I woke from troubled dreams to see Larry, standing next to a teenage boy—my mom. No, not my mom anymore. My son. My son, David, a teenage boy. Not me. Not me ever again.
I tried to stir. My body felt bizarre. Was this is? I was a middle-aged woman now?
"Cathy, we've had some complications on your end of the surgery. David, your son, is absolutely fine." The new David grinned. "Your body, Cathy, on the other hand, did not take to the operation. Your brain has developed a defensive, quasi-allergic reaction. Based on our trials, this indicates you cannot remain in any body for very long. This condition is rare and incurable."
"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?" I shrieked.
"In about a week, we will need to put you in another body, and again the week after that, and so on, for the rest of your life."
"What other bodies do you even have?"
"We're scrambling to deal with this. Obviously this isn't ideal. We will have to find an ongoing supply. We won't be able to be picky about this. But we'll make it work. Please return a week from today to receive your new body. In the meantime, enjoy your mom's body. Remember, your name is Cathy now!"