Living and Dying Well in the 27th Century

 Synopsis:  A cyberpunk tale told from the POV of Rue Ellen Reeve, who is in hospice with incurable neuroblastoma.    

‘Two roads diverged in a wood

And I—I took the road less travelled by

And that has made all the difference.’—from the poem The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost 

Chapter 1—Only So Much a Woman Can Aspire To

Many scholars debate the meaning of Robert Frost’s poem The Road Not Taken.   I ascribe to the ‘regret’ the poem speaks of.   Granted, in my multitude of years in the 27th century seeing the rise and fall of myriads of elements, situations, people, places and things, I have witnessed paradigm shifts and the pendulum swinging for the better or the worst of humanity.    

Lots of youngsters say, ‘Rue Ellen, what was it like back in the 1990’s ?   Is it neon glory, spandex, fanny packs and stirrup pants ?’, to which I respond, 

‘Yes, that, and fantastic television.   Lots of ‘Don’t Do Drugs’ PSAs and the comforting face of our commander-in-chief, Regan, a president who did tons of good for a self-sufficient economy.’    

I miss the 80s and 90s.   It seemed that life was so much simpler than it is today in this century.   Thankfully, many elements have shifted to something better.    Cancer, for the most part, has been eradicated and my life has been fully lived.    However, like the poem, there are still some things I want to accomplish before I die, but chemotherapy makes it difficult for me to do so.    All I’m asking is less energy loss and more mobility, but chemotherapy is a wretched vampire that should’ve been staked long ago.   It still has its uses, even in this modern age, but even with my neuroblastoma, it’s keeping Death at bay, if only momentarily.    

Chapter 2—Alternative Therapy 

I finally decided to try a new form of healing versus chemo.   I have suffered from chemotherapy enough, so, with the help of my multitudes of grandchildren, I head to the Far East to get treatment still unavailable in the West.   Some matters never change.   

Now, you can take amphibious vehicles wherever you want or, if you’re a romantic like me, take the ‘eco-train’.   The eco-train runs on clean energy, since many fossil fuels generally ran out.   Dino-juice simply doesn’t exist.    Sure, petroleum, oil and gas are footnotes in this high-tech cyberpunk society, but nothing that ruins our ecology is used nowadays.   

I still must get used to the fact that AI doctors are in use more than traditional ones.   In the matter of psychological matters or spiritual ones, there are still flesh and blood specialists, leaders, pastors and others who help their fellow man, but in the case of medicine, where you think the human touch is more necessary, they use emoting AI to assist people ailing like me. 

I’m cordial with my AI doctor.   Having grown up during the AI Overturn, I still don’t trust AI much at all.   I’m given the choice of talking to a death doula although my doctor says the alternative therapy could (note he said could and not would or will) cause my neuroblastoma to disappear completely.    I am of an open mind.   Oddly my DO gives me a sense of hope.   My faith is strong, and I decided to take upon herbal therapy.     Against my better judgement, I decided on a trip to the mountains of Tibet.    Here, I can see the prayer wheels turn in the wind, hear the monks chant and subside on a purely vegan diet.    

I’ve celebrated my 121st birthday here in the mountains.   The vegan diet is cramping my style a bit since I long for meat due to how sating and substantial it is.   I have savored the beauty of sunrises and thrilled to the chants of the monks here.   I have learned to be more patient and loving, as if my children hadn’t taught me that through the years.   The love was more for me than it was for them.   I had no trouble loving others unconditionally.   Coming to love myself and accept my failings for all they were had been hard.    I always dealt with criticism from myself in failing to fit in.   Rue Ellen Reeve never had a friend group she felt in with intimately.   She flitted from group to group, struggling to settle in with cliques.   Childhood had been difficult outside of the home suffering from ridicule and the inability to stand firmly for myself rather than following the latest trend or fad just because I wanted to fit in.   

Chapter 3—Transposition 

It’s now, only in my centurion years on the mountaintops, that I feel a serenity I have never experienced.   Soon as I return home, there is still a spring in my step and a limberness in my bones that rivals many 20-year-olds in my neighborhood.  

