Transference

Everyone talks about the heart as though it’s more than a pump. My heart aches for you. I love you with all my heart. You broke my heart. Blah, blah, blah—the euphemisms go on forever, no matter how unrealistic they are. It’s the brain, not the heart, which controls emotions and everything else in the body, including the heart. So, when I learned I needed a heart transplant, I thought go for it.

It took some time for the medical team to find a suitable match, but after many months, one became available. I was told the donor had been twenty years younger than me and was the unfortunate victim of a car accident. Of course, I felt bad about the donor for all of two seconds, then asked how soon before I would get my new heart.

The operation was a complete success. Even the tissue match was almost perfect, so the need for rejection drugs was minimal. I was back to being me in no time. What does that mean exactly? I’m an easygoing guy who avoids confrontation if possible. I enjoy a good movie, a well-written book, exercising, and hanging out with friends. Overall, people like me and I like people.

At least, that’s who I used to be. The change started slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. I noticed my tolerance for people making mistakes was shrinking while I grew more short-tempered every day. Where I would once have bent down to pat a stray dog, now I’d kick it aside. I felt no empathy for anyone or anything.

My transition to the dark side culminated one night during a barroom brawl. It took three large men to separate me from my victim. His only transgression was accidentally bumping into me. From that moment on, I had no restraints. Road rage became an everyday occurrence, relationships never went beyond a first date, and I became banned from most of the local pubs. Maybe it was time to get some answers.

I talked with several psychologists, a priest, and even a rabbi, in search of answers. The shrinks tossed around a bunch of big words, attempting to impress me. It must be God’s will, was all I got from the holy men. Out of desperation, I packed a few things and left to find a place void of people.

My wandering lasted several days before coming across a ghost town located deep in the Montana wilderness. It was perfect! No people for me to injure or kill, habitable shelter, and game to hunt. I had found what I needed the most: solitude. It only lasted for a couple of days.

A man wandered into my sanctuary toward the end of day three. He looked older than me and well-weathered from living off the land. His chiseled features and copper-colored skin told me he was a Native American. At first, we didn’t speak, each pretending the other didn’t exist. That worked for an hour, but the need to communicate eventually trumped the need for solitude, or maybe we were hungry and wanted to see what the other one had to eat. Whatever the reason, we started a conversation.

I told him how my lack of control and tolerance issues had turned me into a different person since my heart transplant. He went quiet for several minutes, then offered to help me regain my old self. The old Indian removed some items from his knapsack and cut off leaves from some nearby plants. He placed everything in a metal pot with some water, started a fire, and brought the mixture to a boil. We waited for it to cool enough to drink and both of us swallowed a cup full.

When I regained consciousness, I saw the old Indian sitting across the smoldering campfire staring at me. He waited until I was fully awake before speaking.

“Your problem is now resolved. You had a portion of essence from the heart’s original owner living inside you. The heart was extremely angry at being removed from its original host. Your anger was its anger. I convinced the essence that it would be better to rejoin the original donor’s spirit than try to hold on to this piece of him. It has now moved on.”

All this talk of spirits and essence left my head swirling. I no longer felt anger or bitterness toward anyone. Maybe there is some truth to the notion that the heart and not the brain controls emotions. All I know is that I’m happy to have anyone else living inside me any longer.