TITLE: Pretty Girls Make Graves
GENRE: YA Paranormal
Strange things go through your head when you're having an MRI. And I'm not just talking about the electromagnetic currents, although that certainly does cause a flicker of scientific curiosity. I mean things like if my hair will grow out right, or if my mother would let me get my favorite band's new CD, or who it might be that cleans the insides of these machines, or if Adam and Eve had belly buttons.
That I'm thinking so clearly at all is a miracle, they tell me. The number of patients who can function as well as I can after the type of brain surgery I underwent is not an impressive figure. According to them anyway. Maybe it's just my amateur opinion, but when someone goes poking metal objects into an organ as complicated as a brain, prodding around in there as if dipping pieces of fruit into a chocolate fondue pot, I'd be impressed if the person who'd been operated on didn't come out of surgery having attained the glorious functioning level of drooling all over their fecal-stained hospital gown.
Of course, it's not as if I came out of the operation scot-free. My recovery has been only partially successful so far. Sometimes I forget what I'm doing in the middle of doing it. Sometimes I forget names. But worst of all, I can't remember ever coming to the hospital to have brain surgery.
"Try to keep still, Faith," says the doctor hidden behind the protective glass.