Brain Freeze

“’Samuel Clemmons?”

“Yes, yes, right here,” Sam stood, gathered his paperwork and followed the young nurse down a long hallway leading into the bowels of the clinic. Going through a set of locked doors, she led him to an exam room where he was asked to remove everything except his socks and briefs. She laid a crisp, sterile gown on the examining table and collected his paperwork.

“Doctor Ghazi will be in to see you shortly,” she said, smiling brightly, “Did you swallow the pre-op capsule you were given on your last visit, Mr. Clemmons?”

“Yes, one hour ago, as instructed,” he said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what was the capsule for?”

“Dr. Ghazi will explain everything to you.” she said, still wearing her painted smile. “No need to worry, Mr. Clemmons.”

He sighed. This was it. The time of reckoning. Pretty soon all the pain and suffering he'd had to deal with for over a year would be coming to an end, or so he'd been told. Undressed, the chill in the stark, white room made him break out in goose flesh as he bent over to take off his pants. The white hot pain that shot through his head was so excruciating, he yelled out in agony, collapsing onto the cold, tile floor. Holding his head in his hands, he rocked back and forth, unable to cry out for the nurse. His world turned black.

.

“Nurse! Start an IV, stat!” Dr. Ghazi barked out orders to the attending nurses, “Where’s that IV bag of Sodium pentathol and Propofol! I wanted that yesterday!”

He turned to the resident physician assisting him with surgery. “Has the BHC arrived, Dr. Singh?”

“Yes, about two minutes ago. It’s all set.” Dr. Singh replied.

The BHC, a beating-heart cadaver, had just arrived by Med-Vac. A forty-year-old male. No living relatives and a DNR, according to his chart. Dr. Singh was excited. This was his first brain transplant. He was chosen out of a class of fifteen, second year residents to assist renowned neurosurgeon Dr. Ghazi with this surgery so he felt extremely privileged. To be standing alongside one of the best surgeons in the world and to be able to witness him in action was an honor. More lives than he could count have been saved by the great Dr.Ghazi’s innovative neurosurgery. Having great success with his experiments on monkeys, he then moved on to a human volunteer who was in the terminal stage of brain cancer.

The tumor in Mr. Clemmon’s head was the size of a softball, buried deep within the thalamus. Because of its location, not only did it affect the patient’s motor sensory skills, it was inoperative.The transplant was Mr. Clemmon’s only chance for survival.

Dr. Ghazi read over the patient's file carefully. Samuel E. Clemmons was a forty-year-old male in relatively good health. He had signed all the necessary paperwork, including relieving the attending doctors of any responsibility towards accidental death or fatal rejection of the new brain. The waiting list was long, but it usually wasn’t a concern. Thanks to the new bill approved by the president, it was now mandatory to donate your brain for medical purposes in the United States. There was hardly ever a shortage of healthy brains, and luckily, Mr. Clemmon's donor was fresh.This surgery should go fairly easily with little to no complications.

John St. James, the coroner for Our Lady of Mount Carmel Hospital, was in the middle of wrapping up the autopsy for the young man who'd stepped in front of a bus earlier that day. Amazingly, there was no damage to the skull, but curiously, John found a very special set of knives on his person. German autopsy dissecting knives, all in a special case and worth their weight in gold. There were police detectives and investigators all over the place, with the brain donor being the main suspect in a series of murders in the city. The dissecting knives were what tipped them off, naturally. According to the chief investigator of the case, all seven were cut with meticulously precise incisions. Especially around the genitalia, mouth and breasts. Each one had their eyes either mutilated or complete enucleations and where he kept the parts was anyone's guess. The dissection knives matched the injuries on the women perfectly. They had their man. But the question was, how many more bodies were out there? John closed the serial killer’s empty skull, knowing the man’s secrets would go to the grave with him.

Samuel woke in agony. His head felt like it was caught in a bear trap. Trying to swallow felt like he’d swallowed a handful of razor blades and washed them down with moonshine. Feeling around for his call light, he found it attached to his blanket and pressed it for the nurse.

