A Mile In Someone's Shoes

*This story includes strong language, and includes themes of panic and being trapped*

“Are you ready? We have everything set for the procedure.”

I looked down at the pamphlet in my hands, then back up at the nurse. “Sure, just give me a few minutes to pump myself up.”

She flashed me a clinical smile. “That’s fine. I know it’s an intimidating decision, and the ECT program isn’t for everyone. You take your time, and be sure it’s what you want.” 

The nurse bustled out the door and down the hall, her non-skid shoes squeaking as she walked. Left in the sterile white room alone, I looked back down at my pamphlet on ECT, or Empathic Core Training. 

The front of the pamphlet pictured a young woman standing next to an older woman in a wheelchair. Both were beaming with perfectly straight teeth in their perfectly symmetrical mouths. Their outfits complimented the background color of the brochure, which was most certainly on purpose. Above their heads read:

“ECT: Helping Caregivers Gain Insight and Understanding Through Cutting-Edge Technology.”

I opened the pamphlet to review the information, making certain I hadn’t missed any details. Temporarily swapping bodies with my brother, who had been quadriplegic and nonverbal since the accident 8 years ago, had seemed like the miracle answer I’d been searching for. I desperately wanted to understand what he was going through, so that I could provide the best level of care as his primary caregiver. The ECT program offered such insight, medically placing my consciousness within my brother’s body, and his in mine, for a short and predetermined amount of time. 

But now, holding the proverbial key to my brother’s mind in my hands, I grew nervous. The program was in its infancy, still in clinical trials. The parent company, A.M.I.S.S. (A Mile In Someone’s Shoes), was relying heavily on these trials being successful in order to take the new technology public. 

But what if something went wrong?

I shook my head as if to force out the anxiety. You’re being silly, I thought. They have every reason to take extra precautions. It’s perfectly safe.

Gaining my resolve, I stuck my head out of the exam room and called the nurse. 

“I’m ready,” I stated with a quivering voice.

The nurse nodded her head and led me to the procedure room, where my brother was already prepped and waiting in a hospital bed. The nurse pointed to the bed next to him, and instructed me to lie down.

 I looked at my brother, who looked back at me, his eyes able to move when the rest of him couldn’t. He was still in there, even if he couldn’t speak. And I wanted to understand what was trapped underneath those glances.

The nurse walked over with a hospital table, and placed a small button in the middle of the tray. She pulled wires from either side of the button’s base, and attached the wires to both of us using circular nodules on our temples. 

She pointed to the button, looking at me, and blatantly ignoring my brother. “When you’re ready to begin the procedure, simply push the button. When you are ready to end the procedure, push the button one more time, and you will both be back in your original bodies.” 

She motioned to the clock hanging above the doorway. “Since we are still in clinical trials, and this is your first time using the program, we are recommending you only stay outside of your original bodies for 5 minutes. We will gradually increase this time over the course of several visits.”

The nurse walked toward the door. “I will give you time alone, and you will be in control of the entire procedure. We give you privacy, as the ECT can be a very vulnerable, emotional experience. You can speak with a counselor afterward for debriefing, if you prefer. Just keep an eye on that clock! I will remind you to switch back after 5 minutes using an intercom system just outside the room. Call for me once you have pushed the button a second time and switched back.”

She then left abruptly, her rehearsed rhetoric having been delivered. I looked over at my brother, who’s eyes had not left me since I’d entered the room. “Here goes,” I said to him, and I leaned over and pressed the button. 

The room suddenly began to spin and my vision blurred. A deafening rush filled my ears, as if I were standing underneath a waterfall. I closed my eyes and waited for the intense sensations to dissipate. When I opened them again, I found myself within a body I couldn’t control, looking back at myself. 

“FINALLY!” cried my brother, using my mouth and my voice. “I thought you’d NEVER push that stupid fucking button!” He hopped off the bed, careful to not pull at the wires attached to his head. Walking over to me, he looked up and down at his dilapidated form. 

“Man, I was a fuckin’ wreck! My arms and legs got all skinny. It feels so good to stretch! I’ve missed this.”

I followed him with my eyes, feeling increasingly trapped inside this prison known as his body. It had only been a few minutes, and already I felt a deeper appreciation for what he had been going through all this time. I was glad that the procedure was only for 5 minutes, and if I were honest with myself, I didn’t plan on returning for future appointments. 

My brother sat back down on the edge of the bed, and it felt as though I were looking in a mirror that I couldn’t control. He made eye contact with me.

“I want you to know, that I know you did the best you could for me. It couldn’t have been easy to take me on, or to give up so much of your life for me. And I love you for that.” He drew in a deep breath. “That being said, fuck you.”

My anxiety rose and a sense of dread crept up within me. Where’s he going with this? Isn’t it time yet to push the button and switch back?

“You see,” he continued as he reveled in experimenting with the inflections of my vocal cords, “I’ve been trapped in a corpse for 8 years. 8 YEARS. I’ve been dead, but alive. And you could have ended it for me. I BEGGED you to end it for me, screaming when no one would ever hear me.”

He leaned in closely, whispering, “That’s why we aren’t switching back.”

Panic set in, and was multiplied by my inability to move or speak out. NO! I shouted, but nothing came out. This can’t be happening, surely the nurse will notice. There are safeguards in place, after all. Just push the button. You HAVE to push the button!”

My brother leaned back in the bed, his consciousness resting comfortably in my able-bodied brain. “Don’t worry though,” he cooed with a sickeningly reassuring voice. My voice. “I won’t let you suffer, like you let me suffer. When we get home, I’ll set you free….like you should have done for me. Everyone knows my heart is weak, so there’ll be no questions when it stops beating.”

He looked toward the door, then back at me, then at the button. Without lifting a finger, he loudly called to the nurse, “I’ve pushed the button and we’re ready!”

Please don’t do this, I pleaded internally, every part of my mind screaming in horror. 

The nurse came back in, looked at my brother, who wore my facade, looked at me as I frantically searched for a way to speak with my eyes, then handed him a clipboard. 

“Sign here, and be back in two weeks for the second round.”

As my brother pushed the wheelchair out of the hospital, he smiled and waved at the nurse. “Thanks for everything!” he called. He began the arduous task of loading me into the specialized wheelchair van. 

“Don’t worry,” he said as he hooked up the harness. “You won’t have to suffer this indignity more than once.”

He hopped in the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirror to meet my eyes. “Now let’s get you home.”

I met my own eyes one last time before he pulled away, chauffeuring me to the end of both of our suffering.