Microstory 2401: The Terminal

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You know what? This place is big. They call it the Terminal because everyone who quantum casts their consciousness to this planet runs through here. It’s mind-boggling how large it is. I think I heard someone say that every cast-capable individual could upload their mind to a new substrate here at pretty much the same time, and there would be enough room for everyone. I don’t know about that, but I saw this thing from the outside, and I think I believe it. But in the end, the principle remains the same. You get in an egress pod wherever you’re coming from, hook yourself up to the machine, and zip across the interstellar void. You wake up about an hour later, and start moving around in your new body. You’re a little shaky at first, because I admit, it was a new experience. The technology they use to transfer your consciousness is a little different. They have to worry more about things like interference and signal degradation. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t afraid, and I don’t regret it. I just mean, the end result may be a bit different than what you’re used to. It’s just a little harder to acclimate, even if you’re a seasoned caster. Fortunately, they were prepared. They have nearby acclimation rooms that are designed to help you figure things out. They have bars to hold onto and treadmills; basically everything you would find in a physical therapy gym. I was told that they do offer mech subs, if you want that instead of an organic. I’ve never personally used one of those kinds of bodies, so I can’t speak to that experience, but if you choose that route, you may be able to move around just fine right away. Anyway, I didn’t need to use any of the equipment. It was helpful just to have a place to sit and relax. They also had an orientation theatre. Some of it was in person, surely from an android of some kind, while other parts were on the holo-screen. There are way too many domes for them to go through them all, but they do teach you how to search through the catalog, so you can find the exact experience that you’re looking for. But I won’t get into specifics here. I’m sure once I start going to the domes, I’ll review those too. This is just about The Terminal. You should know, they do have medical facilities here, and hygiene stations. I didn’t use any of those, but they’re there if you need them, and they looked nice. I set my trip up ahead of time, so I pretty much received my orientation packet, and bounced. It looked like some people were hanging out there for a little while, though there are plenty of domes that offer relaxation options.

Microstory 2242: Uncharted Territory

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The FBI are releasing me to my private security firm, contingent upon me scheduling an appointment with my doctors. Given the circumstances, I’m sure that this makes sense to them, but it doesn’t serve much of a purpose for me. I guess there’s a chance that I’ve been stricken ill with something new in the last couple of weeks. That would certainly fit with my M.O. I’m really hoping that it hasn’t happened, though, which is why I’m being really careful about what I eat, and where. Of course, I wash my hands religiously, but I’ve always done that. I shower twice a day too, which may be overkill, but you can never be too careful. I also don’t go outside without sunscreen on. This was something that my mom kind of wanted me to always do, and it seems that it just took several decades, and having multiple near-death experiences, to take her advice. Still, that’s not really what they’re worried about. You see, they don’t see a man who was miraculously healed from a terminal disease. They just see a man who had a terminal disease earlier this month. The doctors feel the same way, and they’re not going to let anyone take samples from me until I’ve had enough time to recover from that. Which is ridiculous, because there is no such thing as recovering from a prion disease, so right there is their failure in logic. But I get it. It’s uncharted territory, so they’re doing their best to figure out how we proceed. Their training tells them that I need to wait—that I’m not ready to undergo a serious procedure after my last health ordeal. As doctors who study science, it’s hard for them to understand that my brief immortality means no waiting period is necessary. In the end, though, it’s not really up to them. My body, my choice applies to many different situations, this one included, I would say. I’m going to let them take my index, and a little bit of my bone marrow. I’m going to do it for the money, and for science. Then I’m going to get back to my life, or at least determine what that life is from here on out. Maybe I’ll go back to working at the nursery, if they’ll let me. Or maybe it’s too hazardous there, so I won’t. Or maybe I will anyway.

