Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - I’m a Patient at a Private Hospital, and They Keep Taking Me for Surgery

Episode Date: July 18, 2025

After a miraculous organ transplant saves his life, Mr. Sobely begins to suspect the luxurious Conrad Institute isn’t a hospital at all—but a prison harvesting him piece by piece for a purpose far more profitable than healing. Author: Jake Bible * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Like always, the IV in the back of my hand itches like a son of a bitch. But, I've been told if I keep scratching at it, they'll have to put a pick line in. I don't know what a pick line is, even if the nurse did literally spell it out for me. P ICC, Mr. Sobly, P ICC. I don't want something in me that has to be spelled out to me. That doesn't sound good. But the damn IV it's just so fucking bad. Mr. Sobley, the cheery doctor's voice.

says as he walks into my room, his tablet in hand, and his nose in that tablet, eyes not meeting mine. How are we feeling this morning? Okay, I guess. Dr. Gabbreet looks up, but not at me. His eyes are on my breakfast tray. Appetite looks good. What did we have this morning? A western omelet with thick-cut bacon, half a cantaloupe, and two buttery biscuits. All I had was a bowl of oatmeal. I'll have to come join you for breakfast. one morning. We sure do take care of you here at the Conrad Institute. His nose returns to his tablet. Looks like enzyme levels are good. Blood count is excellent. Have you had any shortness of breath while on the treadmill? He always asks me this question. I know he has the answer in that tablet. He knows I know the answer is in that tablet. And I know he knows, I know he knows. So why does

he always ask me this question? No, not that I noticed, I say. which is what I always say, because I never notice any shortness of breath. It's such a weird question. Wonderful, wonderful! So, Dr. Cabritte? I've been wondering. And what have I said about doing that? He asks and chuckles, still reading his tablet.

That it causes undue stress. Exactly. So no more wondering. Yeah, well, the joke is funny and all, but I do wonder. Like a lot. Dr. Gabbreet sighs, then looks me right in the eye as he clutches his tablet flat against his chest. It's unnerving, and I think I prefer our normal no-eye contact routine. And what have you been wondering about, Mr. Sobley?

What has your mind all twisted up in knots? I didn't say it was twisted in knots. Say you aren't wondering something? No, no, I am. Then spit it out. I'm a very busy man, Mr. Sobley. Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you are. Sorry. Yeah, um, well, I was wondering, you know, when I might be able to leave.

Leave? Yeah, leave. Leave where? Leave here? Yes, um, this is the here I'm in, so yeah, um, leave here. Interesting. He flips his tablet around. I see graphs and charts and swirling pie things and a lot of text streaming by with all kinds of flashing warnings and big numbers and shit. Do you know what this is telling me, Mr. Sobly? What? The tablet? Yes, the tablet. Do you know what all this data tells me? Um, no.

Exactly. You do not. He leans forward just a little, and I want to shrink back, but there's nowhere to go. I'm still in my hospital bed, dressed in the usual backless gown. His eyes study me, scan me, drilled, deep inside my skull. Can you at least recognize the significance of the data? I swallow hard and look at the tablet. There's just too much going on.

I shake my head. The significance is that this data is yours, or you are this data, depending on how you look at it. Okay. And the problem is, when I look at this data, I'm not always sure what it's telling me either. Of course, I'm a little more trained. than you are. So it isn't all a mystery. Every bit of information plays its part. Unfortunately,

I don't know yet how all the parts fit together. How they fit together? Like my body parts? What? No, I know how your body parts fit together. Oh, good. You had me worried for a second there. Dr. Gabbreet sighs. Why are you here at the Conrad Institute, Mr. Sobley? Because I got... Like, really sick and needed an organ transplant. A liver transplant. Right, yeah. And I wasn't even much of a drinker. Yet you were in complete liver failure.

You only had hours before you would have died. Yep. And you guys got me a new liver so fast. Yes, we did. He returns his attention to his tablet. Your liver is in perfect health now. Better than perfect. Same with all of your organs.

Then why am I still in here? Can I go home? Home? Who do you have at home? What? You want to go home? To what? To whom?

