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My Skin Transplant Donor Does Not Exist
I know there is a stereotype about how dangerous riding a motorcycle is and how reckless their owners can get. Accidents happen and we all should not discriminate people involved based on the type of their locomotion.
Such accident happened to me two months ago. The weather was rainy, the streets were busy and the intersection tricky for outsiders. From what I can recall I was about to cross on the green light when a car hit me. I flew a few meters onto slippery asphalt, losing my consciousness - next thing I know, I am in a city hospital.
Apparently I was asleep for three days. To fill the gap between the events, I was told that my raincoat was ripped apart. That helped, since the left side of my back was so devastated, have I had it not, my bones would surely get exposed, and my muscles would have been severely injured. I was told that a skin graft was required but relocation was not possible, since the wound was too wide and my body too skinny to get enough tissue, that is why they used a donor transplant.
They showed me the raincoat or rather what was left of it - the hole was so big, I could crawl through it. Luckly for me, the guy that hit me had no excuses and was found guilty of the accident, so the surgery was paid for by his insurance company.
I have to admit that it all made me very confused. After my doctor allowed me to sit down, I gently touched my back. I felt the stitches but I have to admit, they patched me up quite good.
I got on a medical leave from my work, kept in touch with my doctor and spent the next few days in a comfort of my house with a huge insurance pay to recompensate what happened.
It took me some time to accept how my back looked like. First I wanted to avoid looking at myself and thinking about it to much, but with time I started to accept what happened. After shower I spent time examining my scar.
I knew that with time it will look better. The stitches were the worst part, but after I would get them removed, things would be less noticeable. After further examination, I noticed that the part of my skin which was transplanted had an odd shade - it matched my own enough to hide the difference, but if I was to point it out to someone, they would see it.
It also felt a bit smoother than mine. I hoped that this will not have any negative impact on my life but God, was I wrong.
A week after the surgery I felt pain on my backside, as it turned out it started swelling. I immediately got an appointment to the doctor. He was suppose to remove my stitches soon but gave me some bad news. There was a great chance that the transplant was rejected by my body. He did some tests, gave me some stronger medicine, which weakened my immunity system and forced the body to accept the transplanted tissue.
I went back to my house with a big headache. I started observing this part of my body from a mirror more often - small blisters started showing up, the swelling continued and then I noticed something that I missed before. There was a mark, a seven-segment type set of digits - very vague and small, almost impossible to notice. I shivered with confusion - how did it get there? Donors with tattoos are rejected immediately, right? - I though as I went to my room to try and make a picture of it. I opened up my laptop and enhanced the contrast.
It was there, no doubt on that, invisible at first but clear after your body understood what it was looking at. I was very nervous and it was late, very late in fact, so I decided that calling my doctor was pointless. I opened internet forum, posted the picture and marked my question as urgent. Someone must have had any insight about it. Surely if it was made by a machine then the code must hide some importance to the people who designed it.
As I woke up, the pain was even worse, I felt as if I was burning inside. The wound has swollen and it felt as if it was going rip out itself from me at any minute. That was not what woke me up though. I was woken up by a call from the doctor.
I hoped that he could tell me what was happening. We have to take you to the hospital right now, I will call you an ambulance. - he said with a panic in his voice - There was a mistake. Your blood type is O+, that is why we have been very careful with our donor databank. For some reason our test shows that your transplant does not match O+, but it did before.
I was frozen solid. I instantly felt a great disgust to what was attached to me, one that I simply cannot describe - it was very unsettling, the skin just felt very foreign and alien at that moment. I sat on my bed, waiting for medical staff to arrive and then suddenly it stopped. All of it. My body felt no pain. I touched myself there - the swelling decreased and blisters disappeared. It was smooth again.
When medical staff arrived they were just as confused as I was. They took me to the hospital and decided to test me anyway. The doctor did some testing, took my blood again, O+ as expected. Everything fitted together like it was all just a dream. They were baffled about what happened, but in the end they let me go.
Apparently I might have had not enough medication for my body to fully accept the transplant, slow metabolic response or a rare genetic immunity - they were not sure.
