Suicide Med

by Freida McFadden

“How could we though?” Petrov asks. “If this brain is an entity separate from you with its own thoughts, we’d need its informed consent to do such a drastic procedure. And of course, an eye can’t give consent. So you see our dilemma.” “Why does he have to give consent?” I ask. “Abortion is legal, isn’t it? And the fetus doesn’t have to give consent.” “I’d say that this brain tissue is far more intelligent than a fetus,” Petrov says thoughtfully. “I’d say it’s at least as intelligent as a toddler.”

Why should I help him? Nobody ever helped me.

I was twenty-two years old the first time. In retrospect, that seems incredibly young. So young that it’s surprising that I was even allowed to go out and live on my own and pay bills and make important life decisions. I was incredibly stupid at twenty-two. Well, no more stupid than the average twenty-two-year-old, but you lack judgment at that age. Perhaps the frontal lobe isn’t fully myelinated yet.

Truth