Ouch. You don't have to say it that way. Oh, my apologies. I'm simply asking, because who is at home to help take care of you? You just said all of my organs are fine. They're perfect. On the tablet, yes. But so far, since you have been here, your pancreas, spleen,

both kidneys, your hypothalamus, pituitary, your liver again, and your left lung have nearly failed. That's why you have had so many surgeries. But for what? What is wrong with me? There is nothing wrong with you, Mr. Sogley. You are simply different. And that is why I need you to stay with us for a little while longer, so I can get all the data I need to figure out why you are different. There's not like a home test for this shit. No, there is not.

But even if there were, who would help administer the test, Mr. Sobly? Who do you have at home? I really kind of want to punch him. Who do I have at home? Well, who does this asshole have at home? Huh? Who's he got? But I don't punch him.

I'm not a punching kind of guy. I mean, he does sort of have a point, I guess. No, buddy, I answer. I had a turtle for a while. But he got this fungus on. his face and the pet store took him back and refunded me for the whole setup because they were worried I'd call fish and wildlife or something but that was four years ago so right now it's just me at home just me exactly and we can't have our

star patient dying alone at home now can we no that wouldn't be good I like living yes you do and we like that you like living and we want to do everything possible to help you with that with what With living. Oh, right. I looked down in my hand. Is there any way, just for right now, that you can help me with the itching?

The what? The itching. My IV-lined itches so bad. I want to scratch. But you all told me I'd have to get a pick line or something if I scratched it and it got infected. Dr. Gabbreet doesn't answer. He's too busy typing in his tablet.

Dr. Gabbard, the itching? Yes, yes, that's wonderful to hear. Amazing, really. It is? I, um, find it more annoying. Is there anything you can do? For what? The itching! Dr. Gabbreet looks up, eyes wide. Sorry, I say. It just really itches. I'm sure it does. I can help with that. He sets the tablet down on my bedside table and moves close to my bed, taking my hand in his. You say the IV itches? That's what I've been saying, yeah. The chart shows it was changed last night.

Sounds about right. Remarkable. The fastest yet. If you say so, the nurses are pretty damn good about things around here, I say, but he's not paying attention to me. He removes the tape from the back of my hand, then eases the IV needle out of my vein. He sets the old needle aside and studies my hand.

Will you look at that? He says, I try to look, but he keeps moving my hand so I can't get a good look at all. It's not infected, is it? I don't want a pick line. They sound awful. They're not that bad, but I don't think you need a pick line. We'll just replace this one as needed. As needed? What does that mean? Dr. Gbreit looks up from my hand, and he's not exactly smiling, and he's not exactly frowning either. You have so many questions lately, Mr. Sobley. Well, I have been here a long time. You have.

And I seem to be better. But you keep saying I need more tests. Or I need more surgeries. Or I need more treatments. Or I need more IVs. Need, need. Feels like my whole life is on an as-needed basis. Because it is.

But why? There's another question. He sets my hand down, then gathers everything he needs. He does a quick alcohol swab on the back of my hand, then he slides the new IV needle into the same vein, which doesn't seem right, but I'm not a doctor. He tapes the needle down, presses a few buttons on the IV pump,

and pats the back of my hand. All fixed. Oh, great. Thanks. I smile at my hand, then smile at him. It isn't itching anymore. That was the goal. He picks up his tablet and returns my smile.

You should just rest. Just let all those questions go, Mr. Sobley. We're working as hard as possible, and as soon as I can give you answers, I will, I promise. Well, thanks again. I say and hold up my hands with the new IV. I hope you didn't just put a nurse out of a job. I laugh. He doesn't.

Oh, there's no chance of that, Mr. Sobly. As long as you were here, I think everyone's jobs are safe. Then he walks out of my hospital room, leaving me wondering what the hell that means. Picture this. It's late at night. You're scrolling and suddenly you find exactly what you've been looking for. You add it to your cart, maybe browse a little more than head to checkout, only to realize you don't have your wallet.