Microstory 2229: So Let Go

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I’m so distraught. We all are. I don’t know that I really wanna say anything here. Nick is currently fighting a war on three fronts. It was bad enough that he contracted a virus due to his weakened immune system, but now a bacterium has found its way into his body too. It probably happened at around the same time, because the odds of it happening after we took him back to the hospital are staggeringly low. He was placed in an isolation room, where only certain people could enter after being thoroughly processed, but that might not have been enough. Now he’s also in a plastic bubble as an added layer. So you still have to clean up to enter the room in the first place, but even then, you can’t touch him unless you use the glove ports on the sides. Anyway, this bacterial infection is just as bad, though it comes with new symptoms, which of course, makes it so much worse. Nausea, vomiting, and everything else that could go wrong with your stomach; that’s what’s happening to him right now. That’s on top of the fever, cough, and dizziness that he has from the virus. Honestly, I can’t believe that he’s still alive. It’s a miracle that he’s able to survive all this. The machines should only be able to do so much for him. At some point, your body just can’t take any more. But his is. He’s holding on for dear life. It’s almost like he’s waiting for something specific. You hear about that, where terminal patients won’t let go, because they have unfinished business, or they’re worried about their survivors. This should not be a problem for him, because everyone is going to be okay without him. He did a lot to start a new department in his company, a new project for the county, and maybe even a new movement. The world will keep turning without him, driven if only partially by the contributions that he has already made. I see him as a spark that will light the fire, and it will be up to the rest of us to keep the flames going. So Nick, this post is to you. You can go now. You don’t have to suffer anymore. Go find out what’s on the other side of the veil. We’ll miss you, and we wish that you could stay, but the pain must have reached the point of being unbearable. So let go, and finally rest in peace. I promise to keep this site going at least through your memorial services.

Microstory 2227: Die Eventually Too

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The hospital board has come to a decision. Well, it’s a compromise, really. Since Nick is terminal, and all that we can really do for him is keep him comfortable, and safe from secondary infections, he will be allowed to return home for the time being. He and I will not be alone, though. While I’ll continue to live there, and be available 24/7, a nurse will be coming in every morning for a ten-hour shift. I can provide him with his basic needs, but there are some things that I can’t do, and I think that the hospital wants to cover all the bases. There is no additional cost for this service. It’s a sort of compensation for the generous contributions to science that he’s making by donating his still living body now, and his deceased body in the future. We shall see how it goes, though I’m pretty optimistic about it. This is only a tentative plan, though. If something goes wrong while I’m here, but the nurse is not—or even if the nurse is here too—then they might move him to the hospital for good. The sad thing is that something bad probably will happen eventually. This is all about putting off the inevitable, which may make you wonder, why not just go ahead and check in now, just to be safe? Well, if we surrender to that, why don’t you check into the hospital right now, because you’re going to die eventually too. Life is about living it, and everyone has the right to determine for themselves what that means, and where to do it. Yes, he’ll likely have no choice but to get a room eventually, but why lower his morale now when we have the ability to maintain his high spirits? Anyway, he’s having some trouble speaking these days, but he’s found ways to vocalize his thoughts to me, even while he struggles, so I think I’m going to be able to use his words for tomorrow’s posts.

