Regeneration X (14 page)

“Let’s wait and see. We’ll figure it out.”

April 8, 2025

I have the distinct impression my Renovation was a ‘project’ in Michael’s eyes. It was a personal choice, but he carries on as if it’s the end of an issue.

Before it all happened he was uber supportive and I was thankful for it—and still am. I knew he was thinking, “If you love something, set it free. If it returns …” and acting in his usual ‘everything is fine’ way. I can’t say I was completely aware of the repercussions the procedure would have on us, but I should have trusted my instinct and been more wary.
 

Anyway, his concept of free seems to mean standing aside while I make my career choices—as if they have nothing to do with him. And I don’t think in a situation like this a person can ‘return.’ At least not to the way things were. What would be the point?

I get it, but I does he?

I’m not sure yet what it means for us if he decides to remain his natural age. After all, he’s 55, soon to be 56. To my new world, I’m likely viewed as his youngest daughter and this bothers me. Ugh, if I really was 17, it would be unthinkable.
 

Other than looking like a very questionable couple, or father and daughter (even grosser), the added twist to this whole business is that we have very different plans for the future. The future in my head is completely reconfigured now that I’m actually here. It’s filled with hopeful new adventures, while Michael’s, on the other hand, is no different than it is now or, how it was even before my transformation.

It actually makes much more sense now why they require psychiatric evaluation beforehand: tell significant others, consider the consequences … They really ought to have a post-regeneration support group for significant others.

As if the actual effects aren’t enough for me to deal with.

To people other than those in my close circle, what I got done appears as any anti-aging procedure would. I do not look like a crazy plastic lady made to appear more like a cat than a person; my skin and features were not stretched, repositioned, or augmented. No temporary fillers, or anything of this nature, were used. Apart from Michael, others cannot
see
that I
feel
younger too.

This said, since my physical appearance is all the rest of the world sees, I struggle with the impression my choice to regenerate leaves when I meet people I know, who I see for the first time since CR. I didn’t even think how I would respond when someone said, “Wow! You look amazing,” which was a response I’d received quite often at the beginning and less frequently now. It unnerves me. I was never the object of such as remark when I was actually 17, so I know it is the miracle of the procedure they are referring to, and not that I am all of a sudden a striking beauty. I didn’t consciously choose Renovation for cosmetic reasons, but without explaining it in detail, a little nip here, tuck there, and
oomph
everywhere is exactly what’s perceived.

The first reintroductions with my family and friends were fine. I wasn’t self-conscious, nor did I feel defensive, but it was impossible not to be so around others who naturally assumed I had other reasons for the Renovation procedure—like colleagues or anyone who was accustomed to seeing me around. People undergo elective procedures for many reasons, and if not for how they appear to others, than mainly for a boost in self-confidence. My reasons were neither of these and nevertheless I cringe a bit inside as I say, “Thank you,” when complimented. Every time it happens, I come home and ironically stare at myself in the mirror, hoping to take away the same rejuvenating feeling of freedom I’d felt the first time I’d fully realized my new-found youth.
I am helpless no longer
, has become my mantra.

Even Dr. Baum remarked on my optimistic outlook. Of course, he cautioned me to remain self-aware. “Charley, CR might provoke action on your part and give you motivation, but you will need to be mindful of yourself. Do not imagine everything will be resolved with a change in biology, least of all your mind and the way it works.”

“I know. This is why, although we’ve agreed I’m not clinically depressed, I wonder if we should continue our sessions anyway. I don’t want to waste your time when you could be helping others, but I would really appreciate your guidance for a while yet.”

“I advise we continue, but it’s up to you. As for others, if my calendar begins to fill up to the point I’m driven to seek treatment for myself, I will start cancelling our appointments as a sign to you,” he said with a smile. “How about we cross that bridge then?”

“You have the best plans. I can do my part to keep your calendar clear enough. I promise not to refer anyone to you,” I joked back. “Speaking of anyone, I suppose it’s quite normal to feel defensive after CR?”