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My hospital room and bathroom aren't exactly like other hospital rooms I've been in. One time, my dad nearly took his thumb off with a chainsaw, and he was in the hospital for two weeks of surgeries and recovery. His room was a quarter of my size and didn't have the full wall TV or in. next box or all the streaming channels. His room also didn't have a mini-fridge. Not that mine does anymore. They took that away when I drank all the soda and ate all the snacks in one sitting while playing elder scrolls. My dad's room also didn't have a massage chair recliner thing, or its own treadmill. Although, I don't really use the treadmill much, since they have like an entire wing of

them down on the physical therapy floor. My room also has a view of the harbor way down below. I'm not sure what harbor it is exactly. Lots of ships with foreign writing on them. Lots with English, too. I don't know shit about international shipping, so none of the ship names, foreign or English, mean anything to me. Great view, though. Maybe it's Boston? No clue. I was pretty out of it when they brought me here. I woke up in this room, and it's been nothing but saving my life ever since. There's a knock at the door. Morgan, one of the orderlies, sticks his head. inside and nods at my TV screen. They just downloaded the latest GTA to the server, he says.

Can't even get it on the outside, man. Seriously? I thought it wasn't due out until next year. Is it even done? It's a buggy build, but fun. You've played it? All last night. I should have been sleeping, but my roommate brought home some leftovers from the cafeteria since he works dinner shift, and I was starving, so I ate while I played. I frown. What's wrong?

He asks and steps into my room, closing the door behind him. You feeling all right? Your roommate works here, too. He freezes in place, and I almost think he's having one of those reverse seizures I've seen happen in reenactments on those medical rescue shows on TV. Morgan, you all right? He tries to smile, but fails. Then he looks around the room. Forget I said anything about my roommate, will you?

Sure. Any reason why? We're just not supposed to talk about our personal lives with product. With what? With patience. That's not what you said. You said product. No, I said patience.

Patience. Trust me. And please forget about my roommate. The one that doesn't work in the cafeteria. I say in smile. He flinches. Shit, man, yeah. I'll forget all about it.

I don't want you to get in trouble. Thanks. I appreciate it. He looks around. Should all be fine. Then he smiles at me and opens the door. Have fun with GTA! You want to stick around and play?

On the clock, man. I'll swing by after my shift if I can. That'd be cool. He takes off, and I really hope I haven't gotten him in trouble. Not that I did anything. He's the one who told me about his roommate. But he did come in here because of the GTA build, which is pretty cool. And we wouldn't have even gotten on the subject of his roommate if he wasn't trying to make me happy.

So in a way, it may not be my fault, but it's kind of my responsibility. But, like Morgan said, it should all be fine, whatever it is. I grab my sitting towel, which is just a regular towel I use to sit on the couch with because of the open and the back gown I have to wear. I'm not even allowed boxers. Something about temperature control and avoiding possible bacterial pockets. Comfy on my couch, I fire up the Xbox and try to find the latest GTA on the server. There it is. Damn. It even still says beta in the title. The Conrad Institute has some great connections, that's for sure. I can't even begin to figure out how they got this. I shouldn't be surprised, though. I had to switch two for a while, months before it was released. Then it glitched, and they never gave me a new one. I mean, to get something out of Nintendo early must be like moving mountains. I'm just glad that GTA is multi-platform. And Morgan was right. It's got some issues. I can play for maybe an hour before it randomly crashes,

which means I am basically saving the game all the time, and that's not a fun strategy. Hello, Mr. Sobly. The nurse says as she rolls in a cart into my room. Oh, what's this? The new GTA. GTA? What's that?

Grand Theft Auto. It's a crime video game where, oh, I don't like violent games. I only play games on my phone like puzzle games and word games. Those are fun, too. I pause the game and turn around to see what's on the cart. What's for lunch today? I hope it's the lamb euros again. Those were so good. Ah, nothing quite so tasty today, I'm afraid. She rolls the cart around the couch.

We need to do a little prep work. She lifts the lid off the tray, and my stomach instantly starts to churn. Yellow mush? Again? I ask, staring at the bowl of mustard yellow slop. And it's not the mellow mustard yellow that's got some brown. in it. Oh no. It's the bright, bright yellow like you put on hot dogs. I wish it tasted like that mustard and didn't just look like it. That'd be great. I love mustard. But the taste of this stuff is more like wet cardboard sprinkled with drywall dust. I know, I know, the nurse says.

