‘I’ve been doing some reading about exactly what happens when you have a heart transplant,’ I continued. ‘First they take a razor-sharp scalpel which is like a knife with an ultra-thin blade. And then they slice into your skin from just below your collar bone all the way down to here.’ I stuck my finger in my belly button. I didn’t think they’d cut down that far but I wasn’t going to stop now. ‘And then they take a sharp saw, like a hacksaw, and they saw your breast bone in half. And then they use a thing like a clamp to pull your breast bone apart so they can get at your heart . . .’
‘Cameron, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.’ Mr Stewart leapt to his feet, appalled.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I thought you wanted me to tell everyone about heart transplants. I’m getting to the good bit now.’
‘No, Cameron. I think that’s quite enough,’ Mr Stewart said firmly.
‘But I don’t understand, sir . . .’ I feigned ignorance. ‘What did you want me to talk about?’
‘I thought you could talk to us about . . . about what will happen next week, without being quite so graphic,’ he said.
I looked around the classroom. Mr Stewart wasn’t the only one who was looking appalled. I’d only meant it as a joke, but more than one shocked face stared back at me. Julie’s eyes glistened and her lips were turned down. Andrew actually looked sick. Even Marlon looked upset. My joke had backfired. I took a deep breath.
‘Look, it’s not as bad as it sounds,’ I started again. ‘It’s just that our hearts are very well protected. When you think about it, we can do without most of our bodies if we have to – except our brains and our hearts. Our brains are well protected in our skulls and our hearts are protected behind our rib cage. So they have to move the rib cage out of the way to get to the heart, that’s all.’ Mr Stewart sat down again slowly. I carried on. ‘And think about it – every other part of our body gets to rest. Even our brains rest to a certain extent when we’re asleep. But not our hearts. Our hearts have to keep pumping, pumping, pumping. The heart is a very strong muscle that lasts us all our lives. But sometimes, like in my case, something goes wrong with it and it has to be replaced. So that’s what’s going to happen to me next week. When they replace my heart, I’ll be unconscious and that’s the way I’ll stay until the doctors have finished, so I won’t feel a thing. And besides, heart transplants are common operations now. They’re as common as . . . as taking out your appendix.’
I knew that wasn’t quite true but never mind. It had the desired effect. Mr Stewart was beginning to smile again and everyone else looked a little less worried. It was strange, but in that moment it was as if everyone in the class was on my side. It was as if everyone was worried about me and rooting for me. It was a good feeling. I was cared about. I belonged.
‘I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to scare anyone,’ I mumbled.
‘That’s all right.’ Mr Stewart’s lighthouse beam was back. He leapt up and faced the rest of the class. ‘Let’s give Cameron a big round of applause.’
A couple of people started clapping, then everyone else joined in. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. I scowled at the back of Mr Stewart’s head. He had made me very, very sorry I hadn’t continued with my original description of a heart operation. It seemed to me that that was all grown-ups ever did. They either talked down to you, ignored you or showed you up something chronic. I just hoped and prayed that I would grow older but not grow up. To be a grown-up was the lowest of the low!
Chapter Nine
Messages
I feel a bit silly. I’m not used to talking like this. Dad hates talking to answering machines. I’ve never really understood why until now. I don’t mind talking to answering machines, It’s never bothered me, but this is different. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I have so much to say, but it all seems so little. Trivial really. I mean, I’m just an average boy with not much going for me. I get good marks at school but, apart from that, I’m average looking – no, I take that back, I’m super-cool looking – of just above average height, I eat average food – but don’t tell Mum I said that. I’m pretty much average all over. I’m sorry. I’m rambling again.
Look! Let me start at the beginning.
I’m your brother. My name is Cameron Joshua Kelsey. I know! It sucks, doesn’t it? Mum and Nan chose my first name – after my grandad who’s dead now – and Dad chose my middle name. The only taste any of them has got is all in their mouth. I mean, Cameron. Yuck! Mum said I can choose your name. The trouble is I don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl. Mum, says that when she has her scan in a week’s time, she’s not going to ask what sex you are. So I’m going to have to think about this. I want to call you something when I talk to you . . . Hang on! The camcorder has just nodded on its tripod! I hope that doesn’t mean that I’m being boring. Just a sec!
