Microstory 2539: Fareweller

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I’m the last stop on this wild ride that we call a once-in-a-lifetime miracle cure. Unlike the Greeter, my job is exactly what it sounds like. There’s a tiny bit more to it, but mostly, I just smile and wave goodbye. Most of the time, the questions I get are about where the restrooms are, how to get back to where they parked, how to get back on the highway, and the like. I make sure that they didn’t forget anything in the waiting rooms too. It doesn’t happen often, because the Guides and Queuers are watching for those types of things, but it happens; people lose stuff. Usually, they don’t even care, because they’ve just been cured, but I have to do my due diligence. There’s also one important duty that doesn’t sound like something that should be necessary, and maybe it isn’t, but I’m there, so I might as well. I always ask them if they expected Landis to breathe on them, and if he did. I know, it seems redundant, and I’ve never run into any issue, but it’s a chaotic place. It wouldn’t be impossible for someone to get confused, and wander to the exit when they ought to be looking for the entrance. It’s impossible to get through the Settlement area without paying or being paid, but if you haven’t entered the healing room yet, you absolutely could subvert the entire process. For most people, even if this does happen, they’re gonna see that EXIT sign, and realize that something went wrong. We do have patients with memory and mind problems, however, and they could get lost. Again, the Guides and Queuers are there to wrangle people into the right places, but the system isn’t perfect. This is also a great question for people to hear if they have complaints. It offers them the opportunity to air their grievances, without me first pestering them for feedback, or implying that there should be something for them to complain about. “Were you expecting Landis Tipton to breathe on you, and if so, did he?” // “Well, he did, but he also accidentally spit on my face a little, and I don’t like that.” There’s not really anything that I can do about it, but perhaps send it as feedback through the proper channels, but the biggest reason is to make sure that these people are feeling seen and heard. It’s our last chance to provide them with a quality experience, so we don’t want to miss anything. One of my co-workers came up with the idea. She thought that it was a good question to ask, and management actually agreed, so they wrote it into the procedures guide, which I think is pretty cool. They actually listen to us. Not every organization would do that. I think that’s it for me. Goodbye.

Microstory 2522: Patient Advocate

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I don’t work for the foundation. I am a professional Medical Advocate working for a medical outreach agency, which is commonly employed for patients who need a little extra help navigating the process. I’ve been doing this job since long before the Foundation was even the spark of an idea. Some patients get confused, or know their personalities and skillsets well enough to not trust themselves with being solely responsible for their own medical data. A healthy fraction of such patients have family members or friends who can help them through such difficult and complex processes, but there are others who aren’t so lucky. My agency has a long history of providing chaperoning service to patients who don’t want to be in the exam rooms alone with their medical providers. We help them ask questions, and understand the answers. We help them make their follow-up appointments, and fill their prescriptions. This is typically a paid service that you can find all over the world, but we can do it free of charge for Breath of Life patients through a special program where the Foundation pays for our services on behalf of their neediest patients. Again, I don’t work for Landis, but I’ve become particularly familiar with their practices and procedures, and can help each client get through the process safely and comfortably. Some of them are suffering from dementia, or related conditions, and require that one-on-one care. I tell ya, this is the most rewarding job I’ve ever had. Before this, I did a lot of crying, because I was handling patients who were at their worst. They weren’t getting better, and many of them remained my clients until they died. I’ve been to a lot of funerals throughout the run of my career. Well, not anymore. All of my patients live now, which is something I never thought I would see in my lifetime. I watch as a client with Alzheimer’s becomes suddenly lucid, and in a way that is not going to be undone the next time she sneezes or closes her eyes. This is it. This is what people like me have been hoping for our entire lives. I absolutely love it when a client stops needing my services, not because they die or can’t afford it anymore, but because they’re healthy now. And it gets me every single time. I guess I’m still crying, but they’re tears of joy now. I feel for my colleagues in the industry who don’t work here, who are still going through what I was before. They wish they could have my job, but there are only so many positions. They’re excited about the panacea. Even though it will mean the end of their jobs, they can’t wait for it, because it’s the best outcome possible. I’m pretty excited about what the future holds too.

Microstory 2214: With an Autopsy

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There was a bit of a misunderstanding. Due to Nick’s sleep issues, the EEG test needed to be able to measure his brain activity while he was awake, and also while he was asleep. I asked if we should reschedule it for the nighttime, but Nick was confident that he would be able to fall asleep given the right conditions. To make it happen, they packed his hospital room with a number of medical staff who weren’t too busy with other things. For almost thirty minutes, he was the center of attention. They asked him questions, mostly not about his medical issues. He had to talk about the universe where he’s from, and all the adventures he went on after he left it. It didn’t matter whether they believed him or not, or even if they were listening. Being around crowds of people is exhausting for him, and it’s even worse when they’re paying all their attention to him. By the end of it, he had little trouble sleeping. The doctor rechecked the electrodes, shut off the lights, and left the room. I asked to stay by his side, but he insisted that Nick be alone, which admittedly made sense. I don’t want to say that these results were inconclusive, like all the others, but they were. Best guess at the moment is that he’s suffering from some form of dementia. The MRI would seem to support this possibility, but only as a possibility. That is to say, it doesn’t rule it out. Unfortunately, the best way to know for sure that that’s the case is with an autopsy, which is obviously not in the cards at this stage. I suppose it might one day give his survivors some sense of closure, but it doesn’t help Nick now, and I’m still holding out hope for a turnaround. As for the lumbar puncture, we have only received a few preliminary results so far. His cell count and glucose levels are totally fine. The diagnostician said that his protein levels were suspicious, but he couldn’t elaborate on that. My schooling did not go over any of this kind of stuff, and he’s aware of that, so he didn’t bother elaborating. He did seem pretty cryptic about it, though. He said that he needed to send the data off to a special lab, but that it could take up to a week to get more answers. I’m really worried about it, so I’ve decided to not tell Nick about that just yet. It will only cause him more anxiety, and it might also end up being nothing. That’s it for the tests for now. We have nothing planned for tomorrow, but I’ll probably get him back to his physical therapy to help him stay as independent as possible for as long as possible.