But we have to make sure your body is as healthy as possible for tomorrow's surgery. I'm having surgery tomorrow? She pauses as she lifts the bowl of yellow mush. Um, Dr. Gabbreet didn't tell you? No. He said I'm looking good. He didn't mention surgery. Well, that was a mistake on his part. I'll speak to him about it.

Does that mean no surgery? No, the surgery is scheduled. She gets moving again and hands me the bowl of yellow mush. Then she hands me a spoon. Eat up, she says and waits. The nurse always waits when it's yellow mush for lunch. I don't know what the stuff does. other than really, really clean me out, if you know what I mean.

But I guess I have to eat the whole bowl for it to be beneficial. Or maybe the nurse is like watching people get tortured. Could be either of those things. So, how's your day going? I ask between spoonfuls, trying to keep my mind off the horrible flavor as salting my taste buds. Fine. Thank you for asking. Just a few more bites. I take two more bites.

What surgery is it? I hope it's not my spleen again. I was nauseous for two weeks after that operation. I can't really say. You can't tell me what surgery I'm having? No, unfortunately. But I'm the one having the surgery. You have to tell me what surgery it is.

That's kind of a big part of HIPAA laws and shit, right? I wouldn't know. I'm not a lawyer. Yeah, but as a nurse, you have to know the law. I'm a private nurse. This is a private institute. I wait for her to continue her explanation. But when I realize she's done, I take a few more bites, then hand her back the ball.

All of it, she says, refusing to take the bowl. There's like two scrapes on the side. Yes, please eat those two scrapes. I eat the two scrapes. She takes the bowl and returns to her cart. As she wheels the cart to the door, I ask. Oh, what's for dinner? She blinks at me, and I quickly realize my mistake.

Yellow mush for lunch means surgery tomorrow. which means no dinner tonight. Sorry. Rain fart. She smiles and opens the door, pushing the cart out into the hallway. Let me the fuck go! Someone shouts out in the hall.

I stand up from the couch and watch as the nurse frantically tries to get the cart out of my room so she can shut the door. But she's hung up on the frame, and I can see Morgan being manhandled down the hall by two security guards. I didn't do anything, man.

I didn't tell the Golden Goose Jack's shit. His eyes meet. mine and they open so wide I'm afraid they'll pop out of his skull. Then just as fast, his whole body goes slack, and the guards are now dragging him. Ah, buck me! I hear him say just as my door closes. That was weird. I should have shouted thanks for the GTA, because the game is the shit, even with the bugs. But they dragged them away too fast. Oh well. Before I can get back to playing GTA, though, the yellow mush is already doing its job. Four hours later, I've only gotten to play about 20 minutes of the game.

The rest of the time has been spent in the bathroom. How are you this evening, Mr. Sobley? A new nurse asks me as she comes in to get my nightly vitals. Thinking I should just pull the trigger and pop the question to the toilet, I reply. We're spending so much time together we might as well be married. I don't think that's legal in this country, she says with a smile, as she studies the bank of monitors on the wall behind my bed, then makes notes on her tablet. No, I guess you can't marry a toilet in the U.S., can you?

Not here either. She freezes, just like Morgan did earlier. What do you mean by not here either? Forget I said anything. Yeah, but the way you said that makes me think we're not in the U.S. Is that true? Any abdominal pain, headaches, joint pains? No, no, and no, but answer my question.

She looks up from her tablet. Mr. Sobley, you are in the Conrad Institute, and that's what matters. I pointed the window. But that's Boston Harbor, right? Boston? No, Mr. Sobley, that's not Boston. And don't ask me any more questions. Save them for Dr. Gabbreet.

I am done here, and you need to get some rest. As you're a nurse for the evening, I am prescribing lights out and a good night's sleep. You'll be up early for surgery. Right. Yeah, sure, of course. Of course. What time is surgery? Early. Oh, okay. Good night, Mr. Sobly. Good night, uh, nurse. When she leaves, she hits the master light switch, and my whole room is plunged into darkness. Even the harbor lights outside are muted by a dense fog. I think about finding the remote and turning the TV on, but if a nurse has hit the master switch, then that means everything is to remain off.

