On AI and Wishes

The Frozen Mississippi - 13 Feb 2026

Oh to be human in the wake of Artificial Intelligence. To have experiences, and to seek meaning. To write and record in language and voice unique to one's own soul — all while the fate of the world moves farther and farther away from creativity and original thought. As a student, I feel stressed. I fear false positives on AI powered AI checkers, software now selling me AI humanisers to ensure that my written work is not mistaken for… AI. 

My writing, my story can feel so isolating, so individual. A diagnosis incorrect, a wish and a trip — a life saved. To come across a parallel narrative on Facebook made me excited, if only momentarily, for the possibility of new connection. To research the author of the post, only to find a computer generated fairy tale. To see, in horror, it effectively used for inspiration — it felt no less slimy than the recent wave of AI crafted pornography.

As stated, this encounter occurred on Facebook; it was a post about a young cancer patient and his fated experiences with the Make-a-Wish foundation. From its opening line, I was hooked. 

“My name is Leo. I’m 30 years old. Just last month, I discovered that my childhood "Make-A-Wish" was a total clerical error—and that mistake is likely the reason I’m still breathing today.” I could have easily written something similar: Hannah, age thirty. Suffered cancer while young and endured a “clerical error” while applying to Make-a-Wish — a lifesaving and life-changing experience. Prose changed significantly, yet both stories pack a punch. 

“Leo” continues with his gut wrenching narrative. Diagnosed at age twelve with bone cancer, he was declared terminal — his time “running out.” Presented with a rare gift, a wish from the Make-a-Wish foundation, he showed no hesitation in his desire to meet famed cyclist “Julian Vane.” 

“My hospital room was a shrine to his Tour wins.” Leo wrote, compellingly. 

It's a common misconception that one needs to be actively dying to receive a Make-a-Wish. Many children or teens, myself included, ‘simply’ have life-threatening or life-limiting diagnoses. These include (but are not limited to) treatable malignancies, muscular dystrophies, and transplant recipients. Children are referred by their medical providers up until the moment of their eighteenth birthdays. Wishes can be for (most) anything, with reasonable limitations placed on the purchasing of vehicles, homes, specific sums of cash, or in-ground pools. Finally, all wishes fall within one of five categories — a wish to be, to meet, to have, to go or to give. 

I was referred to the nonprofit by my team late in the May of my seventeenth year. As a July baby, there was stress alongside the excitement of my application. I heard back from the organization in early June when I returned home from an eventful admission at Hotel Amplatz — aka the University of Minnesota Amplatz Children's Hospital. Waiting for me in the mail box, a letter of regret. I did not qualify for a wish afterall. It was a moment both shattering and uplifting, better to not be sick enough to warrant a wish than to need one! The grief weighed heavy; my hospital room, a shrine to Tolkien and the Lord of the Rings films, I long had my heart set on a New Zealand film tour. 

Hospitalised Hobbit - 2014

On the verge of adulthood, I did feel some guilt in such a grand and selfish request. My mind wandered to the last of the five wishes types - philanthropy. I thought of the kids who used this opportunity to contribute good to the world. The little ones who handed out blankets at their hospitals/hotels. Of the teens like Zach Sobiech, who requested musical instruments for his school. Others still, who wished for accessible playgrounds to benefit not only them, but their communities. I thought that was why I was turned down for a wish when others with my same condition and cared for by my same doctor were granted one. The next morning, however, my mother got a rather panicked phone call from the office. There was a mistake, I was sent the wrong letter. 

Hotel Amplatz - 2013

Leo’s clerical error was a bit more significant than a misaddressed correspondence. Instead of sending the requested Julian Vane, the Make-a-Wish Foundation sent… Simon, a “semi pro” biker who competes in “mostly regional circuits.” A crushing disappointment for our tragic hero, but still a blessing in disguise — Simon continued to visit Leo twice weekly throughout the duration of his treatments. In these visits, they talked about "everything in the world except my white blood cell count.” Leo had in Simon a life long friend, one who would stay to inspire him after his days of chemotherapy ended. 

My wish shared a similarily impactful and lifelong effect. I flew to Wellington, New Zealand shortly after my eighteenth birthday alongside my mother, father, and sister. There, we rented a car and drove north. The tour centered on a visit to Wēta Workshop and Hobbiton Movie Set, though we also shared memorable moments in the glow worm caves of Waitomo, a grand stay at Chateau Tongariro (before it was condemned by earthquakes) and a cessna flight over Mount Ngauruhoe (Mount Doom), a visit to the Kiwi House, a picnic ashore Lake Taupo, and a final pit stop at the Auckland Zoo. This week cast ripples that supported me through illness; I returned home, only to decline significantly. I went into respiratory distress, endured an emergency intubation, and later a tracheostomy all within days of our touch down at MSP.  