“You will have to elaborate. You, as I’ve mentioned before have a tendency to over analyze. So normalcy depends on the person.”
 

 
“I mean, I can’t stand it when people compliment me, and it’s because of the procedure.”

“People do not typically think deeply when making cursory comments. If someone were to praise what you were wearing on a particular day, would you analyze this as the clothes being the true recipient of the compliment?”

“Probably, if they specifically said ‘that dress’ or something,” I shrugged. “Then again, I’ve received a related comment once. A woman said to me, ‘I like your style,’ and I took pride in having chosen the outfit in the first place. But you’re right. I take words for truth because of my work. It’s a habit. But what I really meant is people are reacting to how I look and this is not why I did it. This is what bothers me.”

“Consider how familiar you are with Renovation as a concept compared to others. And if you accept that no one knows your thought processes, then how could they comprehend your reasons? Expecting people to react knowingly to your choice would be expecting them to be equally knowledgeable and psychic. I would bet no one who actually knows you has remarked with admiration of your looks.”

“I think you’ll have to mark an hour off every week in your calendar until I die,” I grimaced.

・ ・ ・

Other than these adjustments, not much has changed in my every-day. I’d gone from boredom to fascination, to the beginning stages of impatience—primarily because Michael carries on as if nothing has changed. As I mentioned, he has not regenerated, let alone decided whether he will.

When I first showed interest in CR, he mentioned in passing, “I understand why you find it appealing. For myself I don’t know if I could or would. I can’t say I regret any of my past choices and I definitely wouldn’t want to re-live my youth. It’s extraordinary you have the drive to do it all again. I’m proud of you for not giving in.”

I’ve also wondered since then if he has cast it aside if it’s because Renovation is an elective procedure and men are still less likely, in general, to consider cosmetic surgery. I know I made it clear there are many other ways CR could be useful, but if he didn’t think those reasons applied to him, or if he felt the same as he’d expressed before, I don’t know.

Chapter Twelve

And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?

No more can I be sever’d from your side,

Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:

Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;

—William Shakespeare,
King Henry VI (4.5)

・
・
・

BEFORE RENOVATION I THOUGHT I WOULD ENROLL in a degree-seeking program close to home, but afterward this seemed like a half-assed way to go about it. So, to start with, the revised agenda is to move to California or, preferably, Europe and retrace my past detours (or regrets) to get to the core of what I think would be personal fulfillment. At least this would reverse the first detour I’d taken—my location of residence. You might say I was given an inch, but my new intentions included the mile.

The first choice, besides undergoing CR, complicated matters quickly. You see, other than sending in my applications, there were no further steps of preparation I could take. Since I’ve been the house secretary for as long as we’ve been married, it’s somewhat hard
not
to feel anxious about unresolved logistics, such as the house, mortgage, employment, and finances. The revised path halted planning on this end, because these mundanities are still not my biggest concern. Unless I haven’t stated the obvious, the
arrangements
depended upon whether it would be
me
or
we
. The we meant Michael would have to take a sabbatical or we’d have to jointly consider something more dramatic, like uproot our life from here and re-establish it somewhere else. The other almost incomprehensible solution is I would go and he would remain in Seattle, at least until we figured out another way to make the situation work. I am waiting for Michael to decide and from there we will take the next steps, even if they are in the opposite direction. (If the latter is to be the case, I pray it will only be for a little while.)

Aside from the relocation aspects, there is our obvious age difference. It had taken a long while for me to think things through and decide to undergo CR. He’s had as much time as me to get used to the idea—and then there were my post Renovation months. I hoped my experience would be a shortcut toward his decision. But while I wait to hear from King James University, Edinburgh; University of California, Berkeley (UCB); the London School of Performing and Liberal Arts (LSPLA); and the other 3 schools I applied to, he is still deciding his long-term future and whether the short term would be with or without me.

