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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction September 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
AM I STILL THERE?
Which must in essence, of course, simply be the question "What do I mean by 'I'?"
by JAMES R. HALL
ILLUSTRATED BY LEO SUMMERS
* * * * *
Lee slid off the examining table and began buttoning his shirt. He hadhad a medical examination every six months of his adult life, and italways seemed strange to him that, despite the banks of machines thedoctor had which could practically map a man from a single celloutward, each examination always entailed the cold end of astethoscope against his chest.
He tucked his shirt into his pants and turned to the examining doctorwho was writing on a chart.
"Well?" Lee asked him.
"Sound as a dollar," replied the doctor. "Of course Dr. Flotman or Dr.Roberts might turn up something on their electronic monsters, but Isee no reason why we can't go ahead on schedule."
Lee felt relieved. Even while being examined by technicians, M.D.'sand biologists, he had been conscious of the hundreds of little dullpains which had nibbled like mice in every corner of his brain.Sometimes he felt like a piece of his brain was being completelysmothered, a horrible sensation of having a part of his head severedfrom him. This would go away, but would appear again in a differentarea, usually in about fifteen to thirty minutes. Well, the doctorsaid he was fit for surgery. That would end this nagging pain, just asit always had in the past.
"... If you're ready now." Lee became aware the doctor was speaking tohim.
"Oh," Lee said. He had no idea what the doctor was talking about. "I'msorry, I guess I didn't hear what you said--"
The doctor smiled tolerantly. "I said you can see Dr. Letzmiller thisafternoon to get the final O.K."
"Letzmiller? Who's he? I thought you said I was ready to go." Lee knewhe sounded a little petulant, but he was tired from all theseexaminations, and besides, his head hurt.
The doctor, Gorss, Lee thought his name was, was rather young butseemed used to this kind of thing. He turned on his tolerant smileagain. "Dr. Letzmiller is chief of the Familiarization andPost-Operative Adjustment Section. He can explain himself better whenyou see him."
"Is he the last one?" Lee asked. He was already following Dr. Gorssout the door and down a corridor.
Dr. Gorss stopped before a door marked "Dr. C. L. Letzmiller," andopened it. "The last one. You take these," he handed Lee a thickmanila folder, "and tell the girl Dr. Gorss sent you for yourinterview." He waited until Lee had entered, then closed the door andleft.
* * * * *
Evidently Dr. Letzmiller had been expecting him, for very shortly Leefound himself sitting at the doctor's desk, comfortably seated in abrown leather armchair. He was facing a rather pudgy man, who wasleafing through the manila folder Lee had given him. Finally Dr.Letzmiller looked up.
"Well. Well now, Mr. Lee, suppose you first tell me about yourself,and then I'll tell you about me."
"Tell you about me?" Lee asked.
Dr. Letzmiller smiled. It was another tolerant smile, but it seemedmore sincere than Gorss'. "I suppose the best way would be for me toreview these facts on your medical history. You are Vincent BonardLee?"
"Yes, sir."
"Date of birth?"
"August 11, 1934."
"That would make you four hundred nine years old."
Lee hesitated. He never really thought of his age. It had long agoceased to be of any importance to him. Of course he remembered hisbirth date. It was one of those facts that always appears on yourrecords, like your social security number. He did some calculation inhis head, as rapidly as the constantly shifting blank spots in histhinking would allow him.
"Yes, sir."
"It shows here that you first underwent replacive surgery in 1991.Correct?"
"Yes."
"Remember what it was for?"
"Yes, I had heart trouble. They fixed me up with one of those big jobsrequiring my carrying batteries under my armpit."
"One of those early models. And this shows that at various times sincethen you have undergone replacive surgery some eighty-seven times,including three replacements of a pulmonary nature."
Again Lee hesitated. The number of times he had had a worn organ ortissue repaired or replaced was more than a little hazy. After thenovelty of the first few times when he found himself with a newstomach, or liver, or muscle, he had started to take these things as amatter of course. He gave a little nervous laugh. "If that paper saysso, I suppose so, doctor."
"Yes. Well, everything seems to be functioning properly now, doesn'tit? With the exception of your head, of course."
"Yes, yes I feel fine otherwise." Lee was feeling uncomfortable."Doctor, could you tell me what this is all about? I must haveanswered these questions half a dozen times before to those otherpeople."
"In just a moment. First I need to know you a little better. Yourmedical history lists your occupation as 'cabinet maker'."
"That's right." Lee was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Theextensive examinations had tired him, and repetition of the answers toall these questions was making him edgy.
"Doctor, can't you at least tell me what type operation I'm going tohave?"
"What do you think it will be?"
"I don't know. Some sort of repair on my head, I guess."
"Mr. Lee, this isn't going to be a matter of repair. We have found itnecessary to replace the entirety of what could roughly be calledyour 'brain', as well as part of the spinal cord."
"My whole brain?" Lee sat, stunned, comprehension slowly filteringinto him. He voiced the only coherent thought which materialized. "Whythat will mean there won't be anything left of me at all."
Dr. Letzmiller regarded him. "What do you mean?"
"Doc, you've got my records there. At one time or another, since theyfirst put a new heart in me, every single inch of me has been replacedby an artificial part. I mean all of me. There's not one bit of me,heart, eyes, toenails, _nothing_, that is _me_. That bothered me quitea bit when this left eye was put in. I mean I thought, 'Well, thisisn't me. This is my brain walking around in a jumble of artificialflesh.' I tell you it bothered me. But I went to a doctor, you know, apsychoanalyst, and he convinced me that as long as I had what hecalled a 'sense of identity', that I was me." Lee stopped. How couldhe explain it?
But Letzmiller seemed to understand. "And you think that your brain isall that is left of 'you'?"
"Doc, it's a funny feeling. Like this." Lee raised his hands, broughtthem together and touched his fingertips. "See that? I can raise thosehands. I can make them touch each other. I can feel them touching eachother. But it is just not quite right. It's just a little bit off key,like one trumpet player out of twenty being about one-sixteenth of anote flat. Know what I mean?"
"I think I do," said Letzmiller, nodding slowly. "Now, just what doesthat have to do with your operation?"
"Doctor--" Lee had to stop, for the patchwork quilt of blank spaceswas dancing in his head. The helplessness went away, slowly, likesmoke drifting from a fire. As his mind cleared, he realized that hedidn't know why he was being interviewed by this doctor.
"Anything wrong?" Dr. Letzmiller asked.
Lee knew he wasn't being
too coherent, jumping about with theconversation this way, but he asked the question, anyway. "Doc, why amI seeing you?"
"You haven't guessed?"
"No."
The doctor paused to light a half-gone cigar. "My job here at MerkinsReplacive is to deal with just such fears as you have expressed. I'man M.D. and a psychologist, and"--Letzmiller smiled to himself--"akind of historian."
"Historian?"
"Well, you see I was supposed to give you the regular formal lectureon the history of replacive surgery when you first came in. Like tohear it?"
Lee