| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
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| Written by J. Michael Matuszewicz / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| Time to Wait |
Day One, 07:12 p.m.
"I'm sorry," the emergency room nurse said. "All the doctors have gone home for the night." She pushed a screen and
stylus over the counter. "If you can't wait to see your primary care physician in the morning, fill out this form, and we'll
have a tech put you in stasis until a doctor can attend to you."
"It's not for me," Mary Miller said. Before she could continue, the double doors of the ambulance entrance slid open and
two men wheeled in a cart bearing a silver mannequin. Even though the mesh of fine wires the paramedics had wrapped
around her husband before their device had turned him into a mosaic of mirrors, there was no doubt it was her Henry. The
shining nose crooked to one side, and the smooth gloss of the forehead extended to the top of his head before it broke into
bright spikes of what little crew cut he still had.
"Probably a heart attack," one of the men said as he plugged his PDA into a dock on the desk. After the clatter of the
nurse's keyboard ended the download, he clipped his unit back onto his belt and went to help his partner put the gleaming
figure on an empty shelf. A dozen other people already populated the rack, all just as bright, all lying peacefully rigid. He
attached a wire near Henry's feet, another near his head.
"What's that?" Mary asked.
The nurse glanced around. "Just an electrical connection. When they first snap the stasis on, it's good for weeks unless
we turn it off, but the law says we have to keep current flowing through the field to keep it at full strength."
"When can I see him?"
The nurse touched her computer screen. "Possible heart attack, hmm? Let me see. Dr. Caine usually handles those." She
tapped her screen again. "Her first opening is for three o'clock, next Tuesday. You'll have to call the doctor's office to
confirm."
"What happens to him until then?"
"Nothing." The nurse's official smile faded and her voice softened. "He's safe now. The stasis field has stopped time for
him. I know this is all new here, but other cities have been using it for two years. The EMTs used to save a good number
of people, but it was always frantic, sometimes mistakes were made, and there were times they just couldn't do enough.
Now, the patient is frozen in a moment of time, from one blink to the next, and stays just exactly the same until the
doctors figure out the best thing to do. He really is perfectly safe. He isn't suffering; he isn't getting any worse. When they
turn off the stasis, all the doctors, equipment, and medicines will be right there and ready. By replacing ambulances with
squads who only do minor first aid and put patients with serious conditions into stasis, response times are a lot faster, and
we've saved many more than we used to. You don't have to worry -- your husband is going to be fine."
"Thank you," she said. Her voice sounded weak and unsure in her ears.
#
Day Six, 03:01 p.m.
Dr. Caine sat at a console that looked like it belonged to the space program. Her fingers drummed an irregular beat on a
keypad while her eyes jumped from screen to screen. The wall in front of her was a single window, one that looked out
into an empty room.
A technician, sitting at her own display panels in the corner, looked up and nodded to Mary, who smiled back.
"Mrs. Miller?" the doctor asked, looking at Mary's reflection in the window instead of turning around.
"Yes, I'm Mary Miller."
"I've been assigned to evaluate your husband's condition." She motioned to the empty stool beside her. "You can sit here."
"Thank you," Mary said. When she approached the window, she saw that the room beyond was not empty but sunken; all
the white machines of modern medicine sat on a floor ten feet below.
"Next," Dr. Caine said into her microphone. "Miller, Henry. AH-31269."
She took time to turn to Mary, to look her in the eye. "I know this must be distressing for you, but I hope I can give you
some good news."
Before Mary could say anything, a door in the room below banged open. Two orderlies wheeled in a cart carrying a silver
mannequin. With practiced motions, they lifted the body and laid it on the table in the center of the room. One of the men
used his PDA to scan a tag hanging from an ankle while the other removed the electrical clips and replaced them with
white cables which snaked out from the machines. As quickly and efficiently as they entered, they were gone.
"I'm afraid your trip was wasted," the doctor said. She pushed a button on her panel. Below, a giant white horseshoe
began to move into position, its arms on either side of the still figure.
"I just wanted to see Henry, to see if he's all right," Mary said.
"That's just it -- you won't be able to see him, not really." The machine stopped. Another button made the horseshoe begin
to rotate. "That's him," she said, pointing to the mirrored form on the table. "We're doing the evaluation now."
"But I thought you'd be taking him out of... shutting off the thing."
"That would be too risky. We don't know enough about his condition to be able to give him the best treatment."
