Did you hear the one about the guy who is spending $50,000 to clone his dog? Would I lie to you? This fellow believes his dog is so outstanding that she is worth repeating, so that’s what he plans to do. If I had $50,000 to burn, I’d put the money toward travel or a place in the country or even leukemia research.
His plan has given me a really good idea, though. No, I don’t plan to clone Jelly. I’m not an idiot. Why would I want another counter-surfing, sidewalk-scrounging, off-leashing-in-the-house ill-behaved but loveable dog? I can think of much better ways to squander my precious funds. Rather, I was thinking, why not clone myself?
My insight stemmed from yesterday’s unexpected preoccupation with dying. My Cancer Centre appointment was cancelled, but I still had to drop by to pick up my chemotherapy refill. (Notice I didn’t have the drugs mailed this month? One-trial–or is that one-disaster?–learning.)
When I was newly diagnosed with leukemia, each visit to the Cancer Centre reminded me of how sick I was. These days, I can enter the building unscathed, except when I can’t. Yesterday was a scathed day, for whatever reason. Everyone looked so ill, and although some of these people need to get sick in order to heal–the irony of cancer treatment–I couldn’t seem to focus on that.
For whatever reason, when I entered that building yesterday, l felt like I was facing cancer for the very first time. These days don’t come often, surprisingly, since denial of the seriousness of my illness squelches most morbid thoughts before they surface.
To distract myself from my fear, I arrived at the perfect diversion. I figured, if this dog can come back as a dog created in her likeness, why can’t I? Maybe I wouldn’t be quite so scared of dying if I didn’t really have to die after all. I too could harvest some cells and create a mini me. If I get right on it, I could even raise her, molding her into my likeness. Who could be easier to parent than a little person just like me? I’m sure my mom would agree.
But I’m going to need some time to raise funds for this procedure. $50,000 will require over four years of my disability income, in fact. Do I have four years left? Who knows? So I’ve decided on another fundraising approach and created a GoFundMe account. Is this not perfect? Donate your hard-earned cash to go fund the re-creation of me and I will exist for perpetuity. If the donations exceed the $50,000 required, I’ll put the overflow toward the cloning of my clone.
Why have all those longevity researchers failed to come up with this most obvious solution? Cloning would be so much easier than adhering to a crazy calorie-restriction diet.
Let’s skip the whole nature-nurture curve ball for now. I’ve always wanted children, and I know this one would be perfect. Of course my clone will grow up to be just like me, perhaps even a better version, nurture be darned. I’ll see to that.