Chapter 1: The Procedure
Stephen stared across the desk at the nurse as she checked off items on her ancient iPad with a black stylus. Nurse Rebecca, as she introduced herself, was in her late 50s with short-cut brown hair that had been dyed one too many times. Stephen thought she would have made a good drill sergeant in the Marines with her stocky, muscular build, rigid cheek bones, and squared chin. Her mouth was a flat, thin line that Stephen thought had been placed there only to underline her glasses.
As Nurse Rebecca continued to tap and scroll on the device Stephen let his eyes wander around the room. The shelves behind her desk were filled with technical books: Osborn’s Brain, 15th Edition, Encyclopedia of Intensive Care Vols I-V, 2030 Edition, Human Life: Recycle & Renewal – HHS Edition, and many more. They were obviously historical pieces treasured by the nurse for some strange reason. On the shelf above her right shoulder were two pictures in flat black plastic frames. One picture was of her standing by an older lady in a wheelchair with a blanket over her lap. The other was of Nurse Rebecca with two dogs, a Boarder Collie and what looked to be an Australian Shepherd.
“Is that your mother,” said Stephen. The words had left his mouth as if he had simply thought out loud. “Sorry, I just thought I saw a resemblance,” he continued as Nurse Rebecca began to look up.
The nurse looked him full in the face without turning to reference the photograph, “yes, that is a picture of me and my mother a few days before her procedure.” She returned to her work on the iPad.
“Ah yes,” thought Stephen, “the procedure, that’s what we’re here for isn’t it.” He watched the nurse continue her work. He thought she looked almost superhuman or not human. She reminded him of a primitive robot, the ones that came out in the early 2000s before AI and facial recognition was perfected. He laughed to himself as he imagined how he used to move with rigid body movements imitating the robots portrayed in old movies. He remembered how his mother would act when she saw him play acting in this way. She would play along and ask the robot questions about her son; if the robot would clean Stephen’s room, or if the robot wanted oil or cookies?
“Will I be able to see my mom before the procedure?” he blurted out again without thinking, lost in his memories of happier days.
Nurse Rebecca placed the stylus to the right of her iPad, took a deep breath, and leaned back in her chair. She eyed Stephen for what felt to him like hours. He could hear the buzzing of a light somewhere in the room that needed a ballast replaced. The nurse took off her underlined glasses, placed them on the table and rubbed her eyes and face.
“Can I give you some advice,” she began as she glanced from Stephen to her iPad and back to Stephen. She had forgotten his name. Why try to remember the name of someone who would be replaced by another face with a worthless name in less than an hour. Names had no utility with this job, at least not in her mind. She would never see Stephen again. Why waste brain power on this pathetic idiot. They were all idiots. Patients, idiots. Family members, idiots. Renewal team members, idiots. The Renewal Team members were idiots but at least they were smart enough to make it through the training school and provide for themselves but they would never amount to anything.
“Stop calling her mom or mother or mama or whatever terms of endearment you like to use,” she began with her cold, mechanical voice. She’d practiced this speech hundreds of times, maybe thousands. “It makes it more difficult for you. The woman who gave you life doesn’t even know who you are at this point. She doesn’t know if you are the doctor, a janitor, the president, or her son. You can call her mom, Sheila, beeboop, your honor, or whatever you like but she has no clue who she is either.”
Stephen sat up in his chair ready to confront this robot, person, devil or whatever she might be.
“Stephen, hold your breath. I know this might sound cold to you but it’s the truth,” she appeared to soften a little. “I’m only trying to make this easier for you in the long run. Hold on to the memories, the good times, the little boy memories of mama, but she’s already gone up here,” she said gently tapping her temple.
The man squirmed in his chair, “even if she doesn’t know who I am or who she is, I’ll still call her mom, thank you very much. If what you say is true, what difference does it make to you?”