The mark that I spotted the other day might have been a cause of the infection, but as to it's origin, my doctor had no idea. I was asked if I wanted that part of my skin removed in search for another donor or a cut of my own, but I neglected the idea - I had enough of staying in the hospital. After an argument on if he should, the doctor agreed to give me information about the hospital that had the tissue of the original owner. It all made me very nervous as I hate complications but I needed answers. I still was not over the accident, which left me in a very bad condition and I just wanted to have a normal quiet, uneventful life. I suppose everyone does though.
I decided to make a trip next week and ask the donor service about the mark. Then I noticed that I completely forgot about the post I created. I turned up my laptop and opened the forum. My post was quite active. People were apparently angry that I left it hanging. There was a discussion and a person seemed to have a possible answer. One user was a ranch farmer. He said that animals are marked similarly but with less code.
The first three digits were - as he stated - related to a specific facility, batch and number, and the next eight were the date of birth. He was unsure about the rest, but he pointed out that not only slaughter house animals are marked that way - endangered species, found pets and special breeds also had such inking.
People started pointing out that I probably got a pig transplant, a common practice, where genetically modified pigs are harvested for skin, but I talked about it with my doctor and he gave me the documents on who I had my transplant from - Mark Gilver Offesh, died in 2016 on September, age forty-five, fell off when hiking. The dates didn't match and even so, it would be impossible - the date on the marking displayed August fifth 1968 no pig could life that long and have had it's skin still in tact. I had enough - I took my keys, grabbed my jacket and closed the door behind me.
The small clinic that ran the donor service was strangely far from the town. It took me a good few hours to get there and it was getting a bit late. The building was placed seemingly nowhere, on a big wild field of tall grass. I left my car on a parking lot and entered the building. The small reception was mostly empty, except for a nurse behind the counter.
She was a little surprised at first, stating that she has no marked appointments for today, but after a quick chat she calmed down. Apparently there was a reason behind the remote location of the hospital and having little to no patients. The facility was only a few minutes to the main road, officially to help in car accidents that happened there from time to time, but unofficially the department has a "great accommodation for urgent organs transplant" or to put it simply, they can easily acquire organs if the car crash was fatal, and deliver them quickly using the nearby highway. I told her about my case, and sure enough she called a doctor who asked me to follow him. He brought me to his office and asked me how he could help. After a short conversation he started looking into the files.
It took him some time, but eventually he stood up, asked me to wait, and left the room. He came back after a decent delay with another doctor, clearly uneasy about what happened. I am sorry - he said with a serious and concerned tone - but there must have been a mistake. We have data on your surgery and we found and concluded that we indeed sent you a tissue from mister Mark Offesh. The problem is that after further investigation we found out that this donor never had his skin collected. I stood shocked and yelled for answers. I really, really hate complications and I try to be a quiet person, but at that moment, I was ready to sue the hell out of this clinic and everybody involved. If it was not for the need of answers, I would have left immediately.
After checking in our storage and databank we can say that the donor only agreed for bone and marrow extraction and further more, he was not of Caucasian origins and would not even remotely fit the skin tone. I reacted very aggressively and I made quite a big scene, which I will spare for you. My back for some reason, was shivering and my whole body felt uneasy. I came to an agreement that they will search their data bank for a possible match and in return I will have time to contact my lawyer if I wished to put it onto a police investigation.
I left the building shortly, still shaking. The first thing I wanted to do was to order a transplant removal and get that out of my body. Pig skin, human donor, I did not care at that moment. I turned on my car, and rode out of the parking lot.
I have to admit that I was a little paranoid at that moment, and it was getting late, but what happened next, was undoubtfully real and not just my imagination. There was a person in the middle of the field, hiding next to the road. I use the term person very broadly - The hooded figure was wearing old, dirty, frayed clothes, and was quite tall. it stared right at me. I had no idea how to react, but I did as I usually act near strangers, I simply tried to ignore it. I was pissing my pants as I passed it with my car - it was too far in the grass and too little sun left to see it's face - and yet I was sure that it stared right at me, a few meters away.