Microstory 2222: Magical Light of Some Higher Being

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Yes, it’s true, I’m back. Hello, my name is Nick Fisherman IV, and I am not from this world. I came here against my will, but I have since given up on any attempt to escape. I’ve suffered from infections, infections, and more infections. I’ve been homeless, on the run, in jail, set free, and hired for a huge job. I’ve gained everything I ever wanted out of my career only to watch it slip from my hands as my tremors got worse by the day. I’m not even typing this out myself. My lifecare assistant, Kelly has to do it for me. Some might not believe it, because she could theoretically write whatever she wants, and I wouldn’t be able to stop her, but I assure you that this is really and truly me. She’s been instructed to transcribe everything that I say, word for word, whether it makes sense to her or not. One day, this disease might start taking over my higher cognitive functions, but for now, my symptoms are all irrelevant. Well, they’re not irrelevant, of course, but they don’t prevent me from thinking, and my thoughts are all that I have ever been. So as long as I still think like me, I’m me, and as long as there is a chance that some part of me is still in there—even everything else is dead—then I still consider myself to be alive. I’m full code, so keep my heart beating until the money runs out. I’ve always felt this way, even before I had heard of DNRs, and all that stuff. My life is defined by a resting state of suffering and discomfort, with a little bit of happiness sprinkled in occasionally. So don’t worry about how I’ll feel about it when I’m hooked up and reliant upon life support machines, and hanging by a thread. I still want to stay in this world, even though it’s the wrong one. I’ve never believed in the afterlife, because honestly, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. Death is about the most ridiculous method you could use to be transported from one plane of existence to another, and anyone who believes in life after death is only fooling themselves. When we die, our bodies decompose, our consciousnesses lose coherence, and our souls recede. We don’t “go” somewhere else to start over, or even more absurdly, to live for eternity in the magical light of some higher being. You only think that that’s possible because someone with a grand imagination dreamt it up, not because we have any evidence that anything like that exists anywhere. The arrogance you must have to not be able to tell the difference between reality and your headcanon. I better end it here. Kelly is scolding me for not being nice. I’m told that people are entitled to their beliefs, as if stupid beliefs only affect the people who are clinging onto them, and haven’t caused all kinds of violence and pain in the world. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you about what I’ve been up to, instead of depressing you with my unglamorous philosophical position.

Microstory 2221: Advocating For My Patient

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We had an uncomfortable meeting at the hospital. Some people who will not be named have expressed interest in keeping Nick there for the duration of the rest of his short life. They believe that I will not be able to provide him the care that he deserves to be safe, healthy, and happy. Let’s start at the end with that. Nick is happy where he is, and he’s the only one in the world qualified to determine what will keep him that way. He’s not healthy, and he’s never going to be healthy; he’s dying! I know, they’re worried about secondary infections, but let me tell you, that apartment is clean. He kept it clean before I got there, and I keep it clean now. Both of us understand the importance of sanitation, and avoiding cross-contamination. Hospitals are full of other sick people, many of whom can’t do all that much to keep themselves and their spaces clean. I would argue that the apartment is better than that, because we can keep him contained, and separated from anyone who isn’t up to our standards. There are too many others in a facility. Lastly, safe? What do you mean, safe? I know what they mean. They think that his fans are going to come clamoring to see him—for autographs, selfies, or just to get in the way. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? You respect his safety, his privacy, and his need to keep his distance, right? Anyway, I argued my little heart out, advocating for my patient to the best of my ability, and in the end, we won out. We won, because this is the patient’s decision, and he wants to stay where he feels comfortable. At this point in the progression of this awful disease, that’s pretty much all he can ask for. As I’ve been saying, this is terminal, and the prognosis is short. Even if he succumbs to a new infection, it’s not like he was going to live a long and joyous life without it. Now I have another fight ahead of me, but it may not be up to Nick, or he may not care anyway. As you know, he’s my first patient since graduating from my Lifecare Assistant class, and passing the exam. The hospital, and the agency, are considering replacing me with someone with more experience. I can’t say that I can blame them for believing that I’m not ready for this kind of responsibility, but I one hundred percent am. I want to see this to the end, and I hope that Nick feels the same way. We’ll have to see how that goes.