Immediately one popped her head in his room. “Mr. Clemmons! You’re awake! I didn’t expect you to wake up for another hour or so.”

“Call me Sam, ” he croaked, “Water, please, and something for pain.”

“Yes to the pain meds, no to the water, sorry. ” she apologized. “you can have ice chips, but nothing in your belly right now.” She walked around his bed and checked his vitals and then the output in his foley bag. All normal.

“Okay, anything, please hurry. I can’t bear it.” he begged her.

She left the room and came back shortly after, having prepared a shot of Demerol. First, she gave him a cup of ice chips and let him put a few in his mouth, instructing him to roll over on his side.

Flicking the needle to remove any air bubbles, she pulled his gown away from the fatty part of his butt. Wiping area with an alcohol pad, she plunged the needle deep into the muscle with a practiced movement , injecting the Demerol.

“Holy shit, that burns!’ he yelled. “What the hell did you put in there, lady, Drano?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Clemmons, ” she apologized.” I should have warned you about the burning sensation.”

“Yeah, I’ll say, thank’s, and call me Sam, would ya?” he told her.”If you're going to kill me with pain killers, you could at least call me by my first name.”

The medicine was already making him feel a little woozy as a warm, pleasant feeling started in the middle of his chest and spread outward into the rest of his body.

“Wow!” he exclaimed, “I'll take a year's supply of that stuff!”

She laughed, patting his hand. “You and me both, buddy. How do you feel, other than a great big headache and mild euphoria from the meds?”

“Well, I seem to feel okay, but when is the Dr. coming to see me? When can I go home?”

“He’s in surgery right now, but he promised he would stop in to see you right after. Do you have any questions about your aftercare instructions?” she asked him. But when she turned around from checking his IV fluids, he was sound asleep. She smiled. Poor guy, she thought, I sure as hell don’t envy him right now.

Samuel Clemmons woke screaming, his pillow wet with sweat and tears. What the hell was that dream all about? It was so real, so vivid! Pressing his call light, he sat up on the edge of the bed, waiting for the horrible images to fade into a distant memory. . Looking up at the clock, he saw he’d slept for five hours. His headache was gone, but the dream lingered, tormenting him.

Karin, the morning nurse, came in and saw him sitting up. “Mr. Clemmons! You're up! My name is Karin and I’m your nurse today. Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, I want to see Dr. Ghazi this morning, please.” he told her, “I’ve been having the most horrible nightmares. They’re terrible. Awful. I can’t even talk about them, they’re so bad.”

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to hear this. Yes, I’ll try to locate him immediately and see if perhaps he could prescribe you something for that. Other than the nightmares, do you think you could eat a solid meal today? If so, he may just send you home by this afternoon, what do you think about that?” she said.

“But, I haven’t even seen him yet, and he’s already planning my release?” Sam complained, “Don’t get me wrong, I want to go home, it’s just a little out of the ordinary considering the type of surgery I’ve just had. Don’t you agree?”

“You have to understand, Mr. Clemmons,” she explained, “Nowadays, brain surgeries aren’t like they were fifty years ago. The insurance companies know this and they are not willing to pay for a patient any more than two or three days. Crazy, I know, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Hmph, I wonder if the same would be true for the ones who made these rules.” Samuel said resentfully.

“I totally agree, Mr.Clemmons, I do. Now, how about that breakfast.” she said, smiling.

Dr. Ghazi walked in just as Samuel was finishing up breakfast. Two pieces of french toast, a boiled egg, buttered toast and two glasses of orange juice. Funny, he never even liked orange juice before, ever, but here was, on his second glass and wanting more.

“Ah, Mr. Clemmons! And how are you this fine morning? You've eaten! Good sign!” Dr. Ghazi said brightly.”Did your stomach take it well? No pain or nausea?”

“No, Dr. no pain or nausea. Just some very disturbing nightmares. Is this normal?” he asked.

