When Jodi was eleven, she took a life-changing trip into the city’s core. It was teeming with colour and too many people and horrible smells. She couldn’t even remember the exhibit her family saw or what they ate for lunch, but what she couldn’t forget was the middle-aged woman wandering the street. She was short in stature yet sent colossal ripples throughout Jodi’s life. The woman had bloodshot eyes, uncontrollable shivers, and kept pointing at things that weren’t there.
“That’s so sad,” Jodi’s mom whispered, “Maybe we should call SleepRelief?”
“She might be too far along,” her father suggested.
“We just can’t let her suffer. They take care of this stuff; they’ll know what to do.”
Her mom beckoned a large SleepRelief van with a simple phone call. Two uniformed men plodded out, got the woman sitting down, and came over to thank Jodi’s parents for alerting them. All the while, Jodi couldn’t quite piece together what exactly was happening.
“Is she going to be okay?” her mom asked.
“I don’t know ma’am; she’s been without sleep for a while. SOVA probably cut her off at least a week ago. We’ll have to wait for test results to see if there’s any coming back from this.”
“What a shame,” her father said as he shuffled them along.
Her whole childhood had kept her far from the horrors of what happened when you didn’t pay your sleep bill, but that didn’t stop Jodi from finding out. After the trip, she stole glimpses of her parent's bills with Sleep’s Official Verification Agency plastered on the letterhead. She would pester her parents with more and more questions until they finally divulged what happened if someone didn’t make a payment.
Growing older, Jodi continued her fascination with sleep deprivation research. She delved into all the side effects of deprivation, including the signs that indicated when someone could no longer be helped. Her consuming hobby naturally led her to a job with the SleepRelief organization. She was always proud to brag about where she worked because of their ground-breaking research into easing the effects of deprivation. Though they were primarily established to give financial aid to those in need. For every person SOVA cut off from sleep, she was comforted in knowing SleepRelief tried to assuage the situation.
At work, she was the Financial Aid Manager, responsible for the complete processing of requests for financial assistance. Applicant files started on the main floor where she and others met with applicants requesting aid. Upstairs in the medical division, if the applicants had become patients, they were taken care of.
Jodi’s day at SleepRelief started typically enough–she was on the main floor discussing possible aid for a man and his daughter. Her station was unadorned except the blue and white The Best Relief is Sleep! button that she kept for motivation. There were rows of stations like hers with other representatives who handled similar requests. Each had a line of agitated people waiting for good news, with only khaki-coloured walls to stare at. The gentle hum of the air vents lulled the representatives into their familiar routine, while a soft tone directed applicants to an available station every few minutes.
The scruffy man in front of Jodi looked like similar men before him who just wanted to survive. He’d probably reached out to the people he knew and pinched together funds from every account and every forgotten pocket he owned. Either way, desperation had led him to SleepRelief. He held on to his young daughter as she held on to an orange stuffed dinosaur. She was in her own world, completely unaware of her precarious situation.
“I don’t want to get shut off, but I can’t pay for last month. I’m late and SOVA sent out the first notice,” he lowered his voice as he glanced at his daughter, but she was still preoccupied with her toy, “I–I don’t have enough for both of us…I lost my job a while back.”
As fiercely as Jodi always wanted to sympathize, she knew the organization counted on her processing requests objectively.
“Alright sir, if you fill out these forms, we’ll do a background check to see if you qualify. Then if you’re eligible we’ll call SOVA and resolve the issue.”
He sighed, seemingly relieved to avoid any further communication with SOVA. They were connected to every consciousness, controlled everyone’s ability to sleep, and had an unfortunate reputation for being tricky to deal with. Definitely no policies on generosity.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” the man said.
“That’s what we’re here for,” Jodi said as she got him started on his paperwork.
After handling his file, Jodi was called about a serious case on the fifth floor. All the medical cases were processed and placed according to the degree of sleep deprivation. Luckily, most of the SleepRelief patients just needed observation and help with symptoms as they waited for their bill to be paid. The others went to the very top. Jodi stepped onto the elevator with the necessary paperwork, uneasy about being with the most severe cases. The people who could be helped were always downstairs.