"Then, how...?"
"Those arms, which are above and below him now, are taking pictures. Not just photographs, but a kind of, well, I'm sure
you've had a CAT scan or MRI." She took Mary's nod for a yes. "This combines those and several other diagnostic
technologies. The computer turns the stasis field off, the sensors take a picture, then the computer restores the field. By
taking thousands of pictures from all different angles, we can combine those images to see everything inside him, to tell
exactly what is wrong."
"But if you're turning it off, why can't I see him?"
"Because it's happening too fast," the doctor said. "The field is off for only a microsecond at a time. That's long enough
for the scan but is too short to have any effect on the subject." She reached out and laid her hand on Mary's. "It's really
best for the patient, for your Henry. I know it's hard to understand, but he's not feeling anything, not aware of anything,
and nothing bad is happening to him. By doing it this way, when it comes time to treat him, we'll know precisely the right
technique to apply instead of just using a generic procedure. We'll be able to deal with his problem quickly, but without
having to hurry through it."
"Is he going to be all right?"
The doctor looked at her screens, tapped a few keys to make the images rotate. "It all looks standard and straightforward
to me. Not even an infarction, a heart attack, just an acute coronary incident." She turned towards the technician in the
corner. The tech took a few more moments to check her readings, then nodded. "Fine. Yes, Mrs. Miller, Mary, we think
your husband is going to be okay," the doctor said. The only normal-looking object in the room was a clipboard which lay
on one end of the console. She picked it up, filled in Henry's name on the top form, and signed it. "This certifies that your
husband is alive; you'll need it for both Social Security and your insurance company." She tucked the form into an
envelope and handed it to Mary.
"He is alive, you're sure of that?"
"Oh, yes, no doubt about it. Several other doctors here will have to look at his scan, but once we decide the best way to
proceed, the best way to return him to you healthy and happy, his name will go on the surgery schedule. You should be
getting the notice in a week or so."
"Thank you, doctor. Oh, thank you."
#
Day Fifty-Three, Morning
The podium on the room's small stage faced two hundred straight-backed chairs, only six of which were occupied. Mary
sat front and center, not wanting to miss a single word, hoping the speaker would tell her something, anything, about her
Henry.
"I wish they'd hurry up and get started," the man two seats to her left said. He looked to be about seventy and had
probably not smiled for fifty of those years.
"Thank you all for coming," an executive in a blue suit said as he walked in. Instead of going to the podium, he sat on the
edge of the stage. His smile and the way he leaned forward were obvious attempts to appear friendly, but he held his
legal-sized folder like a shield and kept his arms close to his body, like a fighter. "We're sorry if this is inconvenient for any
of you, but we feel that this is the best way to provide information to our policyholders. We hope you understand that
small efficiencies add up, and it is because we hold meetings like this, rather than talking to each person individually, that
we are able to keep the premiums you pay as low as possible." He opened the folder and looked at the top sheet as if
reading it for the first time. "I see that you're all here because you have a family member who is in stasis for coronary
problems."
"That's right," one man, nearly ninety, said sharply. "My Phyllis has been in one of those shiny things for more than four
months. The doctors want to get her out, to fix her, but you won't let them."
"We can't discuss individual cases in a public forum," the company man said, his smile remaining fixed. "This is an
informational meeting, and you will be allowed to ask questions of a general nature at the proper time." He flipped a page,
read it through before looking up again. "I see that it is our duty to inform you that we have the right to deny immediate
treatment in any case where an alternative may be in the best interest of the patient, even if final FDA approval of the
alternative is still pending. In Scalon v. Pallen Health..."
"That's being appealed," the man on Mary's left said.
"Nonetheless, we must act as if it is the law. The court ruled that we may wait a reasonable length of time if a new
medical procedure promises to pose less risk and reduce the chance of the illness occurring again."
"What's reasonable?" the ninety-year-old asked. "I want my Phyllis back with me now."
"We are sorry, but you must understand that we're all still adjusting to the wonderful benefits that stasis has to offer.
Everyone has to be patient while the health community struggles to realize its full potential." He lowered his folder, as if
opening himself up to the old man. "Although we cannot discuss your case here, let me ask you this: would you be happy
to let your wife be treated now and have her suffer another heart attack next month or next year, one which might take
her from you permanently, or would you rather wait another few months, until a new procedure lets the doctors cure her
completely so that you'll have another ten or twenty good years together?"
