Pig-Heart Boy

by Malorie Blackman

  I smiled at him but he didn’t seem to see it. He stared at me, misery clouding his eyes. I tried to speak, to tell him I was glad to see him, but my mouth didn’t seem to want to work.

  I’m all right, Dad. I hoped my eyes told him what my mouth could not.

  In fact I was better than all right, I was alive. The rest could wait. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

  When I woke up, Mum, Dad, Nan, Dr Ehrlich and Dr Bryce were all standing around my bed.

  ‘What happened?’ I whispered, confused. Then I remembered the swimming pool. ‘How did I get out of the pool?’

  ‘Marlon saved your life,’ Mum told me, her expression grim.

  ‘Oh . . . First Dr Bryce, then Marlon.’ I tried to laugh, but my throat was still hurting.

  ‘It’s not funny, Cameron,’ said Dad. ‘When you get out of here, you and I are going to have a long talk.’

  And at that, Mum burst into tears.

  ‘Mum, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.’ I tried to sit up but I didn’t have one gram of strength in my body. ‘Mum, you’ll upset Alex,’ I pleaded. ‘Please don’t cry. I’m OK now. Really I am.’

  ‘Cameron . . .’ Dr Bryce began. He and Dad looked at each other across my bed and I knew in that instant what was coming. ‘Cameron, your body is rejecting your new heart.’

  ‘Is that why I’ve been feeling tired and sick?’

  ‘How long have you felt like that?’ Dr Bryce asked me sharply.

  ‘Just a week or so.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you say? Why didn’t you tell me the truth yesterday? We could’ve taken you into hospital. We could’ve amended your anti-rejection drug therapy earlier,’ Dr Bryce said, distraught.

  That was exactly why I hadn’t said anything. I needed to finish what I’d started.

  ‘It’s not his fault, it’s yours.’ Mum rounded on Dr Bryce. ‘Why did it take you a week to get the results of his last blood tests?’

  ‘The first set of results got contaminated,’ Dr Bryce answered. ‘We had to run all the tests again.’

  ‘Mum, it’s OK.’ I smiled. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ said Dad.

  And yes, he was right. I didn’t know that – not for sure, but I felt I was right. ‘So what happens now?’ I whispered. ‘D’you give me more anti-rejection drugs?’

  ‘I don’t think we can do that. It would just postpone the inevitable. Your heart is fighting a losing battle. The only way forward now is to have another heart transplant,’ he said. ‘And we have to act within the next few days before you become too weak to survive the surgery.’

  ‘Another pig-heart transplant?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Is that the only way?’ asked Dad.

  ‘I’m afraid so. I don’t think Cameron’s heart will last much into the New Year otherwise,’ said Dr Bryce.

  I smiled at him. I liked the way he was as blunt as ever. The poor man didn’t look any happier than my mum and dad. I realized that his brusque manner was his way of coping with things. He must’ve been through a lot with all the abuse he’d received over the years, with all the abuse he was probably still receiving. ‘How’s the other heart-transplant patient doing?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s doing fine. It took her longer to recover than you but now she’s making excellent progress,’ Dr Bryce replied.

  ‘Good. I’m glad.’ And I was. ‘I’d hate for all your research to have to stop now.’

  Dr Bryce turned to my mum and dad. ‘I’ve spoken to the senior registrar here and she reckons Cameron can probably go home tomorrow – Saturday or Sunday at the very latest. I think if we arrange for Cameron to come back up to the clinic on Tuesday, we’ll schedule the surgery for Wednesday and—’

  ‘Dr Bryce, I don’t want another transplant operation.’

  Dr Bryce wasn’t the only one who was shocked by my words. He frowned deeply. ‘What’re you talking about?’

  ‘I don’t want another operation.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Cameron, what’re you saying?’

  ‘Cameron, you can’t give up now . . .’

  ‘Cameron, have you thought about this . . . ?’

  The only one who didn’t jump down my throat was Nan.

  ‘Mum, Dad, I don’t want another transplant,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to explain but . . .’

  ‘Try,’ Mum said immediately.