Or someone will come in and just turn it back off, because I need to be. my rest and all that stuff. I'll save them the trouble, and just go ahead and get some sleep. But as the shadows from outside play on the ceiling, I toss and turn, my mind refusing to quiet down. That stuff Morgan said, that stuff the nurse said, Morgan being dragged down the hall, and we may not be in Boston? I really wonder if I should have had a lawyer read all those papers I signed. I mean, I'm sure the Conrad Institute has my best interests at heart. But that was a lot of fine print, and today has been a weird day. I'll remember to mention to Dr. Gabbardt that I want to talk to a lawyer about the papers I signed.

I'm sure he'll be happy to help. I honestly don't know when I drifted off, but when I wake up, I'm not in my room anymore. From the beeps and the smell of disinfectant, I'd say I'm in an operating room. Really, by this point, I'd know those beeps and that smell anywhere. You're sure about this? Of course. The first voice I think I know. The second voice is definitely Dr. Gabbreet.

I mean, internal organs are one thing, Gabreet. But this is completely different. Has the boy let us down yet? Think of everything we've put his body through. Everything we've removed, sliced off, and burned away. All of it has regrown. So far. Yes, so far.

And there is nothing to indicate that this won't work either. But if it doesn't, Then we lose the illusion, Cabritte. The only reason any of this works is because he is a willing, compliant participant in it all. What do you think will happen if this goes wrong? He'll be at our mercy even more. Jesus, Cabrude, I think you forget sometimes that he's a human being. I am currently watching a nurse insert a catheter into his penis.

So, Dr. Lamar, I am very aware he is human. I feel a sharp pain in twitch. Did he wince? Dr. Gabbreet asks. Lamar, how is he awake? You're the damn anesthesiologist. So how the hell is he awake? Take a look at the catheter bag.

He had to piss. His bladder woke him up. You know how his system is. Well, put him back under. I hope he didn't hear. When I wake up again, everything is dark. I can't see a thing.

Not even the shadows on the ceiling from the harbor. Hello? I try to say, but my voice is not much more than a quiet rasp. How long have I been out? No one responds, but I can tell that someone is in my room with me, and I know it's my room, because it smells like my room. I can smell it, hear it, and feel it. I just can't see it. Hello? I say, and my voice is much stronger. Mr. Sobley, you're awake. That's great. It's one of the nurses. I know the voice. I just can't think of the face or name. What's going on?

I croak. Why can't I see anything? These are good questions, and the doctor will answer all of them for you when he gets here. Until then, you should just lay back and relax. Aren't I already doing that? A little more relaxing would be good. Your blood pressure is spiking, and you are starting to sweat. Relax.

Lay back and relax. I am relaxed. There's no need to raise your voice, Mr. Sobly? Oh, yeah? Then stop telling me to relax and lay back. I am as laid back as I can get. There's no more laying back.

And if you want me to relax, then tell me why I can't see anything. You cannot see anything, Mr. Sobly, because your eyes are completely covered in bandages. So well covered that not even a photon can slip under all that gauze and tape unless I want it to. Dr. Gabbard, finally, some answers. Then I pause. Wait? Photons? Like in Star Trek? Much different than that, Mr. Sobly. Now, let's see how things are going here.

I feel a tugging on the bandages over my eyes. Nurse, dim the lights to a third, please? Yes, doctor. I have no idea if the lights are dimmed or not. All I know is that in half a second, the corner of the bandage over my left eye lifts up, and I swear to God, every angel in heaven is suddenly trying to kill me with their brilliance. In other words, it's beyond bright and beyond painful. Ow! Stop! Stop!