"Well, when you put it that way..."
"Nonsense," the seventyish man said. "It's just a stall. I read where it only costs them a few bucks a day to store someone
in stasis, but they'll have to pay thousands if the docs pull them out and treat them."
"That is enough!" the company man said, his shallow smile disappearing completely. "You are here because we are legally
obligated to provide the reason why we are not authorizing immediate treatment for your co-dependents. We have stated
that quite clearly, and you will be mailed a pamphlet that explains it in more detail." He snapped his folder closed. "If no
one has anything else? Then good day to you all."
As he strode from the room, Mary said nothing, using all of her strength to keep from crying.
#
Year One, Day Twelve
"It's really for the best," Mr. Goldbreim said as he showed Mary to a chair. "At the hospital, they're always so cold. They
really don't understand." He sat at his desk and pulled out a form. "I'm sure your husband will be much happier here."
Mary shook her head. "But they say he doesn't...that he..." Her voice trailed off.
"Well, that's true," he said. "Your husband doesn't know what is going on right now. But later, when the stasis is turned
off, he'll be happy that he was with us where you could visit him often."
"They just make it so hard," she said. "Every time I go to see him, there's another paper to fill out. Then I have to wait
until someone is free to take me downstairs..."
"And when you do see him, he's just lying in a rack, surrounded by others," Mr. Goldbreim said, nodding sadly. "Yes, it
really is a shame, but the hospital doesn't have the facilities for handling, that is, for accommodating the families. We, on
the other hand, can do just that. Our only interest is in helping the loved ones of those who cannot be with us just now."
"The insurance company said I had to move him because the hospital charges too much..."
"As I said, it really is for the best. The insurance company is only interested in what it costs, but I'm sure you'll be much
happier with him here. Instead of fighting the hospital's paperwork and all the waiting, you can set up a time to come and
visit him every week in the chapel or reception room."
"Chapel?"
"We used to be a funeral home, but we became 'an active home for those in stasis' when we saw how much more we can
serve the loved ones. We converted the chapel into a viewing room where you can be alone with...with...?" His eyebrows
arched in question.
"Henry, my husband is Henry."
"Very good. I'm sorry I didn't remember his name, but I can assure you that once he comes here, he won't just be a
number. Our entire staff quickly comes to know each of our residents."
"Can I visit him whenever I want?"
"A scheduled weekly viewing is included in our standard charges," he said. "I realize how hard it is for you to take this all
in right now. Just remember that we're here to help you in any way that we can, and we'll do everything possible to make
your husband's stay with us as pleasant as possible for both of you."
#
Year Two, Morning Delivery
Dear Mrs. Miller:
In regard to your inquiry of the 9th, we have reviewed the case file of Miller, Henry R., Policy #34-M-262-91428-S. We
have also requested an expedited action from our Medical Decision Services Board (MDSB).
We are pleased to report that the MDSB has authorized the aforementioned policyholder to receive treatment (specifically:
Sur-CR-415k/total reconstruction of heart and aorta) at the soonest possible time.
Clinical trials of this procedure are expected to begin early next year. If this version of the treatment gains FDA approval, it
may be available for use in this policyholder's case in as little as two years.
Please note that your inquiry fulfills the quota as defined in Section III, Paragraph 127 ("Paperwork Reduction Provision")
of your policy. Any further inquiries in this matter will be billed to you at the rate of $275 per hour.
Thank you for contacting us. We are here to serve.
Sincerely,
Customer Service Unit, Pallen Chartered Insurance Provider of North America, Health Division, Medicare Group, Stasis
Division, Inc.
#
Year Four, February
"Surely something can be done," Mary said. "Can't the government force them to give my Henry back to me?"
The congressman smiled sadly. "I'm afraid it isn't that easy, Mrs. Miller. I've sponsored legislation that will make the
insurance companies more accountable, but it's difficult to get support for something where no one is being hurt."
"But if they keep putting people into those things, and never take them out..." She could not find the right words to finish
her thought.
"That's just not the case," her congressman said. "Why, only last month I had a very bad asthma attack and the rescue
squad thought it best to put me into stasis for the trip to the hospital. It's a good thing they did because if the doctor hadn't
had the opportunity to do a thorough exam while I was safely frozen in time, he wouldn't have found that it was really a
severe allergic reaction to a spider bite. Spending that day in stasis saved my life, as it has saved many others."
