
Dr Bryce’s tone was intense. His steely-grey eyes focused on me without a single blink. I couldn’t help feeling that the doctor was trying to tell me something, but I had no idea what. It was as if there was something else, some deeper, hidden meaning to the doctor’s words which was just out of my grasp.
‘So how does all this work then?’ I said at last.
Dr Bryce leaned forward, eager to explain. ‘The major problem with xenotransplantation . . .’ At my blank look he explained, ‘That’s what we call it when you take the organs from one species and transplant them into the body of an animal from another species. Anyway, the major problem with xenotransplantation is the risk of rejection. Our bodies are very good at recognizing anything that isn’t a natural part of us – including transplanted organs – and getting rid of it. So we had to think of a way to trick human bodies into believing that transplanted organs from other animals really did belong. Several years ago we introduced fragments of human DNA into some pig embryos and implanted them into a sow. When the sow’s litter was born, four of the nine piglets had significant changes in their hearts and other organs, giving them key human characteristics.’
I watched Dr Bryce carefully. He’d obviously given this speech before. It was word perfect, set in layman’s terms, spoken without hesitation. No stumbling, no mumbling, just facts – enthusiastically and confidently told. An informative, precise and very detached speech. I wondered what Dr Bryce felt about me or anyone else who might be a possible candidate for this pig-heart transplant. What was in it for the doctor?
‘The results were very encouraging so we continued our experiments with a lot more pigs. We’re now on our fourth generation of pigs with organs that are more of a match for humans. What we’re trying to do is grow pigs whose organs contain human DNA so that when the organs are used in human transplants, they’re not rejected,’ the doctor continued.
‘Why pigs? Why not chimps or monkeys or dogs or cats or cows or something?’ I asked.
‘Now, Cam, I’m sure Dr Bryce didn’t come here so you could ply him with questions,’ Dad admonished.
‘I did actually.’ Dr Bryce smiled easily. ‘Cameron has an absolute right to ask as many questions as he likes. And, to be honest, I’d be a bit wary if he didn’t.’
‘So why pigs?’ I repeated. I knew my tone was terse but I wasn’t in the mood to beat about the bush.
‘It’s a very difficult que
stion to answer. Chimps and other primates would be a much better bet in xenotransplantation. In fact there’s only about a two percent difference in the genetic engineering of humans and chimps. They’re closer to humans on the evolutionary scale – but that’s also the problem,’ Dr Bryce began.
I frowned. ‘I don’t get it. If chimps and gorillas and orang-utans and that are more like humans than any other creatures, why are you using pigs?’ I really hoped the doctor wasn’t going to talk any more medical gobbledegook. I was having a hard enough time trying to keep up with him as it was.
‘My lab and most research projects involved in the same area rely on funding. We only get funding if we can persuade large organizations or wealthy individuals to part with their money. They won’t part with a penny if we use chimps or monkeys or baboons because of the bad publicity we’d all get. They’re too closely related to humans, that’s one reason. Plus some types of primate are actually endangered now – so using them is out of the question. Most people would find it totally unacceptable. But pigs, on the other hand . . .’ The doctor smiled drily. ‘Pigs are not an endangered species, their organs are very close to humans’ in size and, as they’re already bred for food, we thought it would make sense to use them in our line of research.’
‘And do they work? I mean, pig hearts transplanted into humans – do they work?’
‘We’ve never done one before. We’ve transplanted pig hearts into a number of chimps and baboons over the years but no humans.’
‘And what happened to the chimps and baboons?’ I asked.
‘After a while, they all died,’ Dr Bryce replied without hesitation. ‘But we’ve improved our techniques and developed a new anti-rejection medication since then. And last year we transplanted the heart of a pig into a chimp. That chimp is still alive.’
‘So you want to use my son as a human guinea-pig? Is that it?’ Mum’s voice cracked like a whip.
And there was that word again. Suddenly everywhere I turned, there was that word.
Pig . . .
‘Not at all, Mrs Kelsey,’ Dr Bryce insisted. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t confident that the procedure stood every chance of success.’