  It really was strange the way things worked out. Mum had been so against the operation at the beginning and now she was the one really pushing me to have another one. ‘Would it make a difference if your second transplant was from a human donor rather than a pig?’ Dr Ehrlich asked me.

  ‘No,’ I replied at once. ‘No difference at all.’

  ‘Then why not?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Dr Bryce, if I had the second operation, how long would I have to take all those drugs you’ve been giving me?’

  ‘Probably for the rest of your life – but isn’t it worth it if they keep you alive?’

  ‘But they’re making me sick and I’m beginning to get tired all the time,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s like before my operation.’

  ‘But as I said, we can fine-tune the dosage until we hit upon a drug regimen that suits you,’ Dr Bryce argued.

  ‘But I don’t want the rest of my life to be made up of pills and powders and injections and nothing else. I don’t want to feel sick and tired all the time.’

  ‘That won’t necessarily happen,’ said Dr Ehrlich.

  ‘But the second transplant has less chance of succeeding than the first.’

  Dad frowned. ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘I read it on the Internet,’ I said.

  ‘You can’t believe everything you read,’ Dad told me. ‘You know that.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. But a while ago, Mum said something about me being special. She told me that I’m not just special because of my heart and I shouldn’t think that. But I began to. I began to think that my new heart was all I was. That’s why I wanted to touch the bottom of the swimming pool, to prove to myself that I was something more.’

  Dr Bryce shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand myself,’ I admitted. ‘All I know is, it’s the quality of your life that counts, not the quantity. I’ve been very lucky so far and thank you for everything you did for me, Dr Bryce. I really do appreciate it. But enough is enough. I want my life back. Even if it’s only for another few months.’

  ‘And what about Alex?’ Mum asked.

  ‘I’m going to try to hang on long enough to see her or him. After that, whatever happens, happens.’

  ‘So you’re going to give up?’ Dr Ehrlich said.

  ‘Of course he isn’t. He just wants to fight in his own way,’ said Nan.

  I knew Nan would understand.

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I’m not going to stop taking the anti-rejection treatments,’ I said.

  ‘They’ll just slow down the process, they won’t stop it,’ Dr Bryce protested vehemently. ‘Cameron, your body will still reject your heart. All you’ll do is buy yourself a few more months.’

  ‘That’s all I want.’ I smiled. ‘I want to be able to say goodbye to Alex in person.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ve thought this through . . .’ Dr Bryce began.

  I tuned him out of my head. I looked up at Nan. She smiled at me and took my hand.

  ‘I want to speak to Cameron alone. Could you all disappear for a while?’ she said.

  Reluctantly Mum, Dad and the others left my bedside.

  ‘You do understand, don’t you, Nan?’ I asked anxiously. I hadn’t been wrong about that, had I?

  ‘Oh yes.’ Nan sat down on the side of my bed. ‘You set yourself a goal and now you’ve achieved it. You’ve touched the bottom of the swimming pool.’

  Something in her voice kept me silent.

  ‘It’s a shame you never knew your
grandfather. You were named after him, you know.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘He died of lung cancer.’

  I knew that too. What was Nan driving at?

  ‘He wanted to live so much. He tried everything. He finally gave up his precious cigarettes – although he left that too late. He had chemotherapy, drugs, you name it, he tried it. He wasn’t going to give up.’

  ‘And you think that’s what I’m doing?’

  ‘Well, you’ve touched the bottom of the swimming pool.’ Nan smiled. ‘What else have you got to live for? What else is there worth fighting for?’

  I frowned at her. ‘That’s not how it is.’

  ‘I know,’ Nan said gently. ‘You feel sick and we both know you’ll probably get sicker. You’re in pain and it’ll probably get worse.’

  ‘Is this meant to make me change my mind?’ I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘It’s meant to make you think. Cameron, life is very, very precious. Don’t let go of it. I watched my Granddad fight and lose – but at least he fought. He fought every step of the way. Can you say the same?’