Nurse Rebecca placed her glasses and a faint smile passed over her face. “It doesn’t make a difference to me. I’ve seen it time after time though and I’m only trying to make it easier for you. Forget I said anything.” She picked up the pad and stylus and began her work again.
“Forget I said anything?” he thought as he wrestled with feelings of pain and shame knowing what was about to take place. His internal struggle continued, “is this the right thing? I know it’s the law but is it right? We’ve been doing this for years and years now but… Yet, I know I can’t afford to keep her here.”
“Do you want me to have the doctor prescribe something for you, Stephen,” said the nurse as she continued to write and tap on the pad.
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you want something to help you relax after her renewal process? Something to take the edge off for a while? It’s a common practice these days. It helps a lot of people in your situation.”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. Does it cost anything?”, he could feel his stomach start to churn at the thought of money, the job he recently lost, and his mother. He felt terrible for even thinking about money right now at this very moment, literally less than an hour before her renewal process.
“Not much, we can simply subtract it from the final balance. I think you should at least have something in hand. You can decide later if you want to take it or not.” said the nurse, again, a faint smile passed through the thin line below her glasses like a final weak heartbeat on a monitor. “They always took it, eventually,” she thought.
“I guess so,” he said as he again shifted in his chair.
There was a faint knock at the door of the windowless room.
Nurse Rebecca looked up at Stephen and for the first time a smile did appear on her face. It was cold and calculating. She knew the fear and trepidation of those sitting across from her. She could smell it. She enjoyed it for some reason. To her, that palpable fear and struggling was like a drug that gave her an inexpressible high.
“I guess it’s almost time,” she said as the smile disappeared and she picked up the iPad and turned it for Stephen to see. “You’ll have as much time as you need to say good bye to Sheila, I mean your mother, after we’re finished here.”
Stephen swallowed hard and sat up in his chair leaning toward the large metal desk between him and the nurse.
She began coldly and methodically, “according to our tests Sheila’s gestational age is 3,754.29 weeks. We use gestational age to account for various elements and consumption. We multiply this age by $153 which gives us $574,406.37. The AGEA, Adjusted Government Extended Age of someone in her condition is 4,706 weeks. We subtract the gestational age from the AGEA and that leaves us with 951.71 weeks. We then multiply that by $750 which gives us $713,782.50. Are you following me so far?”
A bead of sweat formed on Stephen’s brow and rolled down the side of his face. “I am following,” he said in a barely audible voice. Both he and the nurse wondered if it was because of the staggering amount or because of the cost to both he and his mother.
“Great,” she continued. She always loved this part. The struggle was different for each one but in greatly intensified at this point. She was almost giddy, high on the emotional turmoil rolling in the person across from her. “Here’s the best part. You’re going to love these numbers. If we take the $574,406.37 for the life she’s lived and add to that the $713,782.50 for the future weeks recycled, we have grand total of $1,288,188.87 that will be in your bank account first thing in the morning!”
Stephen stared at the number on the screen before him. The numbers danced before his eyes as if they were alive on the screen. He didn’t know if it was the software or his mind playing tricks on him. Each number paired up and danced together. The number sign led them around the screen and back into place. They switched places, danced a Virginia Reel, and then returned to their rightful spot. He stared on.
The numbers disappeared completely and were replaced by what appeared to be a video of his life. He saw his mother nursing him at 3AM. Another scene showed her in a bathrobe on the sofa with a cup of coffee watching young Stephen unwrap and play with his Christmas gifts. He watched helplessly as he saw he and his mother sitting at the kitchen table working on algebra problems. The next scene was a split scene that showed his mother working her second job while on the right he was studying in the student lounge at the local technical college. The numbers flashed back on the screen – $1,288,188.87. The buzzing ballast stopped suddenly, a light flickered and went out darkening the room slightly.
Stephen tried to speak but his mouth was parched and his lips felt cracked, “I…I…need….”