"You didn't have to wait for the insurance company?"
"No, but I'm confident that your own insurer is only doing what's best. Really, I don't know what else to tell you, except
that maybe you should talk to your doctor and see if he wants to do something about it."
#
Year Four, Early Spring
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Miller," Dr. Caine said. "I really wish I could help, but this is becoming a very complicated issue."
"You said you could treat Henry; that he would be fine. That was four years ago, and no one is doing anything."
"Yes, I know, but that was before, well, before several other things came to light."
"There's more wrong with him? Why didn't someone tell me? Please..."
"No, no, no, Mrs. Miller. I'm sure that your husband is exactly as I told you when I evaluated him. This has nothing to do
with him personally. Things are changing very quickly for all of us. Procedures that only a short while ago were
considered too complex to attempt are now becoming routine because we can just snap the stasis back on, take another
set of pictures, and evaluate what the next step should be." She shook her head as if the speed of the advancements
bewildered her. "The whole field of medicine is being turned upside down, and we're all struggling with the side effects."
"Is that what my Henry is, a side effect?"
"I didn't mean it that way. I know the waiting must be difficult, but the simple truth is that if we had treated him when he
was first brought in, I could not have guaranteed that he wouldn't have had another cardiac incident a few weeks later.
With what we can do now, the chance of that is much less. And if you can wait until we can use the procedure your
insurance company approved, your Henry will come back to you with the heart of a twenty-year-old."
"What if we don't use the insurance? We have some savings. I don't know how much an operation costs, but I could
borrow against the house."
"I'm afraid it isn't just that." The doctor reached out and patted Mary's hand. "A year ago I might have said yes, but the
hospital won't allow it now. There's been too many lawsuits, too many times someone received the best possible care, but
if the doctor had left the patient in stasis a while longer, a new treatment would have been more effective."
"Then there's nothing I can do?"
"You can be strong. Just think about how much better this is for your husband. And don't lose hope. I know it's been a
long time, but it might only be a matter of months now."
#
Year Twelve, Late Edition
Now News Obit:
Mary (Mrs. Henry) Miller, 79, passed away this afternoon at the Merry Meadows rest home. She is survived by her
husband Henry, presently at Goldbreim's Momentary Village <"An active home for those in stasis." -- click here for a
virtual tour in "Personal Services / Medical">.
Her condition was not considered permanently terminal, but she had signed a no-stasis order, and the lack of medical staff
on call in the area made her death irreversible.
As requested in her will, no memorial service is planned.
<Auto-link to Editorial Page>
While any person's passing is a time of sadness, the death of Mary Miller, long rumored to be the driving force behind the
"No Eternal Stasis" movement, is particularly poignant since she is the first to die under the state's new law allowing senior
citizens to refuse to be placed into stasis when they need treatment that is not immediately available.
The medical community has actively denounced both the NES movement and the opt-out law. "People are staying dead
needlessly," Dr. Gilum, Thoracic Reconstruction Specialist at Regional Cardiology, said in an exclusive interview with Now
News. "It's criminal to let these people be lost for all time just because they don't want to wait until a doctor can see them."
Proponents of the law claim the technology is often abused by doctors and insurance companies for financial reasons and
that too many seniors are living in limbo -- their loved ones neither alive nor dead.
A bill in the legislature to limit the amount of time a person can be held in stasis before receiving treatment was narrowly
defeated last week, but its backers have promised to reintroduce it again for the next session.
For more information concerning this important issue, log in on: "Whose Rights are Right?" an in-depth series beginning
this Friday on The Weekend Now, your best source of modern news, exclusively on the Now News Network.
#
Year Thirty-Two
"Didn't the computers sound an alarm?"
"Probably, but we get so many brown-outs from those old power supplies in the outbuildings that no one pays much
attention anymore."
"How many did we lose?"
"Close to a thousand. All of M through P that came in about thirty years ago."
"None of them could be saved?"
"Not a chance. We didn't even know the stasis fields had broken down until someone went into that building yesterday.
For the smell to get that bad, it must have happened weeks ago."
"Well, get it cleaned up, and try to keep it quiet. If a reporter gets wind of it, claim it was experimental animals and we
purposely cut the power to see how the fields react after being on for a few decades."
"What about the relatives, the loved ones? They're bound to squawk."