She remembered one of her first applicants who ended up as a fifth-floor patient.
“Ms. Wesley, I’m sorry but SleepRelief won’t be able to help pay your SOVA bill.”
Ms. Wesley was in her late thirties but looked twice her age. Jodi knew by her file that she had lost her only son to cancer and had since suffered from alcoholism. SleepRelief was probably her only option for paying her bill, but they couldn’t give preferential treatment based on tragic backstories. If they did, there would never be enough for everybody else.
“What do you mean? That’s what you guys are for…you help pay when people don’t have the money.”
“Unfortunately, we can only help when people can prove they have plans to make future payments. We don’t offer assistance to people deemed to have a small chance of financial recovery. Otherwise, we get locked into paying for an undefined amount of time.”
“Are you kidding me?! Listen, this is just a tough month for me. Just help me out and I’ll be good soon. I promise,” she said clasping her hands together.
“Ms. Wesley, I sympathize, I really do, but we have records that this is your fourth request for assistance in a seven-month period. At the rate we’re going, I’m afraid we could be paying indefinitely.”
“Please, c’mon. Sometimes things are tough. Haven’t you ever had things tough?” she said, as she started to cry.
“Sadly, that doesn’t change SleepRelief’s decision today. Now I’d recommend that you admit yourself into our care to lessen any deprivation effects. Then you’ll have time to either come up with your own payment to SOVA or eventually pass through all the deprivation stages.”
“And die?” she said nearly choking on her tears.
“I am very sorry Ms. Wesley, I really am, but this is how it works. I can tell this is hard for you, so I’d like to let you know that we also offer counselling services if you would like to take advantage of those.”
After a few silent moments, the final vestige of hope had vanished from her eyes. Her body wilted in resignation, her chair her only support. Jodi felt like she wanted to cry too but knew that it was part of her job. She had to be sturdy for the organization to run effectively.
The reality of these situations weighed heavily on her as the elevator dinged on the fifth floor. There was only so much money to give, and the medical team could only do so much. During deprivation, people started expressing signs of irritability or concentration issues, but it ramped up to things like disorientation, visual misperceptions, and social withdrawal. SleepRelief had managed to suppress all those symptoms in historic medical breakthroughs, but at a certain point, there was nothing that could save their lives. They would enter complete physiological shutdown and just die.
The fifth floor had always felt like an eerie hospital ward to Jodi. Walking to the front desk, she was too cognizant of the soundless halls–almost as if they were all asleep.
“Hi Elle, you called for me?”
The receptionist nodded, pointing down the hallway, “Dr. Drommer has a patient that needs his paperwork finished.”
Jodi pensively shuffled down the hall, passing the ones who wouldn’t be saved. The rooms were all very clinical. They contained the basics, anything patients brought from home, and a bed–a prop bolstering the dilute illusion of normalcy.
She found Dr. Drommer, a distinguished doctor in his field, with a man probably the same age as herself. In different circumstances maybe they would have met at a bar and not his deathbed. He looked a little weary, but nothing compared to how he would have looked if SleepRelief wasn’t helping him.
“Hello,” she said.
“Jodi, hi. This is Philip Turner. He’s all ready for you.”
“Hi, Philip.”
The man simply looked at her.
“Ms. O’Neil is in the final stage, so I’ll go check on her while you do your work,” Dr. Drommer said.
“No problem Doctor.”
“Thanks, Jodi,” he smiled congenially.
Jodi had visited Ms. O’Neil recently to close her file. She had no family to be with her, but almost all of the severe cases didn’t. Most families didn’t let the deprivation get that advanced before contributing. The people who were alone with no monetary backup were the ones at risk.
Dr. Drommer left the room, leaving Jodi to get the necessary signatures and handle Philip’s file. He was sitting up on the bed with no shivers, no evidence of misperceptions or other late-stage effects. She was always in awe as she witnessed the advancements in the current research; patients were brought clarity and comfort even as the body started to shut down. She caught herself staring at the medical miracle before remembering to be professional.