Microstory 2220: Rule It

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We have more information now. The prion has been identified. It’s called Neurodegenerative Artiodactyl Acquired Prion Disease, and it is only passed to humans through tainted meat. And since there has only been one time when Nick ate meat of any kind in the last couple of decades, he knows exactly how it happened. He knows what restaurant he went to, he knows precisely what he ordered. He has all sorts of information about the incident. Now, I’m sure the restaurant will claim that it couldn’t possibly be from them, but there can be no denying it. Because even if you don’t believe that Nick was once immortal, and from another universe, you have zero evidence that he ate meat at any other place. That doesn’t mean that there’s going to be a lawsuit, I honestly don’t know, because this is just the beginning of this chapter of the story. At this time, I do not believe that he’s considering taking legal action against anyone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t change his mind in the future. As I’m only his lifecare assistant, I have nothing to do with the decision, but I wouldn’t rule it out. He’s preoccupied right now, but once we get back into a routine, he may start to develop some harsh feelings for who did this to him. At the very least, they need to open an investigation into that restaurant, and into whoever provides them their beef, as well as any other possible victims. He’s obviously not the only person who ate that steak. His would-be business partners ordered basically the same thing, so they could be sick too. I know that there was this whole other legal thing about them claiming that he defamed them. He never told you the name of that company in the first place, but because of all this, it may end up finally coming to light. Like I said, we’re still in the early stages. My job has not changed. It’s still my responsibility to make sure that my patient is safe and comfortable. I have found him a new therapist. She’s experienced with treating the terminally ill. Even though we didn’t learn the prognosis until yesterday, it was rather clear to the both of us—and probably most of his hospital staff—that he was not going to get better. It’s just that now it’s been confirmed. So she’s already ready to go, and will be available to meet with him next week. I’m hoping that she will be able to convince him to get back to his website. I think it would be really important for him to express his final thoughts, so people can continue to read it after he’s gone, and maybe learn from his experiences. As I told you yesterday, not a lot of people are even aware that prions exist, but they are a real danger to your health, and should not be dismissed just because they’re rare. They do happen.

Microstory 2219: It is Always Fatal

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I might try to say more tomorrow, but today is not a good time to spend a lot of time curating a good post. We’re reeling from today’s news. We knew that it was bad. I mean, just look at him; it had to be bad. But we didn’t know quite how bad. There are five types of infections. When Nick first arrived in this universe, he contracted a virus, and shortly thereafter, he got a bacterial infection. These might be the two most common. There are some people who just get the cold every year, whether they take a vaccine for it or not. Fungal infections are fairly common too, and they often go untreated, because symptoms are sometimes rather mild, albeit fairly gross. He also managed to suffer from a fungus when he used some unclean showers in Iowa, but before that, a parasite took hold of him when he was exposed to the wrong plant at the nursery where he worked. All of this happened during the first quarter of this year, and he thought that he was out of the woods for a while. Sadly, that has turned out to not be true, though we didn’t know until today that the disease that he has is yet another infection. You see, all four of the types of infections that you’re familiar with can potentially be deadly. None of them is totally safe. But there is a fifth type that you have probably never even heard of, and the worst part about it is that it is always fatal. It’s called a prion, and while some prion diseases can be treated to some degree, they are the least understood class. The good news (or bad, depending on how you look at it), is that everything I’ve been doing with him has been everything that the doctor would have ordered had he diagnosed this before. Managing symptoms is the only possibly helpful course of action. Now that he knows that it’s there, he can study it more, and tweak some of Nick’s medications, but that’s about it. The horrible truth is that he is going to die from this. He may have a few months to live, but the doctor doesn’t see him making it through the New Year. I’ve written more than I planned on. I better end it here, so I can get back to taking care of him. We’ll see how much time I have tomorrow, or if I’m even emotionally up to it.