"Loved ones? If anybody cared about those people, they wouldn't have been here in the first place."
"I'm sorry," the emergency room nurse said. "All the doctors have gone home for the night." She pushed a screen and
stylus over the counter. "If you can't wait to see your primary care physician in the morning, fill out this form, and we'll
have a tech put you in stasis until a doctor can attend to you."
"It's not for me," Mary Miller said. Before she could continue, the double doors of the ambulance entrance slid open and
two men wheeled in a cart bearing a silver mannequin. Even though the mesh of fine wires the paramedics had wrapped
around her husband before their device had turned him into a mosaic of mirrors, there was no doubt it was her Henry. The
shining nose crooked to one side, and the smooth gloss of the forehead extended to the top of his head before it broke into
bright spikes of what little crew cut he still had.
"Probably a heart attack," one of the men said as he plugged his PDA into a dock on the desk. After the clatter of the
nurse's keyboard ended the download, he clipped his unit back onto his belt and went to help his partner put the gleaming
figure on an empty shelf. A dozen other people already populated the rack, all just as bright, all lying peacefully rigid. He
attached a wire near Henry's feet, another near his head.
"What's that?" Mary asked.
The nurse glanced around. "Just an electrical connection. When they first snap the stasis on, it's good for weeks unless
we turn it off, but the law says we have to keep current flowing through the field to keep it at full strength."
"When can I see him?"
The nurse touched her computer screen. "Possible heart attack, hmm? Let me see. Dr. Caine usually handles those." She
tapped her screen again. "Her first opening is for three o'clock, next Tuesday. You'll have to call the doctor's office to
confirm."
"What happens to him until then?"
"Nothing." The nurse's official smile faded and her voice softened. "He's safe now. The stasis field has stopped time for
him. I know this is all new here, but other cities have been using it for two years. The EMTs used to save a good number
of people, but it was always frantic, sometimes mistakes were made, and there were times they just couldn't do enough.
Now, the patient is frozen in a moment of time, from one blink to the next, and stays just exactly the same until the
doctors figure out the best thing to do. He really is perfectly safe. He isn't suffering; he isn't getting any worse. When they
turn off the stasis, all the doctors, equipment, and medicines will be right there and ready. By replacing ambulances with
squads who only do minor first aid and put patients with serious conditions into stasis, response times are a lot faster, and
we've saved many more than we used to. You don't have to worry -- your husband is going to be fine."
"Thank you," she said. Her voice sounded weak and unsure in her ears.
#
Day Six, 03:01 p.m.
Dr. Caine sat at a console that looked like it belonged to the space program. Her fingers drummed an irregular beat on a
keypad while her eyes jumped from screen to screen. The wall in front of her was a single window, one that looked out
into an empty room.
A technician, sitting at her own display panels in the corner, looked up and nodded to Mary, who smiled back.
"Mrs. Miller?" the doctor asked, looking at Mary's reflection in the window instead of turning around.
"Yes, I'm Mary Miller."
"I've been assigned to evaluate your husband's condition." She motioned to the empty stool beside her. "You can sit here."
"Thank you," Mary said. When she approached the window, she saw that the room beyond was not empty but sunken; all
the white machines of modern medicine sat on a floor ten feet below.
"Next," Dr. Caine said into her microphone. "Miller, Henry. AH-31269."
She took time to turn to Mary, to look her in the eye. "I know this must be distressing for you, but I hope I can give you
some good news."
Before Mary could say anything, a door in the room below banged open. Two orderlies wheeled in a cart carrying a silver
mannequin. With practiced motions, they lifted the body and laid it on the table in the center of the room. One of the men
used his PDA to scan a tag hanging from an ankle while the other removed the electrical clips and replaced them with
white cables which snaked out from the machines. As quickly and efficiently as they entered, they were gone.
"I'm afraid your trip was wasted," the doctor said. She pushed a button on her panel. Below, a giant white horseshoe
began to move into position, its arms on either side of the still figure.
"I just wanted to see Henry, to see if he's all right," Mary said.
"That's just it -- you won't be able to see him, not really." The machine stopped. Another button made the horseshoe begin
to rotate. "That's him," she said, pointing to the mirrored form on the table. "We're doing the evaluation now."
"But I thought you'd be taking him out of... shutting off the thing."
"That would be too risky. We don't know enough about his condition to be able to give him the best treatment."
"Then, how...?"
