Free Zippered Flesh 2: More Tales of Body Enhancements Gone Bad by Kealan Patrick Burke, Charles Colyott, Bryan Hall, Shaun Jeffrey, Michael Bailey, Lisa Mannetti, Shaun Meeks, L.L. Soares, Christian A. Larsen Page B
died of ovarian cancer.”
“Mother’s side or father’s?”
“Father’s.”
“Oh, then you have a predisposition for it on both sides of your family. Any breast cancer?”
Lucinda nodded miserably. “Two cousins. Both dead.”
“My advice to you, then, is to get a PAP smear, mammogram, and colonoscopy every year, like clockwork,” the doctor said. “My dear, are you all right?”
Lucinda was sheet white and trembling all over.
“I understand that you lost your father recently, too. I’m sure the stress of that and your mother’s situation is taking a huge toll on you.” The doctor pulled his prescription pad from his pocket. “Ever taken Valium?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re going to start. This will at least allow you to get some sleep. Under no circumstances are you to drink alcohol with this medication—do you understand?”
“Yes. But I don’t drink. It’s really bad for the skin. Ages it, you know? I can’t have that. Thank you, doctor.” Lucinda took the slip from his fingers, and then left the hospital.
As the doctor watched her walk away, his eyes narrowed slightly. The only time she showed any emotion at all was when I explained predisposition.
Lucinda sat in her-father’s-now-her-car on Level B of the hospital’s underground parking garage and stared into space. I finally got my face and neck looking perfect. There nothing more that has to be done for another five years, and now I could get cancer and die? I don’t think so! I’ve invested too much money in this perfect face to be dying any time soon.
Lucinda firmly believed there is a way out of every problem, and so she reclined her seat a bit and thought.
And it didn’t take long before she had a solution.
A perfect solution.
As it turned out, her mother didn’t have three days left to live, much less three months. She passed peacefully, or so they told Lucinda. Her mother’s body met the same fate as her father’s, even though she had specifically requested embalming and burial in her will. Lucinda rationalized that she’d want to be with her husband, and so it was the pine box and the pond for her, as well.
Between her mother’s insurance policy and what was left of her father’s, Lucinda had $65,000 to her name, as well as a house and a car. It was time to put her plan into action. She picked up the phone and dialed.
The next day, she met with a surgeon to discuss a double radical mastectomy.
“May I ask why you want this procedure if you don’t have cancer? You’re very young and this operation is most disfiguring.”
“I have a predisposition to breast cancer, so I figure no breasts, no cancer. It’s one less thing to worry about,” Lucinda explained.
“Here, let me show you some photographs of post-mastectomy patients. You should know what you’re asking for.” He rolled open a file drawer, extracted a folder and handed it to her.
They didn’t have the desired effect. The mutilated chests moved her not at all. “This doesn’t bother me, doctor. I still want the procedure.”
“May I ask why you are so worried about this at your age?”
“I have, over recent years, paid out approximately $150,000 for facial cosmetic surgery. I have no intention of dying of cancer now or for a long, long time and losing that investment.”
“If that is your reason, then I must respectfully decline to perform this surgery.”
“Okay. I’ll keep looking until I find a doctor who will. You’re certainly not the only one on my list. Good day.”
Lucinda met with four more doctors before she found one who was glad to help her. The surgery was scheduled for that weekend, and went off without a hitch. Lucinda Parker, at age nineteen, had traded in her 34C breasts for two flat round masses of bumpy scar tissue.
And she was satisfied.
While recovering at home, she received the final bill for services rendered. This bill, added to the partial invoices already delivered, came to
“Mother’s side or father’s?”
“Father’s.”
“Oh, then you have a predisposition for it on both sides of your family. Any breast cancer?”
Lucinda nodded miserably. “Two cousins. Both dead.”
“My advice to you, then, is to get a PAP smear, mammogram, and colonoscopy every year, like clockwork,” the doctor said. “My dear, are you all right?”
Lucinda was sheet white and trembling all over.
“I understand that you lost your father recently, too. I’m sure the stress of that and your mother’s situation is taking a huge toll on you.” The doctor pulled his prescription pad from his pocket. “Ever taken Valium?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re going to start. This will at least allow you to get some sleep. Under no circumstances are you to drink alcohol with this medication—do you understand?”
“Yes. But I don’t drink. It’s really bad for the skin. Ages it, you know? I can’t have that. Thank you, doctor.” Lucinda took the slip from his fingers, and then left the hospital.
As the doctor watched her walk away, his eyes narrowed slightly. The only time she showed any emotion at all was when I explained predisposition.
Lucinda sat in her-father’s-now-her-car on Level B of the hospital’s underground parking garage and stared into space. I finally got my face and neck looking perfect. There nothing more that has to be done for another five years, and now I could get cancer and die? I don’t think so! I’ve invested too much money in this perfect face to be dying any time soon.
Lucinda firmly believed there is a way out of every problem, and so she reclined her seat a bit and thought.
And it didn’t take long before she had a solution.
A perfect solution.
As it turned out, her mother didn’t have three days left to live, much less three months. She passed peacefully, or so they told Lucinda. Her mother’s body met the same fate as her father’s, even though she had specifically requested embalming and burial in her will. Lucinda rationalized that she’d want to be with her husband, and so it was the pine box and the pond for her, as well.
Between her mother’s insurance policy and what was left of her father’s, Lucinda had $65,000 to her name, as well as a house and a car. It was time to put her plan into action. She picked up the phone and dialed.
The next day, she met with a surgeon to discuss a double radical mastectomy.
“May I ask why you want this procedure if you don’t have cancer? You’re very young and this operation is most disfiguring.”
“I have a predisposition to breast cancer, so I figure no breasts, no cancer. It’s one less thing to worry about,” Lucinda explained.
“Here, let me show you some photographs of post-mastectomy patients. You should know what you’re asking for.” He rolled open a file drawer, extracted a folder and handed it to her.
They didn’t have the desired effect. The mutilated chests moved her not at all. “This doesn’t bother me, doctor. I still want the procedure.”
“May I ask why you are so worried about this at your age?”
“I have, over recent years, paid out approximately $150,000 for facial cosmetic surgery. I have no intention of dying of cancer now or for a long, long time and losing that investment.”
“If that is your reason, then I must respectfully decline to perform this surgery.”
“Okay. I’ll keep looking until I find a doctor who will. You’re certainly not the only one on my list. Good day.”
Lucinda met with four more doctors before she found one who was glad to help her. The surgery was scheduled for that weekend, and went off without a hitch. Lucinda Parker, at age nineteen, had traded in her 34C breasts for two flat round masses of bumpy scar tissue.
And she was satisfied.
While recovering at home, she received the final bill for services rendered. This bill, added to the partial invoices already delivered, came to
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