The Choice

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Author's Note:  

This is a story I wrote for E.L.A. in response to Simon Armitage's untitled poem (I've made out a will...) and if you look it up, you'll see I included part of it in the story (the teacher wanted us to make connection and to include part if we could). The bodies exhibit is real and Melanie's experience is basically my own, except for the whole heart missing thing that is, that was my way of pulling the two together. 

Thanks a lot,

Gamernamerjj a.k.a. Jenna.  

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The Choice

Dear Journal,

I wrote out my will today. I have a feeling that death is coming, even though I am only 40; perhaps it's intuition. The cancer has ravaged my body and no matter what the doctors do, blast after blast of chemo; the cancer still comes back. My hair has been gone for so long now that I don't even miss it anymore. The two things cancer hasn't been able to take away from me are my life, and my ability to love and be loved. For this, I am thankful. In my will I indicated that I would like my body to be given to the National Health, so others may benefit from my death. I hope it is the right decision. I may, however, still make a few changes. Oh, here comes Jennifer, it must be time to go to the hospital again. Sometimes I wish I would just die already.

"Melanie! Time to go. Are you ready?" My mom called up to me, "Grandma, Auntie Telly, Uncle George and Troy are here!" "Coming! Just a minute please!" I yelled back, turning off my iPod touch. It was just as I was about to beat my game too. Oh well. I grabbed my favourite gray sweater and the pink cell phone I got for my birthday. I shrugged on the sweater and put my phone in my pocket as I rushed down the stairs. I put my shoes on and flew out the door. I was a little apprehensive about what we were going to see, but intrigued as to what it would be like too. My parents had to take my two little brothers (Aidan, seven and Nick, four) to swimming lessons, but I wasn't sure if they'd be interested. Actually, I don't know if I’m interested. Well, no I am; it's just gross with all the... Okay, I'll jus not think of that right now. I hopped into my grandma's navy blue van. It smelt like smoke inside, like it always does. Both of my grandparents are smokers. I just try to breath as little as possible, and roll down a window when I can. We got there fairly quickly, although it took longer than before we moved. We had just moved ten minutes away from my old house this summer. It wasn't the first time I had moved, but the first in seven years. We parked and walked to the door of the building. We opened it and walked inside...

Dear Journal,

I think my last entry went rather well. Did you know I've never had a journal before? My psychologist said it might help. She's a very nice lady; she helps many patients going through treatments deal with everything. I do enjoy talking with her, but sometimes it helps to have a record of my thoughts. I thought I should write down an account of my life on here in case my memory goes, and for future generations. I was born December 25th, 1965. My mother called me a Christmas miracle, or so my father tells me. Why? Because I barely survived birth, while my twin sister died after only three hours. My mother died soon after. The doctors said there was nothing physically wrong with her. The just couldn't figure it out. I figure it was from a broken heart. Her twin had died young too. All of my family has died now, except for my kids. They've all graduated from high school and my youngest is finishing up his university degrees. My wife, Laine, passed away a few years ago...it was hard on all of us. I wonder what she would think of my decision. After all, my heart did, and still does belong to her.

Whew. Nothing in here. Not that I won't be seeing "them" at all. We buy our tickets. My grandma is embarrassed that she is now a senior. She's pretty young; in fact some of my friends have parents only five or so years younger than her and my grandpa. We wait in line for a few seconds to get in. Then, a man goes over the rules. No chewing gum, cell phones on vibrate, etc. We get out pictures taken and we go up a long, dark and narrow escalator. When we get to the top, I look around and see... Not much. Oh, we have to turn the corner. There it is! I'm glad to see they started with only the bones. If they had started with all the preserved bodies, I think I might have run down the escalator, repulsed. I was fine though; the bones resembled animal bones I'd seen in museums. I knew this was going to be a ...different exhibit, but I wasn't sure what to expect exactly. Whatever I had expected, it was definitely not this. I looked up ahead.

Dear Journal,

Well, since the last time I wrote, I have decided that since my heart belongs to Laine, the National Health won't get it. My heart is what keeps me alive, literally and figuratively. Literally, it pumps my blood through my body with every ka-thunk it makes. Figuratively, it keeps all of my love, and the memories (especially those of Laine), close. The rest of my body is also key to keeping me alive, but none of it, symbolically at least, has my love contained within it. My favourite poet, Simon Armitage sums it up quite nicely:

“I'm sure they can use

the jellies and tubes and syrups and glues,

the web of nerves and veins, the loaf of brains,

and assortment of fillings and stitches and wounds,

blood - a gallon exactly of bilberry soup –

the chassis or cage or cathedral of bone;

but not the heart, they can leave that alone.”

That's the decision I made, and I will stick to it. They sent me a letter saying thanks, and wondered if it was ok if they used my body in an exhibit, so the general public would be able to learn about their bodies. I think I'll say yes...

As we wander through all of the exhibits, I can begin to appreciate it all. It's not so gross. I even held a brain in my hands. It was heavier than I expected. I wonder what thoughts went through it when it was in someone, someone alive, feeling emotions and reacting to life. At the end, near the exit to the gift shop, is one last body. What I notice within a few seconds of seeing it is that there is no heart. I feel inexplicably drawn to it. As I approach, I look at the poster beside it. At the bottom there is a note saying, "The person whose spirit was once in this body did not wish to give up their heart." That was all it said on that matter. It went on to explain all the different cancers that had destroyed this body. I wonder why they would choose to keep their heart...

I guess I'll never know.