"Those arms, which are above and below him now, are taking pictures. Not just photographs, but a kind of, well, I'm sure
you've had a CAT scan or MRI." She took Mary's nod for a yes. "This combines those and several other diagnostic
technologies. The computer turns the stasis field off, the sensors take a picture, then the computer restores the field. By
taking thousands of pictures from all different angles, we can combine those images to see everything inside him, to tell
exactly what is wrong."
"But if you're turning it off, why can't I see him?"
"Because it's happening too fast," the doctor said. "The field is off for only a microsecond at a time. That's long enough
for the scan but is too short to have any effect on the subject." She reached out and laid her hand on Mary's. "It's really
best for the patient, for your Henry. I know it's hard to understand, but he's not feeling anything, not aware of anything,
and nothing bad is happening to him. By doing it this way, when it comes time to treat him, we'll know precisely the right
technique to apply instead of just using a generic procedure. We'll be able to deal with his problem quickly, but without
having to hurry through it."
"Is he going to be all right?"
The doctor looked at her screens, tapped a few keys to make the images rotate. "It all looks standard and straightforward
to me. Not even an infarction, a heart attack, just an acute coronary incident." She turned towards the technician in the
corner. The tech took a few more moments to check her readings, then nodded. "Fine. Yes, Mrs. Miller, Mary, we think
your husband is going to be okay," the doctor said. The only normal-looking object in the room was a clipboard which lay
on one end of the console. She picked it up, filled in Henry's name on the top form, and signed it. "This certifies that your
husband is alive; you'll need it for both Social Security and your insurance company." She tucked the form into an
envelope and handed it to Mary.
"He is alive, you're sure of that?"
"Oh, yes, no doubt about it. Several other doctors here will have to look at his scan, but once we decide the best way to
proceed, the best way to return him to you healthy and happy, his name will go on the surgery schedule. You should be
getting the notice in a week or so."
"Thank you, doctor. Oh, thank you."
#
Day Fifty-Three, Morning
The podium on the room's small stage faced two hundred straight-backed chairs, only six of which were occupied. Mary
sat front and center, not wanting to miss a single word, hoping the speaker would tell her something, anything, about her
Henry.
"I wish they'd hurry up and get started," the man two seats to her left said. He looked to be about seventy and had
probably not smiled for fifty of those years.
"Thank you all for coming," an executive in a blue suit said as he walked in. Instead of going to the podium, he sat on the
edge of the stage. His smile and the way he leaned forward were obvious attempts to appear friendly, but he held his
legal-sized folder like a shield and kept his arms close to his body, like a fighter. "We're sorry if this is inconvenient for any
of you, but we feel that this is the best way to provide information to our policyholders. We hope you understand that
small efficiencies add up, and it is because we hold meetings like this, rather than talking to each person individually, that
we are able to keep the premiums you pay as low as possible." He opened the folder and looked at the top sheet as if
reading it for the first time. "I see that you're all here because you have a family member who is in stasis for coronary
problems."
"That's right," one man, nearly ninety, said sharply. "My Phyllis has been in one of those shiny things for more than four
months. The doctors want to get her out, to fix her, but you won't let them."
"We can't discuss individual cases in a public forum," the company man said, his smile remaining fixed. "This is an
informational meeting, and you will be allowed to ask questions of a general nature at the proper time." He flipped a page,
read it through before looking up again. "I see that it is our duty to inform you that we have the right to deny immediate
treatment in any case where an alternative may be in the best interest of the patient, even if final FDA approval of the
alternative is still pending. In Scalon v. Pallen Health..."
"That's being appealed," the man on Mary's left said.
"Nonetheless, we must act as if it is the law. The court ruled that we may wait a reasonable length of time if a new
medical procedure promises to pose less risk and reduce the chance of the illness occurring again."
"What's reasonable?" the ninety-year-old asked. "I want my Phyllis back with me now."
"We are sorry, but you must understand that we're all still adjusting to the wonderful benefits that stasis has to offer.
Everyone has to be patient while the health community struggles to realize its full potential." He lowered his folder, as if
opening himself up to the old man. "Although we cannot discuss your case here, let me ask you this: would you be happy
to let your wife be treated now and have her suffer another heart attack next month or next year, one which might take
her from you permanently, or would you rather wait another few months, until a new procedure lets the doctors cure her
completely so that you'll have another ten or twenty good years together?"