Wanting to drive (or in this case sail) to my local PCP, I hover into her office for my yearly physical.   Emory pulls up my file and is quite impressed with how well I'm doing.   I suffer from a few age-related complaints, but nothing drastic.   My joints pop and snap, but I’m still flexible as a teenager.  

‘Is this possible ?’, she mutters to herself, gazing at the holographic report.   My DNA was even analyzed years ago when it was discovered that I had incurable neuroblastoma in my early 80s.    In my family, I had made a pact with myself I would live to be at least 100 and back then, Death had already started knocking politely at my door, begging to come in.    I fell for the conventional medieval chemotherapy option in my treatment, but now that I resorted to meditation, prayer and herbs (as well as a better diet), I noticed that I had the stamina I once did when I was in my prime.   

‘The neuroblastoma is completely gone, Rue.’, she reported, her pixelated eyes wide.  For an emo-AI, her representation of emotion was spot on, but even in this century, the interpretation of emotion by machines still came across as vapid, insipid or phony.    This time, the newest iteration had a semblance of depth.  

‘Say that again, Emory.   Are you certain ?’, I said, clearly, distinctly, elocuting properly.   The AI was processing all this information with everything it had collected on me, including the Cloud information it had stored in its memory banks from past visits when I had been dreadfully ill.   I had been transposed, and I was healthier than ever.   My mindset, faith, humor and music had been at the core of my healing.   My doctor couldn’t believe it.   She wanted to know my secret. 

‘I’ll put you in a paid study if we can see if your methods will work on others wanting to achieve similar results.’, she stated.   I didn’t wish to be paid.   I did what I felt necessary for my survival, not for the sake of being poked and prodded at by science.   I said it was fine for my results to be used.  As for my life, I wanted to be furthest from the knife that I could.   For now, the specter of death was furthest from me and it could stay there as long as it wanted.    

Chapter 4—Friends with Inevitability 

Death indeed, does come for us all.   I had outlived all my family members at the ripe age of 200.   I had no earthly clue as to how I had come this far without dying, but I had managed to do so and cure my own neuroblastoma by trying new methods and relying on my innate ability to heal from within.   My data had been used to help others.   9 times out of 10, it proved highly effective and successful.   Neuroblastoma was still a long way from being eradicated, but at least I had been a catalyst in finding methods of overcoming it by using ‘ancient secrets’.    

I had begun seeing visions of my parents and even my grandparents and great grandparents.  All of us had lengthy talks, just as we had experienced within our waking moments when we were alive.   My heartrate had grown slower with every passing year, and I knew I was about to punch my ticket to take that train ride to the happy hunting ground.    For so many years, I had thought I could evade death and that eventually, people could become immortal.    So many had tried, but so many had failed.   Even if someone was merged with a computer, their identity and individuality couldn’t be duplicated.   They were but a mechanical doll, a poor mesh and wire copy of what had originally been flesh and blood.   

I knew my time was short.  As when I had been 80, I had created a will and testament that I updated.   I was equitable in all my funds and much of what I owned went to my family.    Everything else they could donate to archives or give to those who truly needed it.    My body no longer belonged to science as it had before, but instead would return to the ground from whence it had come.   To be honest, I wasn’t afraid any longer.   I knew my soul would reunite with my loved ones.  

Epilogue 

  As I start to fade away, I can see my handsome husband Trent reaching out from across the divide.   He is wearing the same sharp business suit that he sported on the night at the baseball game where we had met and found that we had oodles and gobs in common.    It was true that I would miss the Earth I had grown accustomed to, but it was far better leaving for eternity, knowing I would reunite with my beloved family that had departed so long ago.    I would not get to see what became of the 27th century, but it mattered little.   I knew they had capable minds and flexible hands.    They would survive, whatever fate and chance threw at them.   They were Reeves.   Fortitude and faith made them who they were.   I had only words of love and wisdom as I saw the Angel of Death descending to take me to Heaven.   I held Trent’s hand and heard him say, 

‘Come on love, let’s finish that dance we never started.’ 

And we’ve been dancing ever since. 

From the digital thought recordings of Rue Ellen Reeve

A Generation Xer, Survivor, Warrior of Light, Lover, Friend and Mother of Many