“If I could get you to sign the highlighted areas for me,” she said, opening up her folder and handing him a blue and white SleepRelief pen.
He took the pen but hesitated.
“These are just forms confirming your denial of aid, your admittance into our care, that you received treatment, and that you recognize since there has been no payment made to SOVA you will be entering the final stage of sleep deprivation.”
Philip twirled the pen in his hand a few times before beginning to sign, “So what makes a person want to work here?” he asked coolly, not really looking at her.
“Helping people of course.”
Making eye contact, he snorted, “Do you really think you’re helping anyone?”
Jodi was taken aback. Of course she was helping. SleepRelief had prevented nearly 16 million instances of death by sleep deprivation. Without this organization, where would they be?
“SleepRelief and SOVA are supporting the same corrupted system,” he said, signing emphatically, “You’re both evil…feeding off each other to exist. The only reason we put up with SOVA’s perverse authority is because at least we have SleepRelief to save us. Well is this me being saved?” he said, intensely rattling his forms, “People are dying and that’s on you.”
Jodi was doused in a tide of bewilderment. She had never encountered anyone who held such hostile feelings toward SleepRelief–especially someone receiving treatment. He sounded like a radical agitator who would protest against the wind for blowing too vigorously if he could. Her lips pursed in repulsion and her heartbeat quickened in objection to his ungratefulness.
“Nobody’s evil. This is just a thing that happens. Luckily, we have ways to make you feel comfortable. I can ask Dr. Drommer to increase your dosage if you’re feeling a bit irritable,” Jodi said a little more pointedly than even she deemed professional.
“A bit irritable? Wouldn’t you be irritable if you were dying because you couldn’t pay an idiotic bill?” he said exasperatedly.
“Unfortunately, I’m sure you’re aware that there’s really nothing that can be done. Especially at your advanced deprivation–”
“They could have helped all of us,” he said bitterly, gesturing to the hallway, “but they would rather help their wallets.”
“That’s absolutely–”
“And I bet they did it with a grin,” he smirked broadly for emphasis.
“Now that’s just–”
“To them–to you–we didn’t follow the rules so it’s what we deserve,” he announced with condemnation.
It took Jodi everything she had to keep a neutral expression, recalling her extensive briefings on patient interactions, “Again, I can ask about your dosage,” she said through nearly gritted teeth.
He took a deep, steadying sigh, “If I’m in pain it’s because it’s torture living without a tomorrow. I just live in one long today,” he said, carefully placing the cap back on the pen as a stillness came over him, “They know what they’re doing that’s for sure because after this anyone would wish for death.”
He looked Jodi in the eyes, firm in his conviction that she was the enemy. That there was nothing worse than the kind of anguish that twists the consciousness. That it was cruel to force people to stay awake as the world moans on, and everything inside them breaks down.
When Dr. Drommer returned a minute later they were sitting in silence.
“Are we all finished in here?”
Hastily taking the forms, Jodi stood up and whispered, “He may need a higher dose Doctor. I think he’s feeling some irritability.”
“Thanks, Jodi.”
She nodded weakly, leaving the room. Jodi was absolutely unnerved by her encounter with Philip. She knew that she and the people she worked with were doing the best they could for the sleep-deprived. Jodi had even spoken to some people who worked at SOVA. They weren’t three-headed beasts or throwing celebrations every time they turned off someone’s sleep. Like her, they were just people doing their jobs.
But she realized she couldn’t blame Philip for his views on the work they did. Did he have to constantly see the extreme effects of deprivation? No. He probably couldn’t even fathom the good that was being done for him, or the miracle it was that he could even sit up and have a coherent conversation with her.
On her way downstairs, Jodi tried to dislodge the entire experience from her mind. She wanted to just focus on the work ahead. She was proud of the valuable service SleepRelief was providing, and he wasn’t going to ruin that for her. Making her way back to her station, she managed to muster up a paltry smile that steadily broadened as she absorbed the customary landscape before her. Those beige walls, that electronic murmur, every vital representative, and all the faces lined up row-by-row waiting for sleep.