"Well, when you put it that way..."
"Nonsense," the seventyish man said. "It's just a stall. I read where it only costs them a few bucks a day to store someone
in stasis, but they'll have to pay thousands if the docs pull them out and treat them."
"That is enough!" the company man said, his shallow smile disappearing completely. "You are here because we are legally
obligated to provide the reason why we are not authorizing immediate treatment for your co-dependents. We have stated
that quite clearly, and you will be mailed a pamphlet that explains it in more detail." He snapped his folder closed. "If no
one has anything else? Then good day to you all."
As he strode from the room, Mary said nothing, using all of her strength to keep from crying.
#
Year One, Day Twelve
"It's really for the best," Mr. Goldbreim said as he showed Mary to a chair. "At the hospital, they're always so cold. They
really don't understand." He sat at his desk and pulled out a form. "I'm sure your husband will be much happier here."
Mary shook her head. "But they say he doesn't...that he..." Her voice trailed off.
"Well, that's true," he said. "Your husband doesn't know what is going on right now. But later, when the stasis is turned
off, he'll be happy that he was with us where you could visit him often."
"They just make it so hard," she said. "Every time I go to see him, there's another paper to fill out. Then I have to wait
until someone is free to take me downstairs..."
"And when you do see him, he's just lying in a rack, surrounded by others," Mr. Goldbreim said, nodding sadly. "Yes, it
really is a shame, but the hospital doesn't have the facilities for handling, that is, for accommodating the families. We, on
the other hand, can do just that. Our only interest is in helping the loved ones of those who cannot be with us just now."
"The insurance company said I had to move him because the hospital charges too much..."
"As I said, it really is for the best. The insurance company is only interested in what it costs, but I'm sure you'll be much
happier with him here. Instead of fighting the hospital's paperwork and all the waiting, you can set up a time to come and
visit him every week in the chapel or reception room."
"Chapel?"
"We used to be a funeral home, but we became 'an active home for those in stasis' when we saw how much more we can
serve the loved ones. We converted the chapel into a viewing room where you can be alone with...with...?" His eyebrows
arched in question.
"Henry, my husband is Henry."
"Very good. I'm sorry I didn't remember his name, but I can assure you that once he comes here, he won't just be a
number. Our entire staff quickly comes to know each of our residents."
"Can I visit him whenever I want?"
"A scheduled weekly viewing is included in our standard charges," he said. "I realize how hard it is for you to take this all
in right now. Just remember that we're here to help you in any way that we can, and we'll do everything possible to make
your husband's stay with us as pleasant as possible for both of you."
#
Year Two, Morning Delivery
Dear Mrs. Miller:
In regard to your inquiry of the 9th, we have reviewed the case file of Miller, Henry R., Policy #34-M-262-91428-S. We
have also requested an expedited action from our Medical Decision Services Board (MDSB).
We are pleased to report that the MDSB has authorized the aforementioned policyholder to receive treatment (specifically:
Sur-CR-415k/total reconstruction of heart and aorta) at the soonest possible time.
Clinical trials of this procedure are expected to begin early next year. If this version of the treatment gains FDA approval, it
may be available for use in this policyholder's case in as little as two years.
Please note that your inquiry fulfills the quota as defined in Section III, Paragraph 127 ("Paperwork Reduction Provision")
of your policy. Any further inquiries in this matter will be billed to you at the rate of $275 per hour.
Thank you for contacting us. We are here to serve.
Sincerely,
Customer Service Unit, Pallen Chartered Insurance Provider of North America, Health Division, Medicare Group, Stasis
Division, Inc.
#
Year Four, February
"Surely something can be done," Mary said. "Can't the government force them to give my Henry back to me?"
The congressman smiled sadly. "I'm afraid it isn't that easy, Mrs. Miller. I've sponsored legislation that will make the
insurance companies more accountable, but it's difficult to get support for something where no one is being hurt."
"But if they keep putting people into those things, and never take them out..." She could not find the right words to finish
her thought.
"That's just not the case," her congressman said. "Why, only last month I had a very bad asthma attack and the rescue
squad thought it best to put me into stasis for the trip to the hospital. It's a good thing they did because if the doctor hadn't
had the opportunity to do a thorough exam while I was safely frozen in time, he wouldn't have found that it was really a
severe allergic reaction to a spider bite. Spending that day in stasis saved my life, as it has saved many others."
