Part 3: Stem cells
Fast forward to the day when I could successfully roll around in a wheelchair, which wasn't even electric, but old-fashioned, with the wheels that I had to push with my hands. My legs were now functional, but not enough to walk on my own. They wouldn't let me out of my cell...ups sorry, I mean hospital room, except when they were driving me for tests, scans, endless needle poking and electrocutions. During those not-so-pleasant tests and treatments, I had the opportunity to take a look at my arms and legs, and even my torso, and it was clear that whatever they did, they managed to rejuvenate my body by at least twenty years. I wasn't optimistic about that because a dark-haired young man, Dr. Marianusic, told me that almost half of the stem cell treatments ended "very, very badly." I didn't want to ask for details. After all, what do I have to lose at my age? After an additional two hundred years of half-life in ice?
I became nervous from all the testing, riding in and on wheelchairs and being locked in rooms. During what seemed to me like an infinitely long time after waking up, I never saw a trace of the sky, not a single window. I dared to mention this wish to see the sky to my always "optimistic" doctor Marianusic. He was the oldest of those people, but still much younger than me, I mean, younger than me before the disaster and everything.
"We have no windows, nothing to see out there," he said. These people have no sense of humor, or even a single try to lighten up a hopeless situation.
"You mean, all that's left is this building and nothing else? Put me then back under the ice right now!”
"Uh, no, far from it, calm down," always so serious he took it all literally, "there are cities, but you know, it's dark. You can't see anything anyway."
"But when it dawns..."
"You don't understand, it won't dawn. Ever. The city is illuminated by artificial lights, but beyond that there is nothing. Just blackness. This building is not under a dome so there is no light outside and the temperatures are extremely low. Windows are unnecessary, and dangerous."
I had periods of regretting being awaken from the time spent in a frozen sleep, which I thought would last forever. The need for peace, sleepiness, light that refracts in rainbow colors forever. The feeling that I am where I am, that I have nothing to lose and that I will exist forever, even if only as a fragment of consciousness in a frozen body. This was one of those periods, perhaps the strongest. I asked him why they woke me up, took me out of the ice, why me, and why, when there was nothing left and nothing to see. I felt that there was nothing here left but buildings and a handful of people. Who wants to see that? Who wants to live there? They also rejuvenated me to last longer. Why me, I asked.
I was closest to the surface and had the best vitals. Here's an explanation! It was certainly easier to reach people who were lucky enough to be close to the surface of the ice, and I had, judging by their measurements, surprisingly strong vital functions, almost as if my brain was still working, albeit at a very weak level. They just had to dig me up! Who were "they", you ask? It seems that a group of people, before the disaster, felt they had the right to determine who would survive and accordingly, certain people were put safely into a state of hibernation, deep, deep underground. The survivors' selection system was tragicomic and expected. Those who had enough money (but what was the meaning of money at that moment?), those who had influence and power, and those closest to the participants in the whole project. So, survivors were chosen over personal connections. It is no wonder that their descendants are completely empty and without a trace of spirit. Hibernation lasted as long as fifty years, after which they managed to wake up "the majority", as the good doctor said. In the meantime, the dangerous situation on the surface, although still not safe, calmed down a bit and soon they started to rebuild and salvage what could be saved. It seems that I was lucky, at least that much, that I was not among the first to be pulled out of the ice. The first people they tried to extract from the ice simply disintegrated, some unfortunately, upon awakening, fully aware of what was happening to them. It wasn't pleasant to think about it during the long nights. My cold and bland doctor didn't know if such a fate could befall me, but the failed ones were followed by more and more complete revival successes, so that the majority of those who were awakened were still alive and well, decades after the awakening.
"After all," he said without thinking, "you were a perfect candidate for a trial of stem cell therapy because of your age you were . . ."
He stopped there, obviously realizing that it wasn't very smart to say "expendable", that is, I am so old that it wasn't too bad for me to fail and die in the process.
"Um, um, I wanted to say that there would be no effect with younger candidates. Stem cell treatment can rejuvenate you, but can't bring you back to puberty. It can only go so long."
"What happens if things go wrong?" I asked, and the silence was a more terrifying answer than anything he could've said.
"What kind of society is this?" I asked after a very long and uncomfortable silence during which I could clearly read pure terror on his face.
"Not very great," he finally answered and I felt the first rush of sympathy for him for this honesty.
"Is it better not to go out?"
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