A Future to Hope for

Slowly you open your eyes, slow but sure. Then it hits you as you think to yourself: today is the day.

As you slip out of your warm comfy queen sized bed you mark off the date on the calendar; the eleventh of January 2050, one year older. Happy birthday you think softly to yourself. Yet it was with happiness as this year is different. Thanks to the medical discovery that is, one that was only finally finalised and released to the public less than two weeks prior.

So you go to your automated closet and punch into the system; optimistic, hopeful and happy. It picks out a bright yellow blouse, a black alligator print pencil skirt, and pumps in a very bright radiant yellow colour. After getting dressed you go to your makeup station scattered with a few products. You choose shades of gold for your eyes, and pale pink for your lips. As for jewellery you choose a thin golden choker, thin and small hoops, with a few golden chain bracelets and an infinity sign anklet for your ankle.

Today for you is both a happy day and a sorrowful one. But overall a happy one as today is the day that awful disease in your body will be gone, forever, all thanks to the many advances in modern medicine in the last few years. People have called the disease many different names over the years, individuals like your mum giving it a more personal name as they fought it, but most commonly its name was not spoken of at all, except in quiet hushed whispered voices.As it was a horrible degenerative disease that has killed hundreds of millions since time began with very few cures. But thanks to the new medical developements no longer will it kill, all that suffering, death, and uncertainty of what the future holds is in the past.

Once you are ready you go downstairs and wait for the time to pass till the flying cab arrives at your door right on time. You take precursory precautions such as checking his licence plate against the one on the booking. All is as it should be so you get in. The interior is highly modern, yet in an educated guess the driver looks to be in his fifties. He would have seen the deadliness of your disease you think to yourself. What’s the occasion he casually asks despite knowing your destination thanks to the booking system. You just say it’s your birthday and you two chat away but your mind drifts to the past, back to your mum.

She had the exact same disease, it is genetic after all the one she had and you have. She died of it. This was due to a lack of knowledge in how to detect, treat and cure all at once. And stop the disease in its tracks, merely days after discovery of the disease in the body. Sometimes the disease hit randomly, sometimes it was genetic like yours and your mums. They had ways in the past to cure, treat, or prolong life, but sometimes all they could do was palliative care if they caught the disease too late. In the past patients relied solely on chemotherapy, radiation treatments, surgery and sometimes experimental clinical studies. It took hundreds of years to name the disease they were fighting, many more years for some success stories but in the last twenty-five years money flooded into the right departments, and interest in finding a cure once and for all doubled. And now, today, in 2050 they have just that, a cure. Next on the list of discoveries is how to prevent it once and for all.

You are suddenly pulled back to 2050, the present moment by the cab driver asking for the fare. You tip him twenty-five percent more than necessary as he was kind enough to talk and let you get lost in your own thoughts. As you get out the flying cab you look at the clinic and notice it was designed to blend in with the buildings surrounding it. But the number by the door was the same number as your letter stated so you go in anyways.

you are greeted with warm but light yellow walls and plenty of light coming from skylights. You see the doctors and nurses dressed in golden yellow scrubs. You are slightly overwhelmed by the warm welcoming environment but then you gather your composure. You report to reception where you give the code from your letter. Everyone with the disease now has a code, for ease of tracking numbers.The receptionist warmly welcomes you, She says that the clinic doctor will call you soon as you're in perfect time for your appointment.

Code 2350 was read out by the automated robot a few minutes later and you know that’s you, but you still double check your letter. Your stomach has butterflies now, not knowing what to expect, you take a few steps forward and hesitate to push the door open, but the doctor was obviously expecting this, as he opened to welcome you. He explains the procedure in details that a toddler could understand, but you understood this was because your brain was overwhelmed right now. So to understand it correctly he linked it to your work with automated robots. Miniature robots (or disease seeking cells) would be released into your bloodstream and tissue continuously through a miniature pod implanted in your arm, now it didn’t matter what type of disease you had or get in the future these “miniature robots” will seek out and destroy. The only place these “miniature robots” cannot get to is your bones so you would need a bone scan every year just to rule that out but even then the chance of getting that with the “miniature robots” help was extremely slim. Plus the yearly bone check up gave them a chance to check on the progress of the miniature pod, and if it needed repaired, replaced and whatnot. He then said that they could either do the procedure today, where you would be a day patient or book it for the near future. The choice lay with you. He also encouraged you to join a group for those who have had the pod implanted. You look at your hands, and utter the words, i still haven’t called it by its name yet, i just keep calling it the disease.

He ponders for a second, and then asks if it’s to do with the past. You nod slowly, tears threatening to break the dam. He suggests waiting to call it by its name till after the procedure cause then you know its killing the disease faster than it can regenerate, and are essentially disease free. You quickly agree, and agree to get it done there and there. After all you booked the week off for this.

He offers his arm to balance you as you hop off the table, and escorts you to the back of the clinic where there is a miniature surgical wing, and recovery suite. Code 2350 he says confidently to the nearby surgeon, he smiles and sits you on the bed, and leaves you surrounded with yet more doctors in golden yellow scrubs. A few consent forms later, they numb your arm, and a quick slice, and a few seconds latter they are stitching you up. All easy and all quick and efficient.

In the recovery suite there were ten others, all chatting about the different variations of the disease they now once had. After all the “miniature robots” got to work the minute the sutures were finished. The word was tossed around but you avoided using it till finally that doctor came back, pulled the curtains round the bed and asked if you were ready to call it by its name yet. You nodded.

‘I had cancer’ you said