"You didn't have to wait for the insurance company?"
"No, but I'm confident that your own insurer is only doing what's best. Really, I don't know what else to tell you, except
that maybe you should talk to your doctor and see if he wants to do something about it."
#
Year Four, Early Spring
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Miller," Dr. Caine said. "I really wish I could help, but this is becoming a very complicated issue."
"You said you could treat Henry; that he would be fine. That was four years ago, and no one is doing anything."
"Yes, I know, but that was before, well, before several other things came to light."
"There's more wrong with him? Why didn't someone tell me? Please..."
"No, no, no, Mrs. Miller. I'm sure that your husband is exactly as I told you when I evaluated him. This has nothing to do
with him personally. Things are changing very quickly for all of us. Procedures that only a short while ago were
considered too complex to attempt are now becoming routine because we can just snap the stasis back on, take another
set of pictures, and evaluate what the next step should be." She shook her head as if the speed of the advancements
bewildered her. "The whole field of medicine is being turned upside down, and we're all struggling with the side effects."
"Is that what my Henry is, a side effect?"
"I didn't mean it that way. I know the waiting must be difficult, but the simple truth is that if we had treated him when he
was first brought in, I could not have guaranteed that he wouldn't have had another cardiac incident a few weeks later.
With what we can do now, the chance of that is much less. And if you can wait until we can use the procedure your
insurance company approved, your Henry will come back to you with the heart of a twenty-year-old."
"What if we don't use the insurance? We have some savings. I don't know how much an operation costs, but I could
borrow against the house."
"I'm afraid it isn't just that." The doctor reached out and patted Mary's hand. "A year ago I might have said yes, but the
hospital won't allow it now. There's been too many lawsuits, too many times someone received the best possible care, but
if the doctor had left the patient in stasis a while longer, a new treatment would have been more effective."
"Then there's nothing I can do?"
"You can be strong. Just think about how much better this is for your husband. And don't lose hope. I know it's been a
long time, but it might only be a matter of months now."
#
Year Twelve, Late Edition
Now News Obit:
Mary (Mrs. Henry) Miller, 79, passed away this afternoon at the Merry Meadows rest home. She is survived by her
husband Henry, presently at Goldbreim's Momentary Village <"An active home for those in stasis." -- click here for a
virtual tour in "Personal Services / Medical">.
Her condition was not considered permanently terminal, but she had signed a no-stasis order, and the lack of medical staff
on call in the area made her death irreversible.
As requested in her will, no memorial service is planned.
<Auto-link to Editorial Page>
While any person's passing is a time of sadness, the death of Mary Miller, long rumored to be the driving force behind the
"No Eternal Stasis" movement, is particularly poignant since she is the first to die under the state's new law allowing senior
citizens to refuse to be placed into stasis when they need treatment that is not immediately available.
The medical community has actively denounced both the NES movement and the opt-out law. "People are staying dead
needlessly," Dr. Gilum, Thoracic Reconstruction Specialist at Regional Cardiology, said in an exclusive interview with Now
News. "It's criminal to let these people be lost for all time just because they don't want to wait until a doctor can see them."
Proponents of the law claim the technology is often abused by doctors and insurance companies for financial reasons and
that too many seniors are living in limbo -- their loved ones neither alive nor dead.
A bill in the legislature to limit the amount of time a person can be held in stasis before receiving treatment was narrowly
defeated last week, but its backers have promised to reintroduce it again for the next session.
For more information concerning this important issue, log in on: "Whose Rights are Right?" an in-depth series beginning
this Friday on The Weekend Now, your best source of modern news, exclusively on the Now News Network.
#
Year Thirty-Two
"Didn't the computers sound an alarm?"
"Probably, but we get so many brown-outs from those old power supplies in the outbuildings that no one pays much
attention anymore."
"How many did we lose?"
"Close to a thousand. All of M through P that came in about thirty years ago."
"None of them could be saved?"
"Not a chance. We didn't even know the stasis fields had broken down until someone went into that building yesterday.
For the smell to get that bad, it must have happened weeks ago."
"Well, get it cleaned up, and try to keep it quiet. If a reporter gets wind of it, claim it was experimental animals and we
purposely cut the power to see how the fields react after being on for a few decades."
"What about the relatives, the loved ones? They're bound to squawk."
"Loved ones? If anybody cared about those people, they wouldn't have been here in the first place."
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