Microstory 2242: Uncharted Territory

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The FBI are releasing me to my private security firm, contingent upon me scheduling an appointment with my doctors. Given the circumstances, I’m sure that this makes sense to them, but it doesn’t serve much of a purpose for me. I guess there’s a chance that I’ve been stricken ill with something new in the last couple of weeks. That would certainly fit with my M.O. I’m really hoping that it hasn’t happened, though, which is why I’m being really careful about what I eat, and where. Of course, I wash my hands religiously, but I’ve always done that. I shower twice a day too, which may be overkill, but you can never be too careful. I also don’t go outside without sunscreen on. This was something that my mom kind of wanted me to always do, and it seems that it just took several decades, and having multiple near-death experiences, to take her advice. Still, that’s not really what they’re worried about. You see, they don’t see a man who was miraculously healed from a terminal disease. They just see a man who had a terminal disease earlier this month. The doctors feel the same way, and they’re not going to let anyone take samples from me until I’ve had enough time to recover from that. Which is ridiculous, because there is no such thing as recovering from a prion disease, so right there is their failure in logic. But I get it. It’s uncharted territory, so they’re doing their best to figure out how we proceed. Their training tells them that I need to wait—that I’m not ready to undergo a serious procedure after my last health ordeal. As doctors who study science, it’s hard for them to understand that my brief immortality means no waiting period is necessary. In the end, though, it’s not really up to them. My body, my choice applies to many different situations, this one included, I would say. I’m going to let them take my index, and a little bit of my bone marrow. I’m going to do it for the money, and for science. Then I’m going to get back to my life, or at least determine what that life is from here on out. Maybe I’ll go back to working at the nursery, if they’ll let me. Or maybe it’s too hazardous there, so I won’t. Or maybe I will anyway.