"...Your father. I'm so very sorry."
"My...My....My dad?" you squeaked, feeling your throat turn dry and tears begin to form in your eyes. "No. No, it can't be." You protested. This news being too horrible to comprehend. "Dad can't be dead. He can't!"
The two doctor's expressions didn't change however. Looking just as solemn and as uncomfortable as they had before. Each of them staring nervously at the other, waiting for someone else to speak. It was the older doctor, Saunders that eventually did. Taking a step closer to you as he furrowed his brow. "I'm afraid he is, Tim." he said, placing a hand gently on your shoulder (a hand which truth be told you were barely able to feel). "You see the truck that struck you, that caused the accident, it plowed into the side of your car where both you and your father were sitting. And while your father's body was mostly unharmed thanks to his airbag, it seems that the actual force of it hitting his face caused a blood clot in his brain to rupture. This in turn caused an aneurysm, which in the end killed him.. or at least ceased any activity in the brain. By the time they had brought him to us, there was sadly nothing we could do. Other than what we did."
"We had to act fast." Kerry interjected. "Your own brain was in perfect working order but your body was failing. It was damaged beyond repair. That was why we suggested the transplant procedure to your mother and she agreed. There being no time to find another suitable candidate."
All of this just seemed so hard to believe, and you were having a hard time actually following what they were telling you. Feeling shell shocked enough as it was discovering that your father was dead without all this on top. Muttering meekly, while you continued to fight back the tears, "So you... you really put my brain inside my dad's body?"
"It's a little more complicated than that, but in a manner of speaking, yes." He nodded. "Obviously transferring a entire brain into another persons skull wouldn't exactly work like it does in the movies, so we instead took a small part of yours and grafted it onto your father's. Allowing you full control of his motor functions, as well as complete access to his nervous system."
Though he was trying to be as delicate and sympathetic as possible, it was obvious that Dr. Kerry's bedside manner wasn't exactly the best. A look of pride evident on his face as he described the 'procedure' that had trapped you inside the body of your own dead father.
"I think I'm going to be sick." you groaned, feeling incredibly lightheaded and woozy, the thought of what had been done to you being just too much to take.
"We of course understand that this is going to be very hard for you to get to grips with. It really is a lot to take in all at once." Dr. Saunders then said, taking the baton from his colleague again and giving him a slightly disapproving glare.
Kerry however just shrugged and the two men began having hushed words that you couldn't quite make out. No doubt arguing again over the ethics of the whole thing. Truth be told, you really couldn't care less what they were saying right now, having much bigger things to worry about. You were apparently in the body of your own father and although you'd been told this, you'd yet to actually see any proof. Your current numbness from the drugs, added to your position on the bed making it impossible to know what kind of state you were really in.
"Can I see?" you weakly asked, interrupting the two men's tête a tête, "...I want to see."
"I uhm, I'm not sure," Saunders stuttered, flashing you a slightly awkward smile. "Perhaps it might be a little too soon. You have only just woken up after all."
"Please. I need to see."
Looking over at Kerry for assistance, the balding, mustachioed Doctor once again shrugged, clearly having no idea what to do in this situation. Letting out a sigh and turning back to you, Saunders thankfully relented. "Okay. But please, Tim, try not to get too worked up. This will be a shock and it will take a lot of time and a lot of adjusting to get used to. Not to mention the fact that your body is still recovering." You could tell from his voice that he obviously thought that this was a bad idea and deep down you couldn't help but agree. Feeling a growing sense of dread as he picked up a small mirror from a nearby table. You had to do this however. You had to see what you'd now become. But more than that, you needed to see your dad's face again. You needed to see the proof that he was really gone.
Moving the mirror in front of your face, you let out a sharp gasp, watching as the reflection in the mirror did the same, it's eyes widening and it's mouth dropping open, looking absolutely terrified and yet saddened by what it saw. Oh God... Dad! There staring back at you was your father, Donald Connors, looking incredibly tired and weak. His short dark brown hair all matted and disheveled. His deep gray eyes tear strewn and puffy, and a series of small small stitches decorating the top of one eye. It was him. It really was him. Or more importantly, it was you.
"As you can see, there really is very little sign of any external damage visible on the cranium." Dr. Kerry explained, being unable to help himself. "We even managed even preserve your father's hairline using a rather new and highly advanced, non-evasive surgery technique that I patented myself. To the outside observer, they wouldn't even know anything was amiss."
"Kerry!" Saunders barked, shushing his colleague. There being a time and a place for boasting and this clearly not being it.
"This can't be real. It can't be..." you muttered, having not really been listening anyway, being too distracted by the eerie sight of your father's face moving as you moved. Hearing really for the first time the sound of his own croaky voice coming from your mouth.
Placing a hand again onto your shoulder for comfort, Saunders moved the mirror away and replied, "I'm afraid it is, son."
"But...but how am I going to go on living like this? Like my dad? ...How?"
"Well that is something we still have to discuss. But perhaps that is best left for later, once your mother is here. Right now you need to rest." the doctor told you, looking even more uncomfortable, his eyes darting away as his hands moved up towards your IV drip. "We'll talk again soon though, once you're feeling more up to it."
You tried to protest, not wanting to talk about it later, wanting to talk about it now, but it was too late. Whatever drugs they were pumping you with had quickly taken effect and you felt yourself suddenly starting to drift. Why me? Why Dad? It's just not fair, was the last thought on your mind as you felt unconsciousness slowly began to creep in. Why did it have to happen to us?...
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