From thereon in, things were a bit of a blur. Dillon could hardly believe it was all actually happening. He had waited for so long. He’d hoped and wished, wondered and imagined, but it had always seemed like such a long way away. It was almost as if it was going to happen to someone else.

But here he was in a hospital bed in Melbourne. An IV drip was attached to his arm. An anaesthesiologist came to visit, and nurses fussed over him, testing his blood pressure and heart rate. And everyone asked him his name and date of birth, checking it against their forms and the plastic band that had been attached to his wrist.

I guess they want to make sure they put the right organ into the right person, he thought. Have they ever got it wrong? But the question just scared him, so he tried to push it away.

And then he was in the operating theatre, everyone gathered around, his mum holding his hand.

‘What time is it?’ asked Dillon.

‘Eight-thirty,’ answered Mum. ‘Why?’

‘Just curious.’

‘Strawberry, mint or cola?’ asked the anaesthesiologist.

‘Huh?’ Dillon looked confused.

The anaesthesiologist held up a mask. ‘I can put an insert in the anaesthetic mask,’ she explained. ‘You have a choice of flavours. Or nothing at all, if you’d prefer.’

‘Oh,’ said Dillon. ‘Cola, I suppose.’

Dillon wondered if she had meant smell rather than flavour. And then it suddenly occurred to him that someone must have died in order for him to get his new liver.

He’d always known that would be the case, but this was the first time he had ever really thought about what it meant. It came as a shock. He had spent all this time worrying about his own situation and now he realised that there was someone in a much worse position. A real person. Someone who had passed away. And doctors were going to take that person’s liver out of their body and put it into his. This person’s death is what would be saving his life.

Who was that person?

How did this person die?

Is it a kid like me? Or someone older? Would an older liver last as long as a young one? Would a grown-up liver even fit into my body?

Is it a boy or a girl? Are girl livers the same? Does it make a difference?

Whoever it was would have had family and friends – people upset at their death. He was curious to know how they felt about a part of a person they cared deeply for being put into someone else’s body.

His body.

He would have a piece of another person inside of him. In a way, that dead person would live on. Sort of. Through him.

He had a sudden urge to know who that person was.

‘Excuse me,’ he said to the nurse. ‘Who did my liver belong to?’

The nurse looked confused.

‘My new liver,’ Dillon explained. ‘Who did it belong to? What was the person’s name?’

‘Oh,’ said the nurse. ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s against policy to give out any information about the donor,’ said Doc J. ‘All I can really do is assure you that the liver is healthy and a good match for you.’

Dillon wanted to know why it was against policy, but he didn’t get the chance to ask.

‘I’m going to put the mask on now,’ said the anaesthesiologist. ‘Start counting backwards from one hundred and see how far you can get.’

‘I’ll be right here with you till you’re asleep,’ said Mum, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘And both Dad and I will be waiting for you when you wake up.’

‘One hundred. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight.’ Dillon started counting. ‘Ninety-seven …’

What would happen to his own liver? No one would want it, surely, because it didn’t work properly.

‘Ninety-six …’

Will they throw it out?

‘Ninety-five …’

He imagined the blood-soaked liver being tossed into a wastepaper basket.

‘Ninety-four …’

Or maybe I can take it home with me?

‘Ninety-four …’

He imagined it in a jar, floating in liquid, sitting on his desk at home, where he could watch it while he did his homework every afternoon.

‘Ninety-four …’

He realised everything was blurry. And all the voices were muffled.

‘Ninety-five …’

His mouth tasted of cola.

‘Ninety …’

What number am I up to?

‘Nine …’