I remember the first time I learned about cryonics. I was watching one of those futurist shows with my dad; I think it was a segment in an episode of Beyond 2000 (how quaint that name seems now). I was both excited and afraid at the prospect. Freezing people at death for possible future life? It seemed so much better than the alternative. Yet it also seemed frightening and macabre. I can still give myself stomach knots just thinking about it.

My curiousity--perhaps a morbid curiousity--aroused, I went about learning more. I remember that my parents had a hardcover book, I believe Strange Stories, Amazing Facts by Reader's Digest, in which there was an entry on cryonics with a picture of a cryopreserved person wrapped in insulating material. I went back to that page regularly; I couldn't shake my fascination. I was compelled.

My compulsion became complicated by the fact that my biggest fear as a child was being frozen alive. I developed this fear after watching the scene in Star Wars: The Emperor Strikes Back where Han Solo is frozen in carbonite. My fear became so intense that I was afraid of laying too long in a bath. Once my imagination got going, I had to get out and dry off.

Being frozen alive was a theme that returned in later years. In adolescence, it came to symbolize loneliness and isolation. In high school, I wrote a short story about being frozen alive that earned accolades from teachers and a spot on the fridge from my mom. The main character watches people frolick under a sunny blue sky while he's locked away in a cube of ice. The story ends with a tear falling from his eye, only to freeze against his skin.

In university, I was able to further satisfy my interest in cryonics by writing an article about it for a journalism class. It was then that I met Ben Best and several other members of the Cryonics Society of Canada. That led to an article called "Cold Comfort" I would later publish on Betterhumans.

I guess if you would have asked me then, I probably would have told you that I would have considered cryonics for myself. But at that time, I wasn't really thinking about personal arrangements. I was much more interested in exploring the idea itself, from somewhat of a distance. I wasn't entirely sure that people signed up for cryonics weren't crazy. And I was just beginning to explore my interest in related topics such as transhumanism, and the ethics of life extension and human enhancement.

So I might have been surprised if you would have told me that I'd be signed up in a few years. But, alas, I am; my membership documents have been completed, and I now sport a MedicAlert bracelet informing physicians of the "biostasis protocol" required should they find me in an unfortunate way.   

Over the past few years, I've become more comfortable with the thought of making my own cryonics arrangements. I've met several Torontonians of sane mind who are signed up, including Allan Randall, who has graciously hosted several cryonics events. I've also met esteemed out-of-towners such as Aubrey de Grey who share my belief that while cryonics may not work for extending life, it has a far higher likelihood than the alternatives. I've even made that argument publicly, such as during a CBC Newsworld television interview conducted about a year ago.

So I started to wonder: why not?

At the TransVision 2004 conference in Toronto, insurance agent Rudi Hoffman added fuel to the fire. Wearing a shirt that said, "Ask me about cryonics insurance," he was able to sell the concept as if it were a great deal on a used car.

Not that I needed much selling. I had already learned that cryonics is funded by life insurance, so, if you're young, you can get a pretty good deal on something that might save your life. You make low monthly payments and, should anything happen to you, the insurance goes to the cryonics organization responsible for your suspension.

So I contacted Rudi and started the process. He quickly got me a quote on life insurance that was quite reasonable. But then, a few months later, in August 2005, my ex-girlfriend Paula Wilimek became a financial advisor. With Paula being in Canada and Rudi being in the US, and, of course, me wanting to give Paula the sale, I decided to pursue life insurance through her.

At the same time, I started the ball rolling with Alcor. They sent over some documents for me to complete, beginning with a declaration of my intent to be cryopreserved that would cover me legally--to a limited extent--while my life insurance and cryonics applications were being completed.

And there's a reason for that. Getting cryonics life insurance and a cryonics membership is a lengthy process that's full of paperwork.

On the insurance side, Paula's company, London Life, couldn't quite figure out what to make of my arrangements with Alcor. First, they weren't clear on what the policy was for; Paula clarified that just as some people want a policy to cover funeral arrangements, I wanted a policy to cover other arrangements. Then there additional complications with the fact that, to prevent complications, Alcor must become both the owner and the beneficiary of your life insurance policy. It's not a common request, so Paula had to explain that one as well.

The insurance was just one of the hurdles. To ensure you're serious about cryonics, make cryonics choices that are right for you, and have made your family members aware of your decision, Alcor makes you complete a pile of legal documents half-an-inch thick. And these must be signed by two witnesses as well as notarized.

While completing all of that was somewhat of a pain, I recognize that it's necessary to avoid problems. Family members can complicate people's cryonics arrangements by challenging whether they indeed wanted to be suspended; and, in many cases more importantly, whether they really wanted to give Alcor the life insurance money, or wanted instead to give it to their family. I of course don't think my immediate family would cause such problems, but I also don't want to leave any loose ends.

And finally, after nearly a year's work (albeit at a slow pace), I am an Alcor member.

I put my MedicAlert bracelet on for the first time yesterday, and at first it felt slightly odd. Some of the initial feelings that arose were the same as those depicted in my story of being frozen alive; loneliness and isolation. I felt this way largely because so few people I know are signed up for cryonics, so, should it work, they would not be there upon my reanimation.

But I've since grown more comfortable with this symbol of my decision, and with the decision itself. To me, cryonics is a rational choice if you want to do everything possible to create, relate, experience, learn, love and grow as much and as long as possible in this world. So now I look at my bracelet as a symbol of personal empowerment; this is just one of many steps I plan to take on a journey towards a better future for me and the world.