After my last post I know a lot of you were thinking: how did they not know it was Brogan on the Operating table.
Well, the truth is, I thought they would recognize the mistake before they operated.
But no – they went for it and I feel real bad.
......
Thankfully, It's rare, but Surgeon's do sometimes operate on the wrong patient – in the Medical World it's known as a 'Never Event' because they should 'never' happen.
Sadly, they sometimes do.
......
I feel bad, because I arranged this never event.
Brogan got really drowsy after I slipped the pre-med in his coffee. I got him on the table and forced Professor Merton to prep him and anaesthetize him. It was all very simple really – too simple.
Professor Merton says the complexity of the operation allowed the mistake to happen – because their focus was on the procedure not the patient.
.......
"You really don't need to do this, I'm an old lady, I won't get very far if I do escape," says Professor Merton as I bind her feet tightly together.
"I do apologize Professor, but my trust has been betrayed so often that I can't take any risks," I say, while tying her hands together as an extra precaution.
When I'm sure she's comfortable I sit on the Hotel bed and ask, "Do you think they'll remove the womb from Brogan?"
Her reply is emphatic, "Of course not. Your Mother won't waste an experimental opportunity. She'll want to study the effects of female uterine transplantation into the male anatomy." She gives me a knowing stare, "You, more than anyone should know that, Tanya."
......
My guilt grows.
I keep thinking of when Brogan and I were young boys, sharing our hopes and dreams – he wanted to be a Firefighter and me a Pilot. We never considered this nightmare, who would?
......
I take my anger out on my hair, hacking it off with no regard to how I look.
"Help me, help him – how can I save him from her?" I ask Professor Merton as I throw my hair into the trash can.
"Calm down, Tanya. You're feeling over emotional. You shouldn't have stopped taking your hormone medication so abruptly; you're experiencing menopausal symptoms which are effecting your judgment," she says, with something like a hint of kindness in her tone.
"A nineteen year old biological boy going through the menopause – madness," I say, throwing the scissors onto the bed.
"Yes, madness. You cannot halt this madness, Tanya – your parents are too powerful."
"I can go to the Police."
"NO! She hollers.
"Yes," I reply, calmly.
"Think of what you are doing, it will be global news, your life will be destroyed."
"And you don't think it already is?" I ask.
"The world won't believe you. Just be content to live as a girl in the great luxury that your parents wealth can provide – you are privileged."
"I'm writing a blog, the readers believe my story – I see no reason why the Police won't – you just want to protect yourself, Professor," I say, confidently.
"Yes, that is true. But I have your interests at heart as well." She looks reflective, and then asks, "What message did you leave in the hotel room?"
"Why do you want to know that?"
"Just tell me, Tanya," she says with an impatient voice.
"I wrote: 'You will never erase Thomas.'
She looks down, "That is not good," she says.
"Why – it's the truth."
"I know your Mother, Tanya – there will be repercussions for that message."
"What can she do when she's locked up, behind bars, where she belongs."
"Where we all belong," she says, lowering her head in what I assume is shame.
"Professor Merton, why did you get involved in all of this?" I ask.
Her head remains bowed as she whispers – "Money, money, money."
I wait for her to add anything else; when she remains silent I make up my mind, "I'm going to the police. I'm sorry to leave you here, but the authorities will arrive to release you soon."
......
As I make my way to The Police Department, I reflect on what I'm about to do.
I really do want to save Brogan, even though he betrayed me in the worst possible way – and I have to put a stop to my parent's madness.
I think the Police will believe me; after all, I just need to be examined by a Doctor to prove that I'm a biological boy.
......
The Windy City is living up to its name as I power walk the streets with a determined stride.
......
I have second thoughts as I enter the Station. Maybe Professor Merton is right; the information I'm about to divulge will cause untold chaos.
But then I think of my old buddy Brogan, with his girlfriend's womb inside him and the wrongness of it all pushes me toward an Officer sitting behind plate glass.
......
"And how can I help you young lady," asks the Officer, with a reassuring authority.
"I'm not a young lady," I say, without thinking.
"Drop the attitude if you want treating with respect in here," he says, with a pissed tone.
"No, erm, I'm sorry, that's why I'm here – I'm not a young lady, I look like one." I struggle, but eventually the words come – "I'm Thomas Miller.
The silence seems to continue forever.
Then I see various emotions flood his face: surprise, shock, incredulity and eventually – anger.
"You sick little hoaxer," he spits.
Desperation floods me, "No, it's not a hoax, I am, I mean, I used to be – him!"
His anger increases, "Don't waste Police time, lady – that poor kid is dead and buried – case closed – get outta here – fast!"