I cry, closing my eyes shut as tight as I can. What the hell? Turn the light off. Get it out of my face! Nurse, dim the lights completely. Yes, doctor. The pain seeping in around my eyelid eases, but not by much. Mr. Sobley, can you open your eye for me? No fucking way. Mr. Sobley, the lights are completely off.

bullshit they are I can tell through my lid no the lights are off but you're telling me you can still see light yeah a lot of light nurse close the blinds the pain lowers a little more how is that still light could it be the monitors on the machines doctor the nurse asks it must be since everything else is off or covered dr. Cabritte replies fetch some towels and let's cover them over as well. Hey, Dr. Gubreed? I asked.

Yes, Mr. Sobley. What's going on? We are trying to make you comfortable so I can conduct a post-surgical examination. Of my eyes. Correct. You did surgery on my eyes? Correct. Why?

They needed it. But I don't remember having any problems with my eyes. You didn't, yet. But I got ahead of any future problems. That's good, I suppose. Very good. The light leaking through my lid disappears. How's that? The nurse asks. A lot better. Thanks. Let's try opening that eye again, Mr. Sobly.

I do, and the world is so bright that it's almost like day, but different. Mostly, it's the shadows that are different, sharper, better defined. I would check your dilation with the penlight. but that may be too much for you to handle. Dr. Gabbreet says. No shit, I say as I'm dazzled by the darkness. May I uncover your other eye, Mr. Sobly? Do you feel like you can handle that?

Yeah, sure. It's like going from mono to surround sound, only with vision, when Dr. Gabreet removes the bandages from my other eye. It's like I'm looking at everything for the first time. Is it? Interesting. Dr. Gabreet says,

and goes to make a note on his tablet. When the screen lights up, I scream and clap my hands over my face. Sorry, sorry, he says and presses the tablet to his chest. Better? Yeah, thanks. It appears you will suffer some discomfort, but it should only last a short while now that your eyes are uncovered and adjusting. I hope they adjust.

No one wants to live in the dark like Gallum. So true, Mr. Sogley. He starts to pull his tablet back and I squeak. Sorry, I'll make notes in the bathroom. He walks away and steps into my bathroom, thankfully turning the light on after the door is closed. But even the sliver of light coming from underneath is almost too much. A nurse stands over by my couch.

Hi, I say. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Oh, okay, sorry. She shrugs. When Dr. Gabriot returns with his tablet off, I wait for him to start in with a... explanation. Well, everything looks splendid. I've put in an order for complete darkness just for today. Tomorrow, we'll add 5% and see how you do. Then continue increasing until you're back

to normal. That's it. That's quite a lot, don't you think, Mr. Sobly? So, so no explanation? About? My eyes! Your eyes are healing great, Mr. Sobly. There's nothing else to explain. Then he leaves. The nurse shrugs again and leaves, too. I don't see Dr. Gabbreet for four days. When he returns, he's almost giddy. Mr. Sobley! What a wonderful morning, don't you think?

Well, I can watch TV without screaming in pain, so yeah, it ain't too bad. Wonderful, wonderful! A nurse wheels in a portable x-ray machine. I know exactly what those look like. Although they tell me to stop calling it an x-ray machine, since it's something way more than that, an all-in-one scanner or whatever.

The Conrad Institute does love its gadgets. Can't you see my eyes fine without that thing? Ha, ha, that's funny, Mr. Sobley. No, no, just checking on your lungs. Still, no shortness of breath, correct? Shortness of patience, maybe. You are a riot this morning, Mr. Sobley. But how about the breath?

No shortness. That's what I like to hear. The nurse does her thing and scans me up and down. Dr. Gabbreet does his thing and reads the results on his tablet. I don't even have to get out of bed for any of it, which is kind of my thing. Wonderful, Dr. Gabreet mutters. Simply wonderful. I'm all healthy?

As a horse. Cool. Then I was thinking maybe it's time for me to go home. Dr. Gabreet smiles but doesn't look up from his tablet. Did you hear me? I'd like to go home now. We've discussed this before, Mr. Sobly. You need care.

You just said I'm healthy as a horse. Do you know much about horses, Mr. Sobly? Not really. They seem healthy because they are so big and powerful. But in reality, they die quite easily from the most mundane things. Healthy as a horse is not healthy as a human being. Okay. So when will I be healthy as a human being?