“You need the money,” interrupted the nurse. In her 20 years in this role she had never once let one of these idiots off the hook and she wasn’t about to with this one. She knew his pressure point and began to apply a slight bit of pressure. “We know, it’s all in the file. I know it’s not easy. It was tough for me too. Like I said, that picture was of me and Marleen, my mom, right before her procedure, before her renewal.”
The light flickered on again, this time without the buzzing. The room was dead silent. The screen was still. No images, no life-videos, only numbers stared blankly, coldly back at Stephen..
“Can I ask you a question, Stephen,” the nurse began in her most practiced empathetic voice. “Would you want to live like that? What kind of life does she have now? She doesn’t know who she is, where she is, or who anyone else is. What type of life is that? She’s already gone. Now it’s time for you to let go. Let this number be her legacy,” she said tapping on the cold screen. “Do something great with it. Create a fund or name a building in her honor. Turn this into something positive, she would have wanted it that way. Don’t you think?”
The charity approach always sealed the deal. Their guilty conscience was assuaged for a moment by the intention of doing some grand charitable work in honor of their loved one. They never did and hardly ever did the money last more than a few years. Eventually Stephen’s children, if he had any, or an assigned government case worker, who received only a commission, would be sitting in Stephen’s seat. The process was perfect and saved the government millions if not billions of dollars each year in health care costs for the aging population. A hefty sum of money, an appeal to charity, and some state-of-the-art mind altering drugs kept the system purring along like clockwork.
Without thinking Stephen nodded in agreement, “I could help the poor or contribute to some charity in her name, I guess.”
“That’s it, yes, make it a positive,” said Nurse Rebecca as she handed Stephen the stylus.
With a trembling hand he signed on the line and tapped enter. The screen went black and the band on his left wrist vibrated and began to scroll the message:
“Thank you for your help in this important endeavor. The Department of Aging and the Department of Health and Human Services sincerely appreciates your contribution to a better system of care for our citizens and for the planet.
Your funds will arrive within one business day.”
Nurse Rebecca took the iPad back from Stephen, tapped a few tabs on the screen and the system reset, ready for the next patient.
“Well, we’re all finished here,” she began in a strangely pleasant voice, “any questions for me or are you ready to start the renewal process. I mean, are you ready to say farewell?”
Stephen’s mind was a jumbled mess and he was emotionally exhausted, “I’m ready”, he said while he stared at his open, sweating palms.
The nurse walked over to a metal cart in the corner of the room and typed in a few numbers on a keypad. A moment later a small package was dispensed into a receptacle at the base of the cart. She bent down, picked it up and walked back over to Stephen.
“Here, you’ll want this later,” she said handing it to the man and placing a cold hand on his shoulder. “They’re usually $1,000 but I pulled some strings for you, no charge. Trust me, it will help. Take the first one when you get home, then one a day as needed.”
The pair left the room, turned right, and walked down the brightly lit hall. They passed through many different corridors before stopping at room 2535.
Nurse Rebecca gently tapped on the door. A voice from within told them it was okay to enter.
“Hi there,” said a young nurse with dark hair and radiant smile. “I was just checking Sheila’s vitals and helping her go to the bathroom but we’re all finished.”
Nurse Rebecca glared at the young upstart, “thank you nurse. Sheila will begin the renewal process shortly, please notify the Renewal Team.”
The young nurse’s smile quickly disappeared, “yes, Nurse Rebecca. I’ll let them know.” She glanced sideways at Stephen who had not taken his eyes off of his mother since he came through the door. She looked back at Nurse Rebecca who was still glaring at her. The young nurse cast her gaze to the ground and quickly exited the room.
“I’ll leave you here, Stephen. Take as much time as you like. If you need anything push the red button, otherwise push the blue button as you leave.” she said as she closed the door behind her.
The old lady sat in her wheelchair staring at the young man. Her soft, pale hands were lying gently on the blanket that covered her legs. She had aged well physically. Her eyes were still a brilliant blue and her smile seemed to light up the room. Though her mental processes were fading quickly she made the nurses who cared for her feel happy just being in her presence.
