The Shape Of Abundance

When AI became my collaborator in survival.

At Abundance360, where some of the world’s wealthiest optimists gather to talk about longevity and AI, the mood is always electric. They dream out loud about living to 120, reversing aging, even uploading consciousness.

I was the Chief AI Officer for Abundance360, building demos, apps, and workshops to help members learn about AI. In 2024, my talk focused on multi-agent AI, live demos of real systems I’d built to show how intelligent models could collaborate.

I didn’t know it then, but cancer was already growing inside me. For nearly a year, my doctors missed it. The pattern was there in the labs all along, but no one connected the dots. Each doctor called it a fishing expedition. Then a wildfire tore through my neighborhood, burned down our house, and displaced us to a new city. In the chaos that followed, I ended up in the ER with gut pain, thinking it was an obstruction. New doctors, new data. Within weeks, they found what the others hadn’t: a rare, aggressive form of multiple myeloma.

That accident saved my life. It also exposed how fragile medicine still is. The signs were never invisible; they were just unreadable to the human eye. Later, when I ran those same labs through AI, it saw the pattern instantly. Artificial intelligence replaces luck with learning and accident with understanding.

In 2025, I returned to Abundance360 with a different story to tell, one that started in a hospital bed. I spoke about my diagnosis and how AI had become my collaborator in survival. It wasn’t an easy talk. In a room built on boundless optimism, I feared I was no longer part of the longevity club.

Afterward, many people sought me out to share their own stories. Some had faced cancer themselves; others were quietly supporting someone who had. There’s a lot of cancer in those rooms, though it rarely gets mentioned. People whisper it like a confession, careful not to disturb the dream of endless youth. Behind the talk of longevity are families, diagnoses, recoveries, losses.

That day I stopped hiding. Vulnerability wasn’t a weakness. It was the key. The moment I spoke plainly, a different kind of network emerged. I had spent years in medical technology, building systems for chronic care and patient monitoring, but this time it was personal.

The End Of Average

When people talk about a cure for cancer, it sounds like a single breakthrough, a new drug, a eureka moment. That’s not how progress happens. It arrives quietly, at intersections of data and people, in systems that learn faster than biology mutates. I’ve seen it unfold one decision at a time, in the narrow space between what medicine knows and what the patient needs.

While your health is personal, the medical industry still runs on the logic of populations: trials, protocols, averages. We study the many to guide the one. But in cancer, the many are irrelevant and the one is everything. Every tumor carries its own signature, shaped by your DNA and the cancer’s, interacting in real time.

Medicine wasn’t built for such diversity. It rewards generalization, seeks consensus, and fears exceptions. Yet in oncology, exceptions are all that matter. Precision medicine isn’t a niche; it’s medicine waking up to individuality.

AI doesn’t just fit that shift. It makes it possible. It turns data into empathy at scale, understanding each patient as singular while still recognizing the patterns that connect them.

From Carpet Bombing To Precision Strike

For decades, multiple myeloma treatment began with a ritual called CyBorD: cyclophosphamide, bortezomib, and dexamethasone. Everyone got it, whether it fit or not. It was the best we had, but it was a blunt instrument. You started strong, watched the markers fall, then waited for relapse.

Cyclophosphamide set the tone. Introduced in the 1950s, it remains a cornerstone in treating many of the world’s most prevalent cancers. It cross-links DNA, killing cells as they try to divide—any fast-growing cell, healthy or not. It works, but at a price: exhaustion, infection, and cumulative damage.

Bortezomib modernized the assault. Instead of wrecking DNA, it jams the proteasome, choking plasma cells with their own waste. Dexamethasone, the third pillar, dampens inflammation and forces malignant cells into brief retreat. CyBorD was medicine by bombardment—effective for many, tolerable for few, precise for none.