“Oh, indeed. I would actually be very surprised if you told me you ​didn't have them. See, your brain is what we like to call ‘rebooting’ itself. The pill you swallowed, Mr. Clemmons, was actually nanobots. They are attaching to the temporal lobe and providing it with all the information which is you, and delivering it to the Corpus Callosum, which stores it for you. It’s an amazing procedure.” he explained.”My own ‘brain’ child, if you’ll excuse the pun.”

“When will I be able to go home?” Samuel asked. “The nurse, Karin, told me that If I was able to keep down solids, there might be a possibility it might be this afternoon.”

“You’ve recovered remarkably, Mr. Clemmons,” he answered, “I believe it’s a great possibility.”

“Call me Sam, Dr., please.” asked Samuel. “I feel fine, I think I’d really do better in my own space, if you don’t mind. I miss my dog. My sister has him for now. I was given Life Line service before I came in here, and if there was a problem, I just pressed a button.”

“Okay, Sam. Looks like you have all the bases covered. I'll have the nurse get your discharge papers ready.” Dr.Ghazi agreed. “But, you must promise me; no heavy lifting, no errands, just complete rest until our next visit which will be next Wednesday., I believe, deal?”

“It’s a deal, Doc. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. No words could even come close.” Samuel told him, holding out his hand. "You saved my life."

“My pleasure, Sam, my pleasure,” he told Samuel, and shook his hand. “I’ll see you next week.”

His sister, Serena, was waiting for him in the car, along with Luther, his yellow lab. Luther was his best friend, companion and watchdog all in one. Six years old, he still had the energy of a puppy. When he saw Samuel coming, Luther whined and cried, his tail like a pinwheel. Samuel grabbed his furry face between his hands, pressing his forehead against the happy dog's forehead.

“Hey, girl!” he greeted her, ” and how’s my favorite sister today?”

“You're still you, that’s for sure, Samuel” she laughed. “I’m so glad you're okay. I came up to see you yesterday, but they said you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. How do you feel? Any different?”

“No, not really. I had a raging headache yesterday, but it’s gone, and I even ate today.” he told her, leaving out the part about the nightmares.

As brother and sister talked, Luther’s tail was pounding the back seat with happiness. He whined and snuffled in Sam’s ear, swiping his face and ear with his big, flat tongue.

Sam laughed, “I know, I know, buddy, I missed you too, you big dummy.” He reached back and rubbed his belly affectionately. “And mom and dad? How are they now, any better?”

Sam and Serena’s parents were still of the mind that a brain transplant meant the person coming out of the hospital was not going to be their son. He was going to look like their son, talk and walk like their son, but ultimately,he would be someone else.

“Sam, you know how they are,” she apologized for them, “they’re just, you know, mom and dad.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…” he let the sentence trail off.

“It’s okay, Sam, I know.” she explained. “We have dinosaurs for parents. I still remember the look on their face when you told them about the operation. Oh my God. If mom’s mouth dropped any farther….”

Sam chuckled at that, getting a mental image of his mother with her mouth hanging open.

“Yeah, and remember dad?” they both laughed, replaying the scene in their heads. “He sat down so hard on the recliner it tipped over!” Serena, laughing, had to serve to miss a car that was slowing down.

“Whoa! Ok, let’s stop or you’ll kill me before I even make it home from the hospital!” Sam laughed.

“So now what, Sam?” His sister asked seriously. "Now that you have a new lease on life, what are you going to do with it?"

“Well, I can’t go back to work for a few months, that’s for sure. I guess for now I’ll cash in some of the CD’s mom and dad got for us years ago. At least they’ll get me through till the disability kicks in.”

"Do you feel any differently?" she asked, "I mean, you

still you, right?"

"Yeah, sis, I'm still me, and no, I don't feel any differently except for the fact that my head doesn't feel like it's going to explode anymore," he told her. "Before the operation, they make you take this pill that's actually a nanobot. It literally downloads every memory, everything you've ever thought, done, and learned. Everything that made you, you."

"Holy shit, Sam, that's so incredible," she exclaimed, "Then what?"