  I turned my head away from her, disappointed. Nan’s gentle fingers turned my head to face her again. ‘Cameron, you’ve touched the bottom of the pool – and good for you. If that’s what keeps you going, find another challenge. And another one after that. And another one after that. I’m not going to lose you too. Besides, the world needs more Camerons!’

  I looked at Nan. My eyes were hurting. ‘I’m so tired,’ I whispered.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And I’m scared,’ I admitted.

  ‘I know that too. But Cameron, dear, you’re allowed to be scared. You’re just not allowed to give up – not without a good fight. So put your fists up and come out slugging.’

  Silence.

  ‘I can’t.’ I turned my head away again.

  ‘Cameron . . .’

  ‘No, Nan. I’ve tried and tried and I can’t.’ I faced her and it was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. ‘I don’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary. Please don’t ask me to. Once I’ve seen Alex, I’ll be happy.’

  Nan leaned back in her chair. She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown. Her face was a mask as she studied me, but I knew she was disappointed. She sighed and stood up. ‘Cameron, I could talk to you until I’m blue, green and purple in the face but it wouldn’t make any difference,’ she said. ‘I would give my life if it meant you’d be well again but it doesn’t work that way. You have to want it. You have to fight. No one can do it for you – not even me.’

  ‘Just now, you said to the doctors that I was fighting in my own way,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Lying on your bed feeling sorry for yourself and getting ready to give up is one way of fighting – the easiest, the least productive, saddest way,’ Nan told me.

  ‘It’s accepting things as they really are, that’s all.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Nan retorted. ‘But you’ll change your mind. I believe in your strength and your common sense. But as I said before, the final decision has to be yours. Just don’t let me down or I’ll have to give you a good swift kick – and I can do it too! Now let me go and get your mum and dad. You have to decide what you’re going to tell them.’

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand as I watched Nan leave. Touching the bottom of the pool. It seemed so silly now. It was hardly in the same league as walking on the moon or discovering penicillin or some thing like that. But it had meant so much to me.

  Why?

  I mean, some people wanted to be millionaires when they grew up and they spent their whole lives trying to achieve that goal. Some people wanted children, some wanted to be doctors or lawyers or to drive a fire engine. Maybe, deep down – so deep down that even I wasn’t consciously aware of it – I had never expected this operation to work. Was that it? Or maybe I’d begun to suspect that something was going wrong in the last couple of weeks.

  Is that why I came up with something just outside my grasp? Something to work for, something difficult to achieve, but not impossible? Touching the bottom of the pool was my version of walking on the moon.

  So what next? Nan was right. Only I could decide that one.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Creeping

  When I entered my bedroom, Nan was busy arranging some fresh orange carnations in a vase on my work table.

  ‘Hi, Nan,’ I said, eyeing the flowers with suspicion. ‘Why’re you putting flowers in my room?’

  Nan smiled. ‘Just to brighten up the place.’

  I hadn’t seen her for two days – not since our talk at the hospital – and I’d really missed her. But as I looked at her, I couldn’t help feeling worried – because she looked frail and very tired. ‘Are you all right, Nan?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course.’ She grinned at me – and suddenly she didn’t look fragile at all.

  Just looking at her, I knew she was OK. Nan’s whole personality shone from her eyes. She was a whirlwind that nothing and nobody could stop.

  ‘And what about you?’ asked Nan. ‘Have you changed your mind about the operation yet?’

  ‘No, and I’m not going to either,’ I said.

  Nan sniffed. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘You’re not going to start lecturing me, are you?’ I asked anxiously.

  Mum and Dad had gone on about nothing else since I’d let them know of my decision, until I was sick up to the eyebrows of hearing about it. I didn’t want the operation and as far as I was concerned, that was that.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of wasting my breath,’ Nan told me loftily. ‘Besides, you’ll change your mind.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I mean, you’ll see sense and change your mind. Just don’t wait too long.’

  ‘I am not going to change my mind.’ I admit I was peeved. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Now if I told you that, you’d know as much as I do.’ Nan winked at me. And it was such a sly wink, I couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘Cam, is there anything I can get you? How about some chicken and a nice salad?’