Regardless, I have to decide my future, with or without
him
. So far, we’ve had a fairly good marriage, only I think there should be a difference between existing and thriving. We love one another, but perhaps it’s more out of comfort than actually making the conscious choice to be together, I often wonder now. For years, we’ve been slowly growing apart. There are feelings we don't share, ideas we are afraid to bring up, and a routine of living separately, but together. If the upstairs had a kitchen, I would rarely see him, except for at bedtime. We share the same bed, but this, too, is more of a co-existence. We watch a movie or show together now and again, or go out to dinner once in a while. It’s obvious to me and I want him to regenerate just so he could see it can’t remain this way for another few decades—here, in California, Europe, or anywhere—assuming we both live that long. I think deep down he knows this about us, but putting it all together would become clearer after he regenerated. He’s taking his time, though, and to put it mildly, I’m getting antsy.

“Charley,” Michael’s voice projected down from the top of the stairs, “I’ve a meeting with Dean Haydn in 20 minutes and won’t be home ‘til around 6, can you fix dinner tonight?”

“Sure. Any idea what you’re in the mood for? Something light or comfort food-ish?” I say loudly back.

Speedily walking down the stairs with his beat-up brown leather backpack slung across one shoulder, he rambles out, “Running late. I skipped breakfast, so I’d look forward to anything, really.” Fergus lumbers down the stairs beside him. “Right now all I can think is something filling would suffice.”
 

Coming toward me he glanced up briefly and gathered his things off the kitchen counter, also grabbing a banana and a handful of almonds. Turning away, he heads toward the door, stopping in front of the hall closet to consider his outerwear options. Crouching down to the beastie underfoot, he musses Fergus’s hairy face. “Shaggy, you need a bath,” he says before finally choosing a dapper navy-blue wool sport coat and brown plaid scarf. Putting on his paperboy-like cap, he waves at me and says, “Gotta go, see you later,” ever so casually without actually saying “bye” on his way out.

“Fergus, you receive a more affectionate farewell than I do nowadays.” Fergus looks back at me and tilts his head to the side as if you say, “Huh? Did you say something?”

Granted he was in a hurry, as much as he ever hurried, but Michael’s nonchalant, or rather, avoidance of the bigger issues was getting old. The evening will bring no further progress; we would sit across from one another over dinner and talk about the dog, the house, the car … all meaningless crap. Scratch that. We, I, love love our gorilla baby; talking about him wasn’t chatter.

“Is there a hundred-pound beastie in the room? Why yes, there is!” I announce to no one as I scratch Fergus’ chin through his beard. I scrunched up my face and kissed the top of his prominent, black nose. “Mooah.”

Comfort food it is. I start cutting up all the veggies for a hearty stew, set it all cooking in our essential slow-cooker, grab my coffee, and head up toward my office. “Topping, what?” I say randomly practicing a haughty British idiom. I talk to myself quite a bit working from home. Sometimes six to eight hours would go by each day without my having uttered a word aloud, let alone having actually addressed someone.

April 25, 2025

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. There is a brick wall, and it’s either invisible to him or he’s walking around it.
 

I could talk to Dr. Baum about it, but again I can’t see how it would help. Dr. B. can’t make anything actually happen, especially not with Michael. It’s always going to be about changing my perspective of the situation to better deal with it. Not saying that’s not useful, but …
 

Just when I feel I have some sense of control over my life, it is months and months of waiting for someone else to give me permission to feel happy and excited. Every new change in my physical existence is only a spark—it flashes and burns out. It’s nice, but I don’t care!

I thought I’d quit my job right after CR, but the first day home I realized this would be premature without plans set in place; it kind of feels like I’ve fallen into the same trap.

It’s the waiting game and the wait is long.

Why is it so hard to talk about feelings with someone who’s supposed to be as close to you as can be? It doesn’t help that I haven’t gotten any response from schools yet … probably hear something within the next couple of weeks.