“Good morning, doctor,” began the old lady. “Or is it evening. I can never tell. I’ve asked for a room with windows but they tell me they are all booked up. They put that picture of a window on the wall but it’s not the same. Haha, that bird somehow just hangs in the sky.”
Stephen fought back tears as he listened to the woman who had shown him so much love as he was growing up. He wondered if he was doing the right thing? The nurse was right, her mind was gone. He wouldn’t want to live that way. There was also the money, but… He reminded himself that he was going to do something good in her name. It had to be this way, it was the best for everyone.
“I’m not the doctor, mom, I’m your son,” he said kindly and firmly.
“My son, hmm,” she sat staring at him trying to recall something that no longer existed. Trying to upload a file that had long been erased. “I’m sorry, I’m just not myself today. These darn medications have my mind all mixed up. What is your name again, doctor?”
Stephen dropped to his knees before his mother and looked up into her beautiful blue eyes, silently pleading, begging her to recognize him. She looked back and smiled.
There was no mistaking the likeness. Their physical features, mannerisms, and gait of speech were all eerily similar.
He struggled to find the words, “I’m Stephen, your son. Don’t you recognize me?”
His words struck a cord with Sheila, she stirred a bit in her seat. She sought again, struggled, but ended up simply being embarrassed. She didn’t recognize him. Every person that walked through the door was someone new to her. The same young nurse introduced herself every time. The government appointed doctor, whom she had for three years now, was new to her every time. It was as if she were a little child meeting someone for the first time. For those who didn’t know her as her former self it was an endearing trait. Her joy, excitement, and pleasant conversation kept them in her room longer than was needed and for many it was the highlight of their day.
Stephen rose, walked to the bathroom sink, and splashed water on his face. As he wiped it with a paper towel he resolved to say goodbye to Sheila, his mother. He didn’t want any of these painful memories of her mental decay to override his good memories. He wanted out of that room as soon as possible.
“Mom,” he began before catching himself, “I mean Sheila. It’s time for me to go. Thanks for everything.”
The old lady smiled sweetly at him, “Oh, you’re so very welcome. Do come again when you can stay longer. I’d love to get to know you. You remind me of someone I used to know but can’t think of right this moment. Oh well, I’ll remember for next time.”
Stephen grabbed the door handle and began to open the door when he saw the blue button. The blue button was final. There was no turning back. When he pushed that button in would make an electrical connection that would cause a bell to sound somewhere in the building. It would alert the Renewal Team and they would began preparing equipment for the process.
He mustered his energies and placed his index finger on the blue button careful not to press it. All he had to do was push the button, go home and take his meds and it would all be over. Nurse Rebecca even said he wouldn’t remember much of it.
Something stirred deep inside him and he walked over to the old lady, said nothing, but simply kissed her soft cheek as he had done thousands of times. He fought back tears as she looked up and smiled at him.
The son opened the door and placed his finger once again on the blue button. Stephen pressed down on the button. It lit up and he thought he could hear a ding off in the distance, down a hallway somewhere.
As he turned the door handle to leave the old lady spoke up, “Oh, now I remember, you are my son, I remember, I remember.”
Stephen’s face went white and his knees began to buckle. His hand was stuck to the door handle. The handle, the door, the building had become and extension of him. He stared in horror at the old lady, at Sheila, at his mother.
“Yes, it came to me as you pushed that button,” the old lady said with the giggle. “Yes, you are my son, Judah. Am I right?”
The door handle burned in Stephen’s hand as he looked upon his mother. His throat went dry and stomach turned. He fought back the urge to vomit. He glanced at the blue button and back to her. He felt the package of medication in his right front pocket. He looked again at her in horror then turned and stumbled down the brightly lit hall out the front door of the building and into the night.
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James M. Hahn, Author 