For those who dream the impossible

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By Gora Shade

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100% written by a human, for humans

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Doctor Genene Evans watched the bio printer buzz to life. The metallic arms began the delicate work of assembling raw organic materials into the world’s first 3D-printed human limb. In this case: a human hand. A left hand. The left hand of Grayson Bahdee, her lover. More than a simple organ, this experiment had the potential to help countless people and launch the name Genene Evans into the history—Nobel history—books.

If it worked.

“It will,” Genene said aloud, as was her custom when working in the lab alone. She adjusted her thick glasses and smoothed out her skirt with excited strokes. “It has to.”

The accident had left Grayson feeling depressed and inadequate. When they made love, he’d forget his fingers were no longer there, bringing him out of the moment, unable to touch her—love her—like he once had. His confidence had shattered. Passionate evenings of unrestrained physical bliss were now a thing of the past. Touch was few and far between, although the love was there. No matter how often Genene told him the physical change made no difference in her mind, no matter how often she kissed the stump of his wrist, she could find no antidote to his melancholy.

Now it was different. Three years later she had the knowledge, the funding, and the equipment in her own private facility. Most important of all, she had Grayson’s stem cells and tissue samples, donated at her request, in case somehow, sometime, the technology might exist to make him whole again. This was the kind of project Genene lived for. The only project she lived for. It was groundbreaking and mad. She’d surprise Grayson and the world. Grayson would wake up to the call that—yes—if he wanted a new hand, Genene would his perfect genetic match. It was a gift for him as much as for herself to make both of them whole.

She tapped a few keys on the computer, double checked her settings, the cables, even dust around the lab tables. All the time and energy she’d spent had come down to this moment. The coffee pot was off, her giant mug was empty, and everything looked perfect. The hardest part was the wait. Her toes inside her flat-soled shoes wiggled. She ground her teeth back and forth. She even began to bite her nails as she watched the machine work, mesmerized by its repeated motions as it built Grayson’s replica in life sustaining liquid. The steady beep and whizz, mixed with the automatic late night power down of the lab’s brilliant LEDs, was the lullaby pushing her over the edge of exhaustion in the chair she sat in.

Dreaming was sweet: a cozy, fluffy blanket, the soft mound of her pillow, the warm familiar touch of Grayson moving next to her. These were true comforts. But the bed was too...

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