I
woke up. Or at least my eyes opened as if I were asleep. I was
obviously in the hospital. I remember things getting darker. I
remember the pain most of all. But nowthere is no pain.
There's no cold, no warm, no hunger. There's no sensation to light
when opening my eyes after a long sleep. There's no thirst, or
sense to stretch my legs and arms.
Something
odd though, that will be hard to get used to, is the desire to
take a deep breath.
I
still remember everything. My children's touch, and the hair standing
up on my arms as a cool breeze swept through the room. It seems
like something so simple.
I
raised my hand for the first time and touched my face. I knew
I was touching my face, because the senses in the tips of my fingers
registered the proximity of my face to my brain, but I still couldn't
feel my face.
I
was afraid to look at my hand. I knew what to expect, but I didn't
know what I would feel. It looks like a hand. It looks
like any hand.
I
closed my eyes, wanting to take that deep breath. I felt like
I was suffocating.
I
opened my eyes holding my hands out in front of me. I turned to
look at my palms. They were smooth, almost seamless, surreal.
"Hello?"
I said. My voice sounded familiar. It sounded like my voice. "Hello!
A very pink elephant just ran in front of me and stepped on an
ostrich," I said.
No
one responded. I didn't expect anything, though. I just wanted
to hear my own voice. I was happy it sounded like my own. I wasn't
sure if it would, really. I don't know why, but I think if it
didn't sound like my ownwellwe had to have something
more than justmemories, somethingfamiliar.
I
knew the transfer would be difficult at first; we all did. And
we expected some problems not really knowing how to prepare the
mind for something so dramatic, but already I wanted to close
my eyes andfeel. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't.
I wasn't constructed that way.
I
heard footsteps.
"Dr.
Lawrence, you are awake."
I
looked to my right and recognized my colleague, Sandra Brown.
She looked, wellI imagine she looked just like me. I had
recognized her voice, and was used to the machine that carried
her memories, and her friendship. I wanted once more to take that
deep breath. I looked at her. "I cannot breathe."
She
placed her hand on my own. The sensors in my hands were telling
my brain once again that they were being touched, and my brain
instantly remembered the sensation of physical feeling that I
was missing, but still I cared. My memories were there.
"Will
I forget what it feels like to have that tingling sensation?"
"All
we really have are our memories. Wasn't that always true, Jason?"