"During the procedure itself, the nanobot is retrieved and all that info is downloaded into the new brain."

"What happens to the new brain's original information?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," Sam said, "I never thought to ask about that."

They pulled in front of his small, studio apartment. “Rena, thank you for taking him. I appreciate it.” He hugged her tightly.

“You sure you don’t want me to help for a couple of days?” she asked her brother.

“You’ve done enough, I’ll be fine.” he told her. “Just call mom and dad for me. Try to reassure them that I’m still me.”

She smiled and hugged him tightly, “Love ya little brother.”

Samuel went inside of his two bedroom duplex apartment and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He loved his apartment. It was situated in the heart of the city, affordable and they let him keep Luther. Plus it was only a hop and a skip from his job. Inside was spacious with beautiful hardwood floors and high cathedral ceilings. From the bay window in the living room he could see the south side of the city, including the Hudson river. Sliding glass doors led out to a lovely little patio that Samuel made personal with an array of plants, comfy chairs and a small barbecue pit.. In the summertime, with the doors open wide to let in the breeze, he could smell the soft scent of Honeysuckle from his five year plant and sometimes, the dank, fishy smell of the river. His dining room was somewhat elegant, but not overbearingly so. A small mahogany dinette set and matching hutch was complimented by a gold runner and a vase with fresh flowers. Sam looked around with great satisfaction. It was so good to be home. Even Luther was happy as a puppy as he ran from room to room, his nails clicking quickly on the floors as he followed his best friend from room to room.

Sam entered his bedroom, setting his hospital bag on the bed. He was already a little dizzy from being upright for so long and decided that a movie night would be just perfect about now. Feeling a little headache coming on, he went into the bathroom to get something for pain before it blossomed into a migraine. He adored his bathroom. It had a great masculine look to it with its black and orange tiled floor. The walls, tiled in black, were brought out by the beautiful shower curtain, which pictured a flaming orange and red sunset.

He went to the sink to wash and brush and looked up at the mirror, crying out in disbelief and horror. It was not his face looking back at him. He pinwheeled backwards, losing his balance, landing on his butt near the claw footed tub. This wasn’t happening. He was having hallucinations, right? Getting up slowly, afraid to look, he went cautiously to the mirror again and looked. Seeing only his own reflection, he almost cried with relief. He must be still feeling the effects of the Demerol.

Finishing up his toiletries, he went to the kitchen to prepare for movie night. Luther padded behind him, ever his shadow, ears pricked in interest when Samuel opened the fridge. That wonderful place where there was a never-ending food supply. Sam was elated when he opened the door and saw that his sister had replenished his fridge with all the things he loved. Pickled sausages, vanilla yogurt, White-castle cheeseburgers, and his favorite, pasta and meatballs. He actually felt sorry for all the times he tortured her when they were children.

“I love you Serena!” he yelled into the empty kitchen. Luther barked in agreement. Samuel decided on the pasta, warming it in the microwave until the smell of scrumptious meatballs and homemade sauce made man and dog salivate.

A dull, sickening throb started in the back of his head, slowly working it’s way up and around to the front, just behind his eyes. He made his way to his favorite chair, a recliner that should have gone out with the trash years ago. He closed his eyes as the pain deepened, getting a little nervous. The pasta and meatballs didn’t smell or look so appetizing anymore. As he stared at the red sauce and chunks of meat, something was pushing from the back of his mind, a vision of some sort. A white-hot pain ripped through his head causing him to drop the plate of food in his lap. Holding his head in pain, with visions of red sauce behind his eyes, he slipped into darkness…

Samuel opened his eyes and moaned. His head pounded and his neck ached with every movement. What the hell just happened here? Why was he having dreams like this? Sitting up and leaning forward, he put his head in his hands. What was he doing? One minute he was getting ready to eat, and now food was all over his lap. What fell on the floor was eaten by the dog. Speaking of that damn dog, where was he? He moved slowly, standing with caution, his head throbbing.