......
Shoot – why didn't I listen to Professor Merton.
I handled that in completely the wrong way.
I make for the exit.
But a voice shouts, "Wait!"
I turn and see a female officer walking toward me.
......
"Hi, I'm officer Grindle," she says, offering me her outstretched hand.
I reluctantly take her hand in mine and although reticent, I'm somewhat reassured by her warm clasp.
"Hi, I'm Tanya."
"But you told my colleague you're Thomas Miller – why?"
I can't help it – I start to cry – floods of frustration.
......
"Do you want to tell me more?" she asks, during a lull in my sobbing.
"Yes," I manage.
"Look, I'm a homeless persons liaison officer, I'm assuming you're homeless – right?"
It hits me with a cold reality - I am homeless!
I manage to nod a 'yes.'
"OK, if you want to talk to me you can, or you can go back on the streets – your choice?"
My sobs subside, "I want to talk to you."
"Good, come this way."
"What way?" I ask, suddenly panicked.
She looks at me with surprise in her eyes, "You really are a paranoid young girl, I wanna hear your story – you're safe in here honey," she says, putting her hand on my shoulder.
......
We pass: marauding drunks, drug addicts, prostitutes and their warring pimps – the underbelly of Chicago society.
I guess officer Grindle sees me in the same class as them: a displaced person, living on the margins of society.
.....
The chaos of the reception area leads into the cacophony of administration offices: phones trill, fevered fingers attack keyboards, orders are hollered.
I resolve to tell her the full truth of my story; I'm a victim who needs to be heard.
......
We leave the office sounds behind and turn into the quiet of a long corridor.
Officer Grindle opens a door with the sign: Interview room No.3
It's a small windowless room, with a desk on which sits a microphone and recording machine. It stinks of stale human odors – not nice.
She pulls up a chair, "Can I get you something to drink?" she asks.
"Just some water, please."
"Sure, I'll be right back," she says, closing the door.
"NO!" I holler.
"What is it?" she asks, thrusting the door back open.
"Please – don't close the door," I say.
She gives me a sad looking smile, "Sure thing honey, if it makes you feel more comfortable."
"Yes, it will," I reply.
I watch as she walks back down the corridor and turns into the office.
I feel reassured and ready to talk.
......
The sound of my breathing breaks through the quiet of the room.
I try to formulate my story, put it into a rationale order for telling. Then I see a laptop and my heart leaps – I'll let officer Grindle read this blog. The realities of what's been done to me and my parents' other crimes are all here.
......
A distant rumble alerts me.
The floor begins to rattle and vibrate. I stand up – but am knocked down as the room shudders violently.
The door slams shut with a ferocious force.
The unmistakable sound of an accelerating engine fills the room and I feel it take off with considerable speed.
I lie on the floor feeling every bump on the road to wherever?
......
After twenty minutes I feel it slow and shudder to a halt.
The engine dies.
I stand and ready myself for whatever?
......
The hiss and pump of hydraulics rattle around the fake room.
Then silence.
The door slides open onto one of those moveable corridors that connect an airplane to the terminal building – I berate myself: why didn't I notice it earlier?
I inhale and set off down it.
......
It leads back into the Diner.
I sit and wait.
......
My Father enters first, followed by The Surgeon.
"Thank you very much for the message you left in the Hotel room, Thomas," says my Father.
Alarm bells ring – he called me Thomas!
I refuse to indulge in whatever game they're playing and cut to the chase, "Where is Brogan, can I see him, please?" I ask.
"Who is Brogan?" asks The Surgeon.
"You know who he is?" I shout back.
"I have no idea who you're talking about, Thomas," she says, with a smile.
......
A surgical table is wheeled into the diner by the young couple.
They place it in front of me.
A figure, tightly bound in bandages lies upon it. A weak hand slowly reaches out to me – I take it.
I scan the body for signs of recognition.
Although tightly bound, I see evidence of ample breasts beneath the bandages.
The grip on my hand tightens.
......
The head is swathed in bandages with clearings for the eyes and mouth.
I peer closely into the eyes and although swollen, blood-shot and blazing with terror, I recognize the distinctive pale green eyes of my old friend – Brogan.
His swollen lips manage to mouth – "Help me."
......
I look at my Father, in disbelief.
He smiles insanely, "We appreciate your visit Thomas. Sadly, this year, we lost our daughter, Tanya. But we are delighted to begin the New Year with our beautiful new daughter, Brigitte."
He moves toward the table and places a gentle hand on Brogan's stomach, "And, we're so proud to announce – she's pregnant," he says, smiling triumphantly at The Surgeon.