Microstory 1819: Biggest Mistake

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I could have had it all. A few years back, this random guy showed up at my door, and claimed to have the ability to heal any injury. He had heard that I was terminally ill, and also that I was rich. He knew that he could take care of cuts and bruises, but he wanted to see if it would work on something chronic. Obviously, I was skeptical. This dude just wanted some quick cash, and he was willing to play on my desperation. He gave me a demonstration by cutting his friend’s arm with a knife, and clearing it right up in a matter of minutes. I assumed that this was just some kind of special effect that I didn’t understand. It was close up magic. An illusion. It was nothing. And he wasn’t getting my money. I remember him saying I should give him a thousand dollars in case it worked, and then another 999,900 if it did end up working. He could apparently make quick work of a cut, but something like my issue might take longer to repair. Even if it turned out to be immediate, I would still have to verify it with my doctor. The down payment was for his troubles, and the rest of the money for the miracle. This guy wanted a million bucks, but he wasn’t getting a dime from me. No sirree, it was a trick, and a scam, and I wasn’t falling for it. I tossed him a nickel to show how much he was worth to me, and sent him on his way. A couple of months later, I’m watching the news, and I see one of my biggest rivals who also just so happened to be old and sick. He claimed to have been healed, and he presented the check to the healer on live television. Things started happening quickly after that. They set up a foundation together that was designed to heal as many as possible. Rich people pay, middle class people pay nothing, and the poor actually get paid. Can you believe that? It’s a nested charity; what an insane business model. Anyway, I’m the jackass for turning him down, because my rival is still alive, and more popular than any one-percenter I’ve ever heard of. I wish I had said yes. Not only would I not be dying today, but I would’ve been the first paying patient of his. I would have become famous for something good. Instead, I’ll go down in history as the biggest idiot ever. At least I don’t have to live with it. Here I go, into the great unknown!

Microstory 1816: Right to Die

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My children want me to get myself cured. We don’t live too far away from the foundation, and they’re sure that I’ll be able to make an appointment, but I’ve decided not to, and I’ll explain why. I had a very happy, but very tiring, life. I ended up having more children than we planned, and much more than I wanted. My husband—God rest his soul—was loving and caring, but he never did quite understand how taxing it was to carry, deliver, and raise eight entire people, mostly on my own. I didn’t have any multiples, which would have been hell in its own right. I went through all that eight times, and it exhausted me. Anyone who says that being a homemaker isn’t a real job should try to step into my worn out shoes. That’s not to say I don’t love them all to death, or that I regret a single second of it. I just mean that it’s over, and I’m done. Even though they’re all grown up, and I don’t technically have to raise them anymore, it’s not like they stopped coming to me with their problems. There are 24 hours in a day, so that’s...well, I didn’t go to college, so you tell me the chances of getting a call from one of them at any given moment. Again, I love them all more than anything in the world, but I could use a break. I’ve always believed in God, and the afterlife. My parents didn’t drill it into my brain. They were pretty progressive for the time period. They let me make my own choices, but also showed me my options. I decided that there had to be something else out there than just we lowly humans. There has to be someone with a grand design, or else what’s the point of it all? And there has to be some kind of outcome, otherwise what’s the point of it all for me? I’m not saying people shouldn’t take the cure, or that it’s somehow blasphemy. It’s just not for me, and I’ll thank you to respect my wishes.

This was hard for my children to hear. They lamented the fact that their father passed before the cure became available. They don’t want to go through that again, but the cure didn’t always exist, of course, so they should have wrapped their head around the concept by now. I keep calling it a cure, but that may not be the right word for it. It is no pill, nor even an injection. It’s a man. It’s a man with the power to heal, and if he had come to us with claims of righteous divinity, I might have believed that he was the second coming of Christ. Instead, he told us that he was just a person who had been in the right place at the right time, and would be using his gifts to help as many people as possible. Some worship him anyway, but I prefer to take his word for it. The real Messiah would not say that he’s not. Regardless of who he truly is, the proof is in the results. Unlike the faith healers of yesteryear, Landis Tipton never erected a tent in a field, trying to get a few naïve people here and there. He set up a foundation, and healed famously sick people. Every day, he proved himself worthy of our belief in him, and this only fueled my children’s insistence that I go to him myself. They actually tried to seek some kind of legal avenue to force me to try to extend my life, but there was no precedent for it, and I am in my right mind, so there was nothing they could do. The judge nearly laughed. The Tipton cure was so new back then. I have a terminal disease, and I accepted that years ago when I was first diagnosed. I made peace with God, and I trust in his plan. Again, I don’t mean to say than it’s not other people’s fates to be cured, but I’m not one of those people, and I don’t want him to waste his time with me when there are so many other sick people out there who actually want it. Goodbye.