“Luther!’ he called. “Come here, boy!” Luther came out of the bedroom slowly, and whined. His tail, usually wagging a mile a minute, was tucked up between his legs. He walked slowly up to Samuel, head down, softly growling deep in his throat. For some reason, the dog’s behavior annoyed the hell out of him.

“What the hell’s wrong with you!”, he yelled, “Go on, get out of here!’ He swung his foot at Luther, just barely missing his ribs. Jesus, his head hurt. Luther whined, walking away despondently. He didn’t understand the change in his beloved master and companion. This person was a stranger to Luther. He still had the same face and voice, but there was something under the voice that made him afraid. Something dark, feral, and seething with a need both evil and threatening. He ran to his ‘cave’ in back of the couch.

The headache was becoming increasingly worse, creeping into the very depths of his brain. Samuel swallowed more painkillers, deciding to lay down for a while until they kicked in. He remembered kicking at Luther, and couldn’t believe he’d done it. He loved that dog! Eyes closed, he slowly drifted off into a troubled sleep.

Samuel sat in Dr. Ghazi's office, his knee bouncing up and down . His nerves were shot. It'd been a week now and the dreams were happening with predictable regularity. First the blinding headache, then the horrifying dreams. Not only that, but he was losing time. Hours, not just minutes. Things were rearranged when he woke up, and his own dog was terrified of him.

"Mr. Clemmons!" Dr. Ghazi came into the room with Sam's chart, looking very concerned. "I see you're having some problems, yes? What's going on, my good man?"

"It's these damn nightmares, Doc, horrible, terrible, frightening nightmares!" Sam answered, "I've never had dreams like this before. Not to mention that I seem to be losing hours at a time. I wake up to find that things are moved, or added, and my damn dog is terrified of me!"

"Oh my, this is certainly unusual behavior, to be certain," Dr. Ghazi agreed, "When you lose the time, do you wake up where you originally went to sleep? Are you still getting headaches?"

"No, I'm still in the same spot I fell asleep in, and yes, I'm getting head-splitting headaches," he told Dr. Ghazi. "Also, I might be hallucinating."

He told the doctor how he looked in the mirror and saw a complete stranger.

He saw a subtle change come over the doctor's face, an imperceptible change in his demeanor. But though the smile remained, it didn't quite reach his eyes. Writing Sam a script for some Oxycontin, he told him to come back in two weeks, leaving quickly.

Dr. Ghazi entered the lab without knocking, his face a mask of rage. Carrying Samuel Clemmons chart, he went to the office of Deepak Chakrabarti, his face a mask of anger.

"Deepak, I think you've made a grave error with this patient" he said, explaining his rash statement. "He is claiming nightmares, time loss, not recognizing his face in the mirror and time loss, sound familiar?"

"That is not possible, I checked and rechecked the nanobot; it was working perfectly at the time of injection!" the man argued.

"Well he's exhibiting all the same behavior as subject twelve! Look what happened to him!"

Subject twelve, Dr. Ghazi remembered, not only started hallucinating and losing time, she encompassed two personalities in one body as her new brain fought to regain its original host's personality. The result was suicide.

"Just keep an eye on him Dr. Ghazi, there will be no more suicides on my watch!" Dr. Chakrabarti warned.

Sam got home exhausted, his head throbbing annoyingly. Getting into a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt and his favorite slippers, he sat in his recliner and turned on the TV. Luther padded over tentatively, wondering if his owner would yell or accept his overtures for attention. He whined happily when Sam stroked his cream colored fur, his tail beating a tattoo on the carpet.

Taking two Oxycontin's, Sam felt himself relax to the point of not caring if he had a headache or not. The hand stroking Luther suddenly hung slack, his head tipped back, Sam fell into a deep, narcotic slumber.

Sam woke, his head groggy and full of squirrels, as his mother used to say. He gingerly touched the fresh incision that ran from one ear, around the top of his head to the other ear. The dreams were clouding his sense of reality, so for a second, he forgot who he was. Evan; where did he hear that name? Was that his name? What was his Goddamn name?

