A 30-Year Nap - Part 1

In the heart of Silicon Valley, where technological marvels and extravagant dreams share a complex, long-term relationship, there 
existed 46-year-old Alexander Winton, an eccentric and visionary tech magnate. His life, a brocade of luxurious escapades and groundbreaking achievements, had always been driven by a restlessness for something slightly beyond the present. His drive to bring tomorrow’s technology to the present was fundamental to his success, bringing people new things they did not yet know they needed.

His fascination with the future had its roots in childhood, where science fiction novels and movies painted vivid, tangible images 
of a world transformed by science. His lust for the future only grew as he did. He began his first company at age 19 as a starry-eyed entrepreneur with fantastic visions about the gadgets of tomorrow. As the years passed, Alexander’s obsession with the future began to take a peculiar turn. Despite several successful ventures and multiple high profit exits, his disquietude in the present only worsened. Rather than settling-in to middle-aged complacency, each technological advancement he witnessed further inflamed his cravings to see beyond the horizon. No available luxuries or new tech assets could scratch the itch, which was becoming a full-blown rash.

The  idea that would consume him arrived during a late night of fitful sleep. It was a wild thought that would seem absurd to most, 
but to Alexander, it was a solution to achieve time travel. To literally travel into the future. He had heard of people being placed in medically induced comas for various reasons, their bodies preserved while time marched on without them.

“What if,” he pondered, “I could use a state of suspended animation to travel to the future?”

The notion was fantastical, yet it enticed him. If he could find an anesthesiologist willing to undertake such an unprecedented 
endeavor, someone who could ensure his survival through a prolonged hibernation, he could wake up 30 years in the future. It would feel as though he walked through a portal in time. It’s possible that medical advances during the period could optimize his health and longevity, without him even realizing it. He would then awaken as an improved 76-year-old man, ready to consume humanity’s advances, a future where human development had finally outpaced his own dreams and fantasies.

He would provide this physician with a healthy salary, ensuring that he would be the doctor’s sole patient during the time, with 
some contingency plans of course. Alexander started rough calculations for the cost of hiring a personal physician over the course of 30 years, plus some “juice” to make it worthwhile. He thought to himself, “I can definitely afford it, even if inflation chews up most of my cash.”

This bizarre quest was more than a mere whim; it became a need. A need to escape from the boredom of his present time, which 
increasingly felt like incarceration.

Conscious of the need for discretion in this project, he devised a strategy to find an anesthesiologist for his ambitious plan. 
Knowing that directly approaching professionals with such an unusual request would lead to unwanted scrutiny, and immediate rejection from most, he decided he to task his staff of personal assistants with the initial phase of the project.

First, Alexander began listing his personal contacts in the medical field. He had friends and acquaintances who were doctors, ran 
hospitals, or were otherwise connected to the medical community. Instead of outright stating his true intent, he would frame his inquiries as a need for an expert in “long-term patient care under sedation” or “novel and unconventional treatments in hospice,” somewhat implying that he had a family member who was terminal. This would allow him to avoid any uncomfortable questions about an assumed dying family member.

Thinking about doctors who might be willing to engage in such a plan, he also decided to locate physicians who were under probation 
or had lost their licenses. Surely there must be a quality doc somewhere whose willingness to be “flexible” landed them on the wrong side of the medical board. He discovered that most of these disciplinary actions were publicly available, facilitating his search. On a nearby scrap of paper, Alexander furiously scribbled a few criteria for the type of physician he was looking for. He then tasked a few trusted employees.

His staff compiled series of profiles on their internal server, with the physicians’ photos, research interests, and disciplinary 
actions. The comprehensive list allowed him to easily peruse their findings. His assistants had performed excellent work, as usual.

The first anesthesiologist’s profile was that of Dr. Emily Hargrove, a renowned expert in pain management based in New York City. 
She had been recommended by one of Alexander’s friends, who not only knew several medical professionals, she also knew his “type.” 
But that’s another story for another day.

Looking into her profile, he saw that Dr. Hargrove was known for some adventurous treatments in pain management, including the use 
of diacetylmorphine (or heroin, which he had to look up). Seeing this, he thought she might be a good first contact. Besides, she was beautiful, with curly locks of blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders in photographs that were obviously taken by a professional.

Cracking his knuckles in one motion, Alexander began to write her a somewhat cryptic message, clicking away at his mechanical 
keyboard. He pushed away any lingering second thoughts, sending off the e-mail like an electronic message-in-a-bottle.

Receiving the message on her laptop, Dr. Hargrove instantly recognized the name, Alexander Winton, as a Silicon Valley billionaire. 
The message appeared genuine, coming from his company domain, so she responded immediately with an offer to meet by video chat. She provided a choice of five dates, each with at least three time slots: morning, afternoon, and evening, trying to accommodate what she imagined was a very busy schedule.

Alexander, surprised but nervous, opened her response. “I guess I’m really going to do this,” he muttered to himself, unwilling to 
admit he was open to seeing her on a date as much as having her for a doctor. He decided on the first time slot in the evening hours, hoping the dusk timing would prove auspicious. Typing quickly, as though his fingers were stumbling over one another, he wrote that while he would be happy to meet on a video call, he could also fly her out on a private plane, to make things easier. As he sent off the message, it seemed as though the echoes of the clickety-clack from the keyboard hung in the air.

Dr. Hargrove responded immediately once again, apologizing that she could only meet by video due a busy schedule of pain 
procedures, with a long list of patients, some of whom had been waiting months for her expert touch.

“k, video call is fine,” Alexander replied quickly with a terse message, feigning nonchalance to mask his disappointment.