There! That’s better. I had to tighten the fixing screw on the tripod. I’ve focused the camcorder on this chair so I can’t move about much or I’ll disappear out of the picture.
Disappear out of the picture . . .
That’s quite ironic, that. It’d be quite a good joke if it was funny! Let me just sort out my thoughts. It’s hard to know where to begin really. It’s like this. I’m going to have an operation soon. I’ve got a bad heart. I caught a viral infection almost two years ago and it’s still affecting me. My heart is slowly wasting away. So now I’m going to get it replaced. The thing is, because there aren’t enough human heart donors, I’m going to get the heart of a pig. To be honest, the way I feel at the moment, I couldn’t care less where it comes from, as long as it works. But no one’s had a pig-heart transplant before. Until a few years ago the government had actually banned transplants from animals. I might . . . I might not make it through the operation, and even if the operation is a success, who’s to say what will happen after that.
So there you have it. I’m going to have this operation and I don’t know if I’m going to be around when you’re born or to watch you grow up. So I wanted to leave you something to remember me by. I could’ve written letters, I suppose, but that’s boring and it would take tons of writing. So I decided to leave you a whole load of recordings with my handsome face on them. I thought I’d give you my brotherly advice on life, the universe and everything.
Mum and Dad have promised to stay out of the room while I do this so I can talk about anything I like. And they’ve promised that if something does happen to me, they won’t watch the tapes until you’re old enough to maybe give them permission. To be honest, I’d rather you didn’t show Mum and Dad these tapes. I’d like these to be just between you and me, but I guess it’s your decision.
I had to tell my class about the operation and what’s going to happen. I didn’t want to. I was forced into it, so I started telling everyone all the in and outs and in betweens. I really upset some of my friends. I didn’t mean to do it. It was more to get back at Sticky Stewart – he’s my class teacher – than anything else. And I upset Julie. Don’t tell anyone but I kinda fancy her. She’s gorgeous! I don’t want to get all wet rag but I really, really, fancy her. Every time she’s around I try to act all sophisticated and knowing but it always goes wrong and I end up looking like a complete moron. I know she thinks I’m a twit, and whenever I try to change her mind about that, I just make things worse.
Just a sec – I just want to check the door to make sure Mum and Dad aren’t listening. Here I am – back again! I’ve got a confession to make – and this is strictly between you and me. If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you! I wrote a poem about me and Julie and how I feel about her and how I know that she thinks I’m a class one, grade A-plus nozzle! I’ll read it to you. Hang on, it’s buried under my mattress.
Now I mean this! I’m only going to read this to you on the strict understanding that you won’t tell anyone else. If it got around that I wrote some poetry and, worse still, to a girl, I’d never live it down. Here goes! It’s called ‘I’ve Done It Again’. Don’t laugh!
Confidence up, confidence down
Act like an angel, look like a clown,
Changing your mind, changing it back.
The quick recipe for a heart attack.
Smile at your blunders, laugh at my own.
This isn’t right, I should be at home.
Under the duvet, safe from attack.
Changing your mind, changing it back.
Accident prone, but never you worry,
I’ll tell you when you can leave in a hurry.
Making up ground for the sense that I lack.
Changing your mind, changing it back.
I’ve done it again; proved my reputation.
Is this sorrow . . . or is it elation?
Statements once given I cannot retract,
Changing your mind, changing it back.
The notice I earn is diluted with patience,
The smiles that I give are the scorns I receive.
While I hold my breath and count to one hundred,
You’ll tell me a tale I am sure to believe.
Fanciful feelings hiding a fool,
A cog that’s not turning, a bottomless pool.
Lend me what’s common of which you’ve a stack.
Then I’ll change your mind and I won’t change it back.
