Bye-bye Birdie

Warning: This story does not have a happy ending, beginning, or middle

Her eyes were blank, staring aimlessly through me, instead of at me.

"It's called TIS", I heard someone say behind me. "It stands for Total Indifference Syndrome. It's far more common than we realize, unfortunately," the voice kept droning on and on feeding useless information into my apathetic ears. I was hearing about as much as she was while she was laying there in her hospital bed zoned out.

I was born into an era preceding the digital age.  My imaginative peripherals were confined to 20th-century wisdom.  She never knew that period of time. Although I know she can't hear me anymore, I talk to her anyway. "I gotta go now Birdie. Try and have a good rest of your day, okay? I'll see you tomorrow." I leave her room holding back my tears as I make my way out of the hospital, always looking down at the floor, never looking into any of the rooms that are filled with TIS patients. Hospitals now have complete wards only for patients with this syndrome. I don't think anybody saw that one coming way back when. 

The first time I sat in front of a computer to work on an assignment, at the beginning of the technology upsurge, I cried in frustration. I was overwhelmed with technical knowledge that I just didn't understand. Yet that was still such a simple time, compared to now. The digital era was just on the cusp. I was surrounded by fellow students who were at least 20 years my junior. This stuff was normal to them. What the hell was I thinking when I signed up for this course. Recoiling with apprehension, I remember I quickly shut the computer off - at least I knew how to push that button, thank god - and left the library swearing to myself I wouldn't be back.

Subsequently, technology truly took off advancing in ways that were not foreseeable. Analog became an outdated form of information. Digital presented itself to the world. Healthcare became a billion-dollar industry with cutting-edge expertise and equipment. It was all so exciting and hopeful for patients with chronic illnesses, and exhilaration filled the essence of healthcare practitioners. The boundaries seemed limitless. Life's future was tremendously colourful and vibrant. The path ahead was brilliant with digital offerings and promises.

Anxiety came along with it. Reality began taking a back seat and virtual reality leaped to the forefront. Very gradually 'disconnection' became a strong word in human behaviour to the point that it was not just a word anymore. It was a state of being, it was a behaviour noticed worldwide. Artificial intelligence sequestered our brains making it too difficult to decipher real from fake. Medicine and healthcare were forced to make rapid changes to keep up with technology but there were unforeseen repercussions that came with such advanced knowledge. Hospitals began filling up with patients exposing inexplicable and peculiar symptoms accompanied by odd behaviours. People were noticeably becoming vacant.

Strategies in hospital protocols morphed subtly as new sets of symptoms were established. Nurses quietly moved about from room to room, methodically performing their duties with blank expressions. Blinking lights were constantly flashing different colors and continuous digital readings crawling across monitors were prevalent amongst so many techie-looking machines. But if not for the constant beeping and humming, the silence was the common denominator in each of their rooms. Zombies. No more communication. The nurses don't have to talk either, not in the TIS ward anyway. Their patients have all become Technology Malformations (TM), another new digital spew. So many new acronyms to label so many new syndromes. And with all this technology, we still don't have the answers we seek. We're still scratching our heads. So instead, we just keep creating new things, in a rush of digital euphoria.

"I can't remember when her symptoms first started appearing," I tell the doctor, bleakly. It was a subtle obsession that had gently penetrated her world. The disconnection wasn't easily distinguished at first. "She was a typical teenager absorbed with her phone and social media," I add as if the doctor could suddenly make this all go away with a prescription of some kind. "How do doctors treat TIS?" I ask him.

"We have a method referred to as 'Disconnection Treatment Therapy', or DTT. I'd like to start with that", he advises in a non-committed manner, introducing yet another new acronym brought upon us by wonderful technology.  "Unfortunately, your daughter is one of the more severe cases I have seen Mrs. Donaldson, so I cannot foresee the outcome of this treatment at this time. We'll have to take it one step at a time for now."

It's now referred to as a disease with a calculable date of death. A disease usually has a defining cause, with distinct symptoms and applicable treatments. A syndrome, on the other hand, this syndrome, in particular, is a cluster of symptoms without a definite cause.

When a person is diagnosed with TIS they're mandated to fill out a form at the beginning of their diagnosis, whereby they are assigned a unique code from the federal government, to receive their CDOD (Calculated Date of Death). This we call modern technology but it occurs to me - wow, what a mess we have made. Perhaps CDOD has become the new unconventional method of controlling our overcrowded hospitals.

Time passed but my daughter Bridgette, fondly nick-named Birdie back when she was a young innocent child before her first cell phone, didn't respond to the DTT method, and the reality of the CDOD we signed before her treatments began, was becoming a new certainty.

Down the hospital corridor, I hear a mother sobbing in agony. Her child's CDOD is today and she can't come to grips with the reality of the situation. Although it's all a very methodical procedure, her pain is not virtual, it is very raw, and so very much unfeigned. All the digital technology and knowledge we have accrued up to this point in time hasn't found a way to manage the grief of the loss of a child to TIS. I can't bear listening to her anguish, knowing my precious daughter's CDOD is looming in the very near future. I understand that in a matter of time, it will be me wailing in agony just like this mother is right now.

Gently, I push her hair away from her forehead. "Please, please speak to me Birdie," I beg her, whispering quietly in her ear. I just need to hear her speak once more, but I know this won't happen. The TIS has rendered her mute and she can't talk to me anymore. She isn't aware that I exist.

Graciously, another modus operandi affixed to 'TIS procedures' is grief counseling, created in a virtual environment of course, and offering basic information to manage the survivors' loss. The typical five stages are addressed - 1. Denial 2. Anger 3. Bargaining 4. Depression 5. Acceptance. I have bounced around through four of the stages while Birdie is still lying in her bed waiting for her CDOD.  I cannot accept stage number five because I will never accept the realm of digital technology and its aftermath of it.

Sitting quietly at her bedside, my hands resting in my lap interlaced in prayer position, I reminisce about the simpler days, while she remains checked out indifferently. The days before digital, the analog days. I remember home movies with a pull-down screen and a movie projector, and drive-in movie theatres. I remember black and white TV with no remote control and, if you were lucky, maybe five stations to select from on the dial. I remember cassette tapes and before that 8-track tapes that we awkwardly traipsed around with to listen to our music. I remember the telephone that hung on the kitchen wall with a rotary dial. Cell phones didn't exist then. TIS didn't exist back then either. Immediately I bounce back into stage 2 - anger.

Social media has become our enemy. Addictive algorithms leading to self-harm, anorexia and other eating disorders, cyberbullying, suicide, and strange syndromes such as TIS have become normal now. Treatment centers are filled to capacity at an all-time high. New patterns have developed - people being treated, released, and then back into treatment again - in other words digital disease is consuming humanity. The negative effects of online content, keyboard bullies, and digital hate are undoubtedly blocking out any online wellness. The profit comes before safety and profit has shifted our currency.  There is no more tangible money. Digital ID is required in order to secure healthcare which I have now deemed inadequate. Digital expertise has failed my Birdie.

Her CDOD has arrived and I am about to shatter into a million little pieces. Standing at her bedside I am accompanied by two nurses and her attending doctor.

At the risk of appearing cold-hearted and harsh, perhaps I too am disconnected and empty now, I lash out. "I'm so sorry, with all due respect Doctor, can we just do this the old-fashioned way - analogically? Never mind pushing the magic buttons. Please, no more digital bullshit. Technology has already 'virtually swallowed' my little angel. Please, let's just pull the fucking plug instead."