I felt an uneasy hesitation in it's appearance and just the way it acted made me glad I had my windows closed. In a second it shuddered violently, realizing I am seeing it and after a small pause, it immediately ran away, moving crookedly and bending abnormally, disappearing in the tall, dark rushes. I was so focused on it, for a moment I forgot all the context of why I came here in the first place.
As my mind cleared from the fear and the feel of being watched I realized something. The clothes it had, despite years of usage, dirt and all the damage to hide it - it was a medical apparel. Nobody comes here, there was nothing special about me for it to focus on. THAT THING KNEW. I didn't know what was the right reaction at that moment - I snapped, these words drumming in my brain as I left the car and run into the grass.
It run fast and I had no way of catching up with it but I was sure it run away - the way it moved it had left deep foot steps. One misshapen, hard to recognize but the other one was surely from a strangely placed, loosely put rubber shoe. The grass was also broken revealing the patch it made. I felt itching from all the weeds around me on my back as I ran in a fury. It took a good one hundred meters through the field, and then through the small forest.
It was getting late and looking back, I have no idea what made me go there - other than the need for answers. I finally stopped. There was no more broken wigs, grass or footprints for me to follow but that was not why I stopped. I knew exactly where it went. Among the dark trees, in a last scares rays of sunlight, I saw a massive wreck, an empty husk of an old, big building. Rows of broken windows, a big entrance with no doors, long dark halls behind it.
The ground floor destroyed, with big holes, a set of stairs with missing steps, leading underground. broken wire fences, mostly laying on the ground, wide sections, wings of crumbling concrete, leaving only hollow frames and exposing decomposing, old furnitures. Not a single sound, bird or insect was present. I expected a stupid teenager and his parents house, perhaps a black market or a body part scammer - that what I was remotely ready to expect. The escaping creature made me think that I was danger to it - it was then that I realized how stupid I was. I did not see the creature at first - I heard it. A scratching sound.
Next to the big concrete entrance behind the pillar in a shadow. Scratch, scratch scratch and then suddenly - a slap on the floor. I almost vomited my brain when I saw it. A bunch of skin flaps, tossed around the broken, covered in moss floor tiles, next to a cracked pillar of concrete. My eyes were expecting it to be next to them and sure enough it was - three meters above. I could almost not see it at all, but the shape that made it up was far remote from what I saw on the road.
It was violently rubbing itself against the ceiling. It was not attached to the ground below either - long shadows spread across the hall, grabbing onto walls and floor far away. Suddenly I felt it - it noticed me and part of it turned around and stayed still in a grave silence. I was far from it, but I stopped breathing instantly. my heart was beating slowly and I felt my legs melting. I made one, big step for human kind backwards, towards where I came from, trying not to shit myself. Second step - when will it move? Thirds step - God. I am dead.
A sound of a breaking wig under my foot and not a thought more. I was frozen in time, in place and in my mind, looking at my death. Shell-shocked by the sound I made, vibrating in the air. I have no idea if it was a second or a minute.
I stood still, more still than a dead man can, my body begging me to breathe. I can without hesitation say that the bravest thing I did was running away - I don't even remotely consider it funny. As my last clear though set in - RUN - I looked away behind me for the last time before hiding in the grass from which I came from. The creature stayed in the shadow, not moving a centimeter.
I don't care about the hospital. I don't want to know how I got this thing in me. I am not contacting anyone. I am never going there back again, neither I am encouraging anyone, including the police to try and find out anything about what I saw. I feel itchy. All I ever wanted was to get this thing out of my body.
I know now why it has not attacked me. I could create a thousand questions, but for my sanity I throw them away every time. I know why the transplant rejected at first. I wanted to get it out as soon as I drove my car back and opened the door to my home. I know what will happen if I do. I can't do it and for what happens next to me - there is no coming back. It does not even matter what I saw in the forest.
I got info from the hospital, they informed me that all their samples had pieces of skin in them. Some are few years old. It was a matter of time, and I was the only one who got the part with it's code, that's why I noticed. That is why I have to warn others. They have no idea. I looked in the mirror an hour ago.