What d’you think? Dead soppy, huh? That’s why I wouldn’t read it to anyone else but you. If I can’t tell my own brother or sister, who can I tell? I’ve written some other poems too. One about Mum and Dad’s computer and one about Chelsea Football Club – they run things! – but I won’t read them out. At least not now. Maybe I will one day. And then again, maybe I’ll spare you ’cos they’re all as bad as the one I just read out.
What should I talk about now? I’m finding this a bit difficult without really knowing who I’m speaking to. I think I’ll sign off here. I’m a bit embarrassed after that naff poem. I’ll get back to you.
Chapter Ten
Preparation
‘Are you OK, Cameron?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ I suppressed a sigh. How many times was Mum going to ask me that question?
‘Can I help you with anything?’ Mum took the neatly folded pyjama shirt out of my hands, shook it out and began to fold it again.
‘No, Mum, I can manage.’ I pulled the shirt out of her reluctant hands.
‘I could . . . er . . .’ Mum looked around eagerly, trying to find something to keep her in the room.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘I can manage.’ I spoke firmly, looking her straight in the eye.
Mum smiled ruefully. ‘I’m getting in the way, aren’t I?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I’m getting on your nerves.’
‘Correct.’
Mum chuckled. ‘I’ll leave now.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied, with sincere gratitude.
‘Call me if you need me.’
‘I will.’
Mum left my bedroom after one more glance to make absolutely sure that there was nothing to keep her. I shook my head as I added my pyjama shirt to my already full suitcase. That was about the twelfth time Mum had entered my room in the last half hour. And as for Dad – he was out in the garden, weeding something or other that couldn’t wait. Grown-ups were so strange.
I took another look at the camcorder sitting self-consciously in the corner of the room. After a moment’s indecision I took out the tripod from under my bed and stood it about two metres away. Picking up the camcorder, I placed it on the tripod, looking through the viewfinder to centre the view on my suitcase sitting in the middle of my bed.
I decided not to start the camcorder just yet. I had other things to take care of first. Pushing the new toothbrush down the side of my suitcase, I sat on the lid to close it. It shut quite easily. Sitting on it probably wasn’t necessary but it was fun! I looked around my room. This was the last day I’d see it – for a while. I walked over to my window. Dad was on his knees at the back of the garden, digging in his vegetable patch. I sighed as I watched. Dad had been digging in exactly the same spot for the last forty-five minutes. I left my room.
‘Hi, Dad. What’re you doing?’
‘Oh hello, Cam. I just thought I’d do a bit of weeding.’
I peered over his shoulder. ‘I don’t see any weeds.’
‘I’ve got rid of the surface bits, but I have to dig deep to make sure I get all the roots out. There’s no point in doing this unless I’m thorough.’
I regarded my dad thoughtfully. What he knew about weeds could be written on a full stop – and we both knew it.
‘Will Nan and Aunt Louise be able to visit me in the hospital?’ I asked.
‘Well, your Aunt Louise is still in Canada, so she won’t. And as for your nan – I don’t know. I don’t think so,’ said Dad. ‘Can you see your nan letting anyone bundle her into the back of a blacked-out van?’
I had to laugh. I couldn’t see that at all.
Dad sighed. ‘I just wish we could’ve told your nan the truth.’
‘She knows I’m having a heart transplant, doesn’t she?’ I asked.
‘Yes, but that’s all she knows. She doesn’t know . . . anything else,’ Dad replied. ‘Your mum and I are to phone her every day to let her know how you’re doing.’
‘Can I talk to her on the phone as well? After the operation?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Dad.
An uneasy silence descended.
‘So tomorrow’s the big day.’ Dad nodded.
‘No. Tomorrow I’m just going into hospital. The big day isn’t until the weekend.’
‘Going into hospital makes tomorrow a big day. It’s just that Saturday will be even bigger,’ Dad said quickly.
I frowned at him. What was he wittering on about?
‘It’s not too late, you know. You can still change your mind.’
