Page 28 of Heart Sick

I can see it—there’s a reason for this, and Dr. Norton knows what it is.

“There have been some reports, which are very, very rare, but it’s something called the theory of cellular memories.”

When I look at her like she’s just spoken to me in another language, she takes a seat near me.

“For decades, it’s been reported that personality changes following heart transplantation have occurred. This includes a change in preference, alternations in emotion and temperament, modifications of identity, and…memories from the donor’s life.”

I stare at her, fucking speechless because what in the ever-loving fuck. This wasn’t in the pamphlet when I signed on the dotted line.

“When referring to heart transplant patients, it’s called heart memory transfer. Memories from the donor’s life are said to be stored in the cells of the donated heart and are then “remembered” by the recipient following the transplant surgery. It’s not common, which is why I didn’t mention it. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Well, it’s very fucking possible, Doc,” I correct, running a hand through my hair. “I’m living proof. Everything you just explainedisme.”

I knew this asshole heart wasn’t mine. From the moment I woke up, I felt like I was living in someone else’s skin.

“How do we fix it?”

“There is no cure for this, Dutch,” Dr. Norton says slowly. “You must realize there is no real scientific proof. Studies have been conducted, yes, but with such a small number of transplant patients surviving, the data isn’t accepted as medically sound.”

“This is a bunch of bullshit!” I exclaim, slapping my palm over the healing wound on my chest. “Here is your proof! You know I’m different. You know music is my life, and for it to just vanish…something is wrong. Who was the donor, because from what I feel, he was one angry asshole who harbored a lot of secrets. I have the heart of a motherfucker in me.”

Dr. Norton takes out a small notepad from her white jacket and writes something down. “Would you be willing to undergo some tests? They’ll be with me. No one else. No one will know. This isn’t my field of expertise, but I assume you’d prefer to see me and keep this delicate matter…private? I will consult with some friends and discuss their thoughts with you.”

I don’t even think twice about my response. “As I see it, what choice do I have?”

Dr. Norton nods.

I’m almost afraid to ask, but I need to know. “From the limited studies, was there a cure? What happened to the people?”

Dr. Norton’s grim face says it all. “There is no cure, only more medication to assist with the visions and mood changes. And as for the people, it varied…”

“What. Happened?” I press, not interested in the PG version.

“Some lived a normal life. Some were committed as the visions were too much. Others fell in love with their donor’s family or friends. While others…others preferred death over living with something that changed who they once were.”

Oh my fucking god…how is this even real?

“This is why I cannot, why I will not ever divulge who your donor was. With what is happening, I am afraid of the repercussions if you were to ever find out who he was.”

“What do you mean they fell in love?” I question because that’s just a horror story.

“I don’t pretend to understand it, but the recipients have said they felt a connection to the donor’s family.”

I guess that makes sense, but what if they were blood family? Wouldn’t that be kind of…weird? Not that any of this is “normal.”

“Some reports have said that the recipient, in fact, marries their donor’s spouse or siblings.”

I don’t even know how to process that. It’s fucked up, but it’s not like they were related. If this heart memory transfer thing is a real thing, I guess those feelings of love change due to the fact they aren’t related by blood…well, not really.

“Take some time to think about it, and if you agree, we can start—” She pauses because what word is the appropriate one to use here?

This is so unheard of, if it wasn’t happening to me, I would say it’s nothing but fantasy. But I do feel better knowing I’m not going crazy. I just wish I could play music again.

Dr. Norton reads my thoughts. “Maybe as our sessions progress and it’s safe to do so, I could organize a piano for you.”

I should be happy, but I’m not and that’s because this means my stay here is indefinite.

“Your playing was one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard.”

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