“Remember I said we needed to keep formula flowing through your GI to counteract the nutrient depletion from the EmaC-8?”
Emmett didn’t remember any of that.
“Must’ve forgot,” the nurse said. “I don’t blame you. That general anesthetic is no joke.”
“What anesthetic? I was awake the whole time.”
She hiccupped with accidental laughter, then swallowed it down. “Sorry. But no. We’d never do a bone marrow harvest without a general anesthetic.”
“It didn’t work. The anesthesiologist, she said—”
“She? Your anesthesiologist was Dr. Agarwal. Jason Agarwal.”
But Emmett could see her clearly: tall, dark-skinned, cheekbones sharp as razor blades. Had he imagined her? Imagined all of it?
“Don’t stress,” the nurse said. “Probably just a nightmare. If you like, I can try to get your friend on the phone? Might be nice to hear a familiar voice.”
Emmett decided he wanted to speak to Lizette more than he wanted to argue. “Please.”
The nurse was right. Lizette’s voice was a salve on the rash of his anxiety. “How’re you feeling?”
He was tempted to unload. If anyone would believe him, she would.
But something held him back. The nurse’s version of events had planted a seed of doubt in his mind; he could feel it unfurling, wrapping its tendrils around his memories and twisting.
It was for this reason that, even as they pulled out onto the road, and the oppressive influence of the hospital receded into the distance, Emmett still didn’t say a word. If he mentioned his strange, nightmarish memory of the procedure, she wouldn’t be able to let it go. She’d insist the nurse was lying, forbid him from moving forward with the trial, maybe even contact his family if he put up a fight.
He couldn’t let them interfere. He’d waited his whole life for an opportunity like this. He had too much at stake to let it slip away.
“So what happens now?” Lizette said, merging onto the freeway. “Are you supposed to start dropping weight right away?”
This he remembered: it would take two to four weeks for his new stem cells to start growing. “Plus, it doesn’t really work without the injections,” he said. He had an appointment scheduled at the Cronus Health office the following week to receive his first dose of EmaC-8. After that he’d have to schlep down to Chula Vista weekly for check-ins, at least to start.
In the meantime Monstera had asked him to keep a health journal via their online participant portal. This part of the process he looked forward to, accepting it as a personal challenge. He couldn’t pour his heart out on his blog, but he’d write the best damn health journal Dr. Saito had ever seen.
Appendix G—Health Journal
PARTICIPANT DETAILS
TRIAL ID:OBXII202305
PARTICIPANT NO:82941