I turned away from the faint hope I could see in my dad’s eyes. ‘No. I’m not going to change my mind now.’
‘Well, just remember you can. You can even change your mind in the hospital if you want to. Just let me know.’
‘D’you want me to change my mind?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But do you?’
‘It’s your decision – not mine.’
‘Dad, what would you do if you were me?’
Dad sighed and stood up. ‘I’ve asked myself that a lot lately. And the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t suppose anyone can really know unless they’re in the same boat.’
‘Anything worth having is worth fighting for – isn’t that what you’ve always said?’
‘Yes, but sometimes . . . maybe the risk is too great,’ Dad said carefully.
‘And sometimes maybe any risk is worth it,’ I countered.
Dad shrugged. I mentally shook my head. This was such a strange conversation. Why couldn’t we both just come out and say what we really thought and felt? Why all this beating about the bush? It was so tiring.
Dad and I watched each other, each of us struggling to find something to say.
‘Dad, whatever happens, I’m glad you wrote to Dr Bryce,’ I said.
Dad nodded.
‘I mean it,’ I insisted. ‘Thanks.’
Dad nodded again and looked away from me.
‘I’ll go in and finish my packing now,’ I said sadly.
‘OK,’ Dad said.
Reluctantly, I turned to go back into the house.
‘Cameron?’
I spun around immediately. ‘Yes?’
‘I . . . I . . . never mind. If you need anything, let me know,’ said Dad.
‘OK.’ And I went back inside.
Chapter Eleven
Life Lessons
Well, here I am again. It’s been a few days since I last spoke to you and a lot has happened since then. I’m going into hospital tomorrow and I’m going to have my operation a few days after that. It’s all very hush-hush. Dr Bryce wouldn’t even let Mum and Dad tell Na
n what’s about to happen. I’ve already had tests and yet more tests and had more blood taken from my arms than I knew I had. And there are more tests to come. So wish me luck. But that’s not all. I’ve finally thought of a name for you. Mum and Dad said I could choose your name but it was a bit difficult because I didn’t know – and still don’t know – whether you’re going to be a girl or a boy. I don’t mind, actually. I guess most boys would like a brother but I really don’t mind. Anyway, the name I’ve chosen for you is – are you ready for this? – Alex. Alexander if you’re a boy; Alexandra if you’re a girl. But I can call you Alex. What d’you think of that? D’you like the name? I hope so. You’re going to be stuck with it for a while! I’ve passed it by Mum and Dad and they both seem happy with it. Mind you, they’re both being so nice to me at the moment, I could’ve suggested something like Aardvark or Smelly Chops as your name and they would probably have said yes.
So, Alex, here I am! Your brother Cameron. I really do hope and pray that we get the chance to meet and get to know each other. But in the meantime, I’d better get started on my . . . what shall I call them? Life lessons! Yeah, that’s a good phrase. Life lessons. Today’s life lesson is about parents. I’ll be revisiting this topic on a number of occasions, no doubt. That was my newsreader voice! Anyway, back to parents – or, to be more specific, our parents.
Michael and Catherine Kelsey.
What can I say about them? They’re not getting on too well at the moment. They are trying for my sake but it’s like they’re papering over a wall with bumpy and lumpy bits and lots of holes in it. They keep trying to get me to admire the wallpaper, but I can’t when I know what’s really behind it. You see, the wall spoils the wallpaper but they don’t understand that. Does that make sense? I’m not getting too flowery, am I? What I’m trying to say is that they are trying to pretend that everything between them is fine – but my eyes work. I can see for myself that they’re lying. And I wish they wouldn’t. It makes me feel as if I’m responsible in some way, because I’m ill. My head tells me that Mum and Dad have a lot of things to sort out for themselves that have nothing to do with me, but the gnawing in the pit of my stomach each time they argue makes me want to . . . run away and hide or curl up in a ball on my bed or do something – anything – to get away from them. I don’t mean that in a nasty way. I do love Mum and Dad very much – there, I’ve said it! I love them very much but they are such hard work.