We don't know, Mr. Sobly. We just don't know. He looks up and fixes his eyes on me. Don't we hear at the Conrad Institute take great care of you, Mr. Sobly? When he doesn't say anything else, I realize he's waiting for an answer. Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Well, yeah.

You guys do take great care of. And we've saved your life many times? Uh, I don't really know. Exactly. It's been so many times that you have lost count. That's not exactly. exactly what I meant, but okay. Mr. Sobley, you signed an agreement with the Conrad Institute. That agreement allows us to benefit from the data your situation provides while treating you free of charge.

Can I see that agreement? What? The agreement I signed, I say in point at his tablet. I bet you can bring it up on that. I'd like to read it again. Oh, uh, no, my tablet doesn't connect to administrative records. Only medical records. But with HIPAA, shouldn't you have access to? I'll have someone from Legal come by later this afternoon and talk to you about it. How does that sound? This afternoon? Why not now?

Legal is very busy. I bet they are if you're pulling this kind of shit all the time. Dr. Gabbreet's smile falls away. He licks his lips as he glances at the nurse. She quickly finishes up and rolls the X-ray machine out of my room. When she's gone, Dr. Gabbreet moves in close, so he's standing. directly over me. Millions is what you would owe, Mr. Sobley.

What do you mean? Your agreement defers the costs. Remember that. Then he leaves, just walks out. There's yellow mush for lunch. What are they cutting out now? I snap at the nurse. It's the shrugging nurse, and she doesn't reply.

Just shrugs. I don't argue. I eat the yellow mush. I'll take my frustrations out on legal when they show up. They don't show up. I'd like to talk to legal before the next surgery. I say to Dr. Gubreet, as he comes into my room for one last checkup. You said you'd send them.

They are so busy. He says and types in his tablet. What's tomorrow's surgery going to be? Brain surgery. Can I remove that need to ask so many questions? He laughs long and hard as he leaves. I have no problem going to sleep. I also don't remember going to sleep.

Did they give me something extra? He's waking up again, someone says. Maybe that Dr. Lamar guy again sounds like him. It's amazing what his metabolism does. It's amazing what his entire body does. To be able to regrow any body part is a miracle. Do you remember when our scouts found him and brought him here? His body had disconnected from his diseased liver

and was regrowing a new one on its own. On its own! He probably didn't need to go to the ER that night and would have been just fine. but between the reabsorption of the old material and the growth of the new liver, he must have been in some serious discomfort. How lucky for us he was, yes? I'm lucky for the Conrad Institute's bottom line.

Did you hear we got four million for his eyes alone? Six. Six? Really? Damn. That makes me even a little more worried about doing this. We can't afford for anything to go wrong. Are you sure about this surgery?

Yes. He's asking to me. many questions. We've stress tested his lungs, and they can handle being run by a machine indefinitely. His body thrives on the yellow nutrient slurry. We'll just take out the laxative properties, and his regenerative abilities don't require active thought, so there's really no need for him to be awake ever again. Well, considering how much of his brain you're about to remove, there won't be a lot of active thinking even if he is awake. He's about to be one pliable little cash cow. That's the point.

"'Cabbers what?' I mumbled. "'Eh!' "'Please sedate him fully again, Dr. Lamar. "'Double it this time. "'Already on it. "'Hold on. "'My brain!'

"'Dr. Gabbreet's face appears right over mine. "'Just relax, Mr. Sobley. "'After tonight's surgery, "'you won't ask any more of those pesky questions ever again. "'How freeing will that be?' "'I want to reply, "'but whatever Dr. Lamar is doing "'kicks in,

and my tongue turns to lead as I feel my consciousness drifting away. He may stay awake a few seconds more, but he can't feel any pain, Dr. Lamar says. You can get to work. Wonderful. Dr. Gabriot responds. Nurse, cranial saw, please. Oh, did you hear the Institute found a woman whose blood becomes the exact type of patient needs, no matter what their own blood type is?

I did hear that. How wonderful. Can't wait to study her data. I'm sure some of our clients are salivating over that potential. You know it. All right, let's get started. The last thing I hear is the whirring of a blade.