"NO!" he yelled, pounding his forehead. "No, no, no!"

Lunging forward, he slammed his forehead into the mirror, shattering it. Blood ran down his face in rivulets, soaking into his shirt and dotting the tiled floor in tiny puddles. Falling to his knees, he leaned forward, rocking and moaning into the cold tiles. The battle in his head raged on without him as he disappeared somewhere between twilight and a dream.

Leaving the bathroom, he spotted Luther hiding behind a chair and for a split second, he wanted to kick the damn dog to death. What the hell? How did it even get in here? Grabbing his coat, he decided he needed to get out of his house for a while. This was far too much to deal with alone. He needed to be around people. Outside, Sam decided to walk instead of drive in case he had another episode of head pain. Besides, it was a beautiful night, crisp and clear, with a half-moon shining high in the clear, night sky. The city was loud and obnoxious as horns blared, trucks backfired and people of all sorts walking aimlessly staring at cell phones. Same old sidewalk satire. Sam felt himself drawn to the worst part of town. The red light district. Working girls plied their trade on designated street corners, showing off as much skin as possible to lure in prospective buyers. He felt sickened by them. How could a woman sell what God had so meticulously made so perfect? An irrational rage boiled from within, scaring Sam. Since when did a whore’s occupation ever bother him? He found himself standing off in the shadows watching how they strutted and shook parts of their anatomy at passer-bys, wondering what happened behind the closed doors of those sleazy motel rooms. Before his brain could tell his feet to stop, he was walking over to a hooker nearest to him. Bleached blonde, in Daisy-Duke shorts and knee high boots, she strutted back and forth, cat-calling to cars for attention.

"'Scuse me, ma'am?" Sam called to her, waving her over.

"Well hello, baby, you looking for some fun tonight?" she purred, licking her lips suggestively. "What you need, honey?"

"Well, um, I'm not sure, actually," he stammered, "What I mean to say, is..."

She laughed raucously, "Ahh, a hooker virgin! My favorite!" she told him, "Come with me, baby, and you better have money."

"I do, is $200 enough?" he told her, following her around the corner, his rage growing. He saw her eyes widen at the price and she jumped in, no more questions.

She directed him to a sleazeball motel called "Fall Inn", room number six. Her room, she called it. The room was disgusting, with dirty, rumpled sheets on a bed that made his skin crawl at the thought of what went on there. Residue and drug paraphernalia lay on the nightstand, and as he watched, she lay out a thick line of coke for herself.

"If you want some of this too, it’s extra," she told him, "And don't just stand there, sweetie. If you wanna get laid, hop in and strip."

Sam felt funny. A strange disorientation that enabled him to see outside of himself. He saw the other Sam walk up to the whore and throw her onto the bed.

"Whoa, mister, I ain't into the rough stuff, so slow..." With one blow, Sam dislocated her jaw, knocking her out cold. Straddling her, he slowly strangled the life out of her.

Samuel woke feeling refreshed, the dream forgotten, his headache gone. For some reason his right hand ached, and looking down, saw that his knuckles were swollen and bruised. What the hell? He wondered if maybe he fell or something. Time to get out of this dump for a while, he thought. He went into the bathroom and washed his face, looking into the mirror. Yes, this was more like it. His hair, though, why was it shaved off? He walked out to the living room, grabbing a hat, and saw a dog peeking out from behind the couch. He didn’t remember getting a dog, he hated dogs.

“I’ll deal with you later, mutt,” he warned the trembling animal. He needed to change a lot of things around here, he thought, like changing the decor around the apartment. Whoever did the decorating had very lame taste. Looking in the drawers, he found a bible and turned to Proverbs 23:27-28, which read, "For a prostitute is a deep pit and a wayward wife is a narrow well. Like a bandit she lies in wait, and multiplies the unfaithful among men."

Yes, the Lord was telling him what to do, and it was time, but first, there was a pretty little waitress at the other end of town that needed his attention….