The Organ Grinder’s Monkey
by Thomas R.
I see him yakking at some grieving Mom. At first he does the whole compassionate puppy dog spiel, but I can tell she isn’t buying it. This pleases me. I like the ones with spunk. After all they are the way I make a living. They are why the AMA or whoever invented organ grinders like me in the first place. Hold on, he is coming this way; could be the chance.
The Doc’s compassionate façade melts as he tells me, “I don’t even think you can get this one. She’s some kind of nut or something. She insists we could help her son if we wanted. That when she was young, quadriplegic people lived full lives. Then she blathered on about his potential, Papal Encyclicals, or something.”
I look at him. “Religious exemptions to medical procedures went out with the state of Pennsylvania versus the Old Order Amish. The viability claim is the one that will be harder. Can the kid communicate?”
He smiled and shook his head no.
“Wipe the smirk off your face, it would be better for me if he could. Pressuring newly quadriplegic kids into being harvested is the easy road. Once you get them in your corner, motherly objections melt or become irrelevant.”
He shook his head. “I doubt it, as this kid’s a minor. His Mom, I believe, has the authority.”
I look at him with disdain. “I forget nothing, they charged him as an adult. That would have worked in our favor. As it is...” then I remembered. “Hey, wasn’t this kid big into dope?”
The doc “Yes, but his organs are in good shape. We tested for every disease, and he is clear. He seems to have avoided IV or needle drugs, from all indications. Now his liver and nasal passages are damaged, but everything else seems usable. We need them too, he’s a good match for the kid who was in the NCAA finals last year and also there’s an inner city school librarian who could use his heart. Maybe this loser can be useful for once.”
“If he is so useful, what will I make off this deal?”
The doc looked mildly disgusted. He’s the one that’s wanted to bumped off cripple kids to help drunken steroid cases, who just happened to be in the NFL, but as he makes little profit from all that he can safely look his nose down on me. Typical.
After thinking he states. “The librarian won’t bring us much, but the kid has some powerful backers. A major chain of gyms wants to use him for endorsements if he can play again. They might reward you handsomely for the job.”
“I don’t live on maybes,” I remind him.
He sighed. “I can assure you you’ll get in least 100 grand a year, after taxes, from this job.”
Not bad, Not bad. Not at the level I got from that Taiwanese CEO, Lin Yueh something, but that money stopped coming after he died. I shake his hand and go over to the lady.
First thing I note is that up close she’s not bad to look at. Her eyes are kind of weird, the color is wrong or something, but her face is pleasing. She looks sophisticated and not “nuts” as he indicated. I begin by cutting to the chase, as I assume she knows what I am. “Madam, if you continue to refuse, many innocent people will die. There’s also no guarantee that if you refuse your son will live.”
She seemed tired, but also a bit bored. “I suppose that’s a threat of some kind.”
I remained firm. “It’s not a threat, it’s a reality. People with injuries as severe as your son’s rarely get better. I hope you aren’t fooled by Hollywood stories about actors being cured.”
She became steely as well. “I’m fooled by nothing, least of all you. I know how primitive neural regeneration is now and that I can’t afford it anyway. However, I also know my son is viable. His cerebral activity is within its earlier parameters. Further, the living will we had written for him specifies that his termination cannot happen unless his cerebral activity dips 50% below its present level. Until that happens, the law would be on my side in refusing.”
I was annoyed and impressed. Yet my focus always remained on the job. “I am sure you know living wills for minors can be voided in cases like your son’s. As he had a criminal record it would be easy to imply you coerced the document.”
To my surprise she became amused not enraged. “No, we drew it up before he was ever arrested for anything. Try something else.”
I considered. “He was still a minor. As his criminal record stretches back to when he was thirteen he could not have been legally competent to agree to such decisions.”
She shook her head. “At twelve he was a Freshman at Loyola University. He was classed as competent to vote, and he helped draft his living will.”
This surprised me. I had seen the name Loyola, but assumed it was a Jr. High. Looking it up, he had indeed spent a year at the University before his expulsion for computer fraud and narcotics use.
She continued. “I guess you heard Doctor Patrick talk and assumed my boy was just some punk. Well maybe he is, now.” suddenly she softened a bit. “But he began as something wonderful. I know it’s wrong to think it, but maybe this will help him get back to that. It might encourage him to reform or in least I hope it will.”
I was moved, which meant she was good. It also meant the Doc hadn’t given me enough information, and that allowed her to snow me like this. So I responded, “The fact your son had potential does not give you the right to end the potential of others. I’m sure at his best your son put others’ needs above his own; you should do the same.”
She was bored acting again. “I am doing just that. His life will be hard now, but I feel it will be worth it. You have no idea what my son will do in the coming years. No one does. So you can not say I am wrong in having faith in him.”
“Maybe you’re right, but one thing I do know is your refusal kills people now. Isn’t a real life saved better than some hypothetical ones your son might save later?”
She seemed to almost talk beyond me now. “Doctors aren’t like what I remember, it’s a pity. My son’s genetic make up is commonplace. My family alone likely has several people who would certainly be better donors than my son. You could even test my tissue and clone a heart from it. Yet inertia takes hold. Funding is so poor that the labs to do such things remain scattered and few. The helpless became parasites, and science became more paralyzed even than my boy. I mean, didn’t you consider it odd that a drug-addicted teenager is the best they can do for these people? Especially after the things I’ve said and offered?” Her reverie ended. “Anyway, I’ve made my decision. That will be all.”
She may not get enraged, but I do. “Look, lady, you don’t dismiss me. No one ever dismisses me. Got that? I didn’t want to play hardball on you, but if you force me to, I can bury you. I will have you declared incompetent, an unfit mother, or even placed in an asylum before you can say ‘bedlam.’ Now will you agree to the procedure or will I have to get rough with you?”
Then she starts smiling at me. “I may not have enough money to fix my son, but in the brief time he went to Loyola I made friends with one of his professors.”
I gave her a “so what?” look.
“Back then he was called Father James Carney, but now he’s Attorney James Carney of Carney, Bloom, and Sung. Remember them?”
I certainly did. They helped draft the legislation that banned Organ Grinders in Louisiana. Hanley himself helped the prosecution of a Kentucky doctor who used “mercy killing” as a dodge to perform grotesque experiments. Many of his patients would have made a full recovery otherwise. “I think you’re bluffing.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps so were you. Either way, my son is going to start something worthwhile now.” with that she handed me a card and walked away.
I’d experienced people making threats like hers before, but somehow I felt this was different. Somehow I felt that for once I may have met my match. The thought enrages me, but also feels me with a weird excitement.
I look at the card. On one side a list of her relatives, on the other the novena to St. Jude. Is she saying I’m the hopeless one, or she is, or maybe the boy is? In any event, the list can’t possibly help me, so I throw in the trash and contact the sharks. In the background I notice Doctor Patrick avoiding looking at me. “See no evil, hear no evil,” and the call comes through. Now the story begins.
Copyright © 2004 by Thomas R.
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