2015

Following his recovery, Leo’s story took a turn more unbelievable than my own. When scrolling ‘social media’ one day, he came across a ‘legacy of wishes’ photo album, complete with a photo of himself shaking hands with Julian Vane in room 402. According to his post, Leo had been moved from room 402 earlier that morning due to a pluming fault. When Julian Vane came to see him, the hospital did not inform the athlete of the change and thus he spent the afternoon with a child who had no idea who he was, in a room that must have been attended to by the worlds speediest plumber. Although there is no explanation as to how Leo was able to be photographed with someone he never met, he did write of his moving new goal to reconnect with Simon. 

As it turns out, Simon was a parent of a fellow sick child on a different unit. The narrative reads like a soap, and well, the AI bot wrote it better than I could summarize:

 “I spent weeks tracking him down. When I finally got him on the phone, the truth was heavier than I imagined.

"You caught me," Simon said, his voice cracking slightly.

"Why did you do it, Simon? You came twice a week for half a year."

"My daughter, Elena, was in the pediatric ICU three floors up," he told me. "She had a heart defect. I was there every day anyway. Seeing you... it gave me a place to put all the hope I couldn't use for her. I wasn't a pro, Leo. I worked at a hardware store. But you needed a hero, so I tried to be one."

Then came the part that broke me. "How is Elena?" I asked.

"She passed away two weeks after you were cleared to go home," he said quietly. "She was seven. Honestly, Leo? You saved me, too. Watching you win your battle gave me the strength to handle her loss. It proved that sometimes, the good guys actually win."

Seems unbelievable, eh? Well, what if my story read just as far fetched? What if my diagnosis had been incorrect the whole time? What if, after a decade of ineffective treatments, thirty days of high dose radiation was all it took to cure me? What if this treatment pulled me from end of life care in the nick of time? What if after my recovery, I learned to walk, and then to run, and then to play tuba again? What if I auditioned for the University of Minnesota marching band and immediately boarded a plane back to New Zealand in the months before the band season started? What if I was hired by Hobbiton Movie Set? What if the same thing that saved me, now heals me; and what if I start using these experiences to make the world a better place, in writing, in memory, and in study? Would my narrative ping as 'real' in your minds eye?

A Return to the Shire - 2023

Our parallel stories have parallel effects. Immediately after finishing reading Leo’s post, I turned to its comments. “There are so many good people in the world! Simon is one of them!” wrote Rosemary. Cora wrote of her take-aways: “Hope and perseverance.” Dave chose faith: “It’s not the “universe” bud. It’s the One who created the universe. Believe!” Louann, as well, was moved on a spiritual level: “Awww. Tears... God is good. He gives us what we need, not just what we think we want.....” 

Comments like these, I also receive. Daily. They have little effect now, positive or negative. I understand it's a weird story — it's also my regular, lived, reality. In the comments I also found allegations of what I already suspected: “I think this post is bullshit” - JoAnn. Words I don’t often take directly, but ones I often feel in attitude — an eyebrow, a hitched breathe, a glance away.

So I did some digging of my own, starting with a simple Google search of our cycling legend, Julian Vane. The only result of “Julian Vane-cyclist” is of a Belgium athlete… from 1872. I moved next to the text itself, running it through several AI checkers and finding high results across the board — though even these services are known to be faulty (my own writing, including many of the posts here to my blog, ping for high percentages of AI generation). The final nail in Leo’s coffin was an investigation of the profile that posted it. The page was filled with similar stories, often featuring the same names. All unbelievable in their own ways and all with the same comments from a gullible audience — the interaction of whom, whether positive or not, translates to revenue for whatever human is behind the facade. 

The grief I felt was in the wake of this revelation was deep. I grieved the dream of connecting with Leo, of finding another human of a similar age with a shared history; of finding another who also feels compelled to post their experiences. I grieved next, the originality of my story; I feared that it was so far-fetched to be featured in such a way and taken aback that a machine could dream up such a narrative. I grieved then for other writers who hope to make a living telling actual stories that actually matter. I grieve for Rosemary and Cora and Dave and Louann and all the other real, living humans who had a real emotional response to generated garbage. I grieved the bond that exists between author and audience, entirely violated.

I wonder then, what value my story carries in 2026. I wonder how the world will feel differently, be different, when we stop listening to people in favor of machines. I think of health insurers now using AI to approve or deny claims in particular, and I worry a bit. But then I think of my own resolve to write and think and learn and be inspired for myself. AI may be faster at writing blog posts than I am — and there would certainly be less typos and grammatical mistakes. 

Perhaps even, there can be good and ethical uses of AI; responsible ones that could better the world even. Yet I still think that the telling of human stories is not one of them. 

I think of the value of the written word. I think of letters and emails and essays and novels. I think of the lessons you learn from living and breathing and being outside all hidden within human writing. I think of the anger I feel when my work falsely pings; of the extra stresses modern writers are now burdend with. 

Part of me wishes I would have never been sick, for then I would not be trying to do school in this new and terrifying age. But if that was the case, I would not be writing in this way. I would not be inspired in this way. I would have never grieved for Leo. 

Grief — like wishes or cancer — an experince still reserved for humans.

31 Jan 2026