  ‘No thanks, Nan. I’m not hungry,’ I said. ‘Besides, I think Mum’s downstairs cooking dinner for all of us already.’

  ‘In that case, I think I’ll go for a lie down before dinner and catch forty winks – although at my age I need more like eighty!’

  Nan removed some imaginary dust from my bedside table and headed for the bedroom door. She stopped before she got there though and gave me a very strange look. ‘Cam, you do know you’re my favourite grandson, don’t you?’ she told me.

  ‘So far, I’m your only grandson,’ I pointed out.

  ‘True.’ Nan chuckled. ‘But you do know I love you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘And why are we getting mushy all of a sudden?’

  ‘A little mush now and then never hurt anyone,’ she told me. ‘Now let me give you a kiss.’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Reluctantly, I bent my head so that Nan could kiss my cheek. Then she rubbed her fingers over my skin as if she was sanding a rough piece of wood.

  ‘Are you shaving yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Nan!’

  ‘Only teasing, Cam. Your skin is as smooth as a baby’s bottom – but not as wrinkle-free!’

  ‘Nan, I thought you were going for a lie down.’

  ‘I can take a hint!’ Nan smiled. ‘See you later, darling.’

  ‘’Bye, Nan.’ I held the bedroom door open for her.

  ‘Trying to tell me something?’

  ‘No. Just go,’ I said.

  Nan and I smiled at each other before she headed for the spare bedroom. As I closed my door, I wondered for the first time what Nan did at her home in Bolton. Was she lonely? Did she have many friends? What did she do all day? Nan was never one to sit still, that was for sure. I’d have to ask her when she woke up.

  I could hear her now: ‘Why the sudden interest? Yo
u never asked before.’

  ‘I’m asking now.’

  ‘And I’ll think about whether or not I’m going to tell you!’

  Just playing the imaginary conversation in my head made me smile. I could talk and argue with Nan in a way that I couldn’t with my parents. Not that Nan stood for any nonsense – she wouldn’t go for that at all. But she didn’t talk down to me and she didn’t talk to me like a parent.

  ‘Cameron, could you come downstairs and help with the dinner, please?’ Mum yelled.

  I sighed. Help with the dinner, my left foot! She and Dad just wanted another chance to try and persuade me to change my mind. Slowly I made my way downstairs. I paused at the kitchen door, took a deep breath and walked in.

  An hour later Mum said, ‘I think we’re about ready to eat now.’

  I eyed Mum and Dad with suspicion. What was going on? They hadn’t said a single word about Dr Bryce or the operation or anything even remotely medical. I’d just spent the last half an hour washing every salad ingredient we had in the salad crisper and chopping, slicing and dicing. Tonight, for the first time, making the salad was totally down to me. Mum raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say a word when I dropped lumps of chunky peanut butter into the salad. I caught Dad miming sticking his fingers down his throat though, when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  ‘Have you put out all the cutlery on the table?’ Dad asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Fine.’ Mum smiled. ‘You can go and get your nan now. If she’s still asleep wake her up gently.’

  What did she think I’d do? Burst into Nan’s bedroom with a marching band? I ran up the stairs but only made it three-quarters of the way up before I was out of puff and feeling a bit sick and my heart was sledge-hammering inside my body. I’d almost forgotten what that was like – getting out of puff just going up the stairs. I’d become so used to not just running up them but taking them two and three at a time with energy to spare. Once I began to get my breath back, I walked up the few remaining stairs, a deep frown cutting into my face. Was I really prepared to give it all up – the healthy, lively feeling it had taken me so little time to get used to? A crowd of images burned through my mind – images of me jumping and running and playing football. They were all worth holding onto – weren’t they? Yes, there was a downside – pills and medicines and doctors and hospitals and Julie and animal rights extremists. But the upside was life. A life worth something. A life worth living. And surely a life worth living was a life worth fighting for. I stopped on the landing, totally confused. I had no idea what I wanted to do. I wanted the operation and yet I didn’t. I wanted to fight on and yet I was so tired. What was the matter with me? I wasn’t usually so dithery. Was Nan right? Was I changing my mind?