When the date for this appointment finally arrived, Alexander sat in his home office waiting, his stomach a blend of anticipation 
and heartburn from too much coffee. He stared at the computer screen as the clock ticked closer to the appointed time, nervously adjusting the position of his webcam to find the most flattering angle.

Then, the screen blinked to life and Dr. Emily Hargrove’s face appeared. Her real-life presence, even via video, was striking. Her 
blonde curls framed her face, highlighted by the setting sun in the window beside her, a scene that could have been painted by Vermeer.

“Mr. Winton, it’s a pleasure to meet you, albeit virtually,” Dr. Hargrove began, her tone warm, yet professional.

“The pleasure is mine, Dr. Hargrove. Thank you for accommodating this meeting,” Alexander replied, trying to sound more confident 
than he felt.

“I must admit, your message was intriguing,” Dr. Hargrove said, looking upward reviewing the message on her screen. “You mentioned 
a ‘groundbreaking medical project’? I’m curious to hear more about it.”

He started on his story, “Since I was a child, I always dreamed of traveling to the future. The prospects for advanced technologies 
have aways consumed my imagination. Of course, this has allowed me to create many of the products-”

“That I use every day!” Dr. Hargrove interrupted with a girlish smile.

“Exactly,” he went on, slightly embarrassed, “now imagine what the future might look like, the advancements…” He paused. Upon 
hearing himself, he became unsure how to proceed.

She listened intently, not wanting to interrupt again.

Alexander cleared his throat, realizing this moment might define his destiny. “So, yes, well, as you said, I have quite an 
unconventional idea. I’m looking to explore the possibility of… uh, induced long-term hibernation.

Dr. Hargrove’s eyebrows elevated in surprise. “To travel to the future,” she deduced, her tone becoming subdued. “And exactly how 
far into the future do you wish to ‘travel’?”

“I think 30 years would be good. I would pay you handsomely; you would never need to wait on those patients in pain again.”

Dr. Hargrove let out a nervous laugh, offended by his choice of words, as if she was a waitress “waiting on” patients.

“Well, it certainly is an unconventional idea,” she responded, leaving a heavy silence between the two faces on the screen. She 
tried to lighten the digital atmosphere, “And quite a long nap!”

When Alexander gave no response, Dr. Hargrove’s smile faded slightly to a more serious expression. “Mr. Winton, your idea is 
certainly bold, and generous. However, it does raise a host of medical, ethical, and legal questions. Undergoing anesthesia for such a prolonged period isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

Alexander nodded, realizing that his approach might have seemed too cavalier. “I understand the gravity of what I’m proposing. 
That’s why I need an expert like you to help assess its feasibility. Money really is no object.”

Dr. Hargrove leaned back in her chair, her expression pained and thoughtful. “Mr. Winton, I won’t deny that your project intrigues 
me. The concept, while ethically and medically complex, does push the boundaries of what we understand about the long-terms effects of anesthesia, not to mention human consciousness. But before I can even consider the feasibility, I need more details, more research, more… everything.”

She seemed a little exasperated, but Alexander, feeling a glimmer of hope, quickly responded confidently, “I’m prepared to provide 
whatever you need. Research teams, facilities, funding. You name it.”

Dr. Hargrove found it difficult not be swayed by lifelong income for relatively little work.

“There’s also the matter of the long-term effects on your body,” Dr. Hargrove continued. “We’re talking about muscle atrophy, bone 
density loss, and some really insane pharmacokinetics… not to mention the psychological impact of essentially skipping three decades of your life!”

Alexander’s face grew somber. “I’ve considered the risks. But the opportunity to see the future, to witness the progress of 
humanity… It’s a chance I’m willing to take. With everything I’ve accomplished, the present leaves little excitement for me.”

Dr. Hargrove paused with her gaze fixed on him. “I’ll need time to think about this, Mr. Winton. This isn’t a decision I can make 
lightly. I want to do some preliminary research, consult with a few colleagues. Maybe then, I can give you a more informed answer.”

“But this is highly confidential, of course,” Alexander noted as he shifted in his chair, a mix of anxiety and anticipation 
bubbling inside him. “But yes, take all the time you need. I’ll be here, waiting.”

The call was shorter than he had hoped, ending as the screen transitioned to its backgound, a space photograph of a haphazard 
swirling galaxies, a reflection of Alexander’s present state of mind. He slid back in his chair, lost in thought. Perhaps he had found a willing expert. She sure was gorgeous, but less so when she smiled. How would he interact with her? Try to keep her on serious topics all the time? “Perhaps there is something wrong with me,” he thought. “Oh well.”

As night fell, a slight fog covered the city lights, causing a glow like distant nebulae. Alexander’s blank stare drifted to the 
window, his mind racing with possibilities, excitement, and concerns. Dr. Hargrove just might be the answer to a future he had only dreamed of, but at what cost to his body? He had not before considered the physical effects of muscle wasting, but spoke to himself out loud, “Certainly she can shock my muscles with some kind of electrodes and prevent at least some of the degradation.”

He decided to retire for the evening, turning off the light on his nightstand as he climbed into his neatly made, plush bed (one 
that in its own right might have be an aspirational goal for some).

Looking toward the ceiling, his gaze softened only to be interrupted by the light from his phone’s screen. It was a notification, a 
reminder of another meeting, this time with a legal team to discuss the ramifications of his plan. Alexander sighed, reminded of his dissatisfaction and boredom with the present. He was about to embark on an adventure, that if successful, would transport him 30 years into the future! But the biggest challenge might just be finding a physician to join him in this caper.

As he faded into unconsciousness, the room was filled with beams of moonlight, like narrow roads beckoning a traveler to embark on 
a new journey to the unknown.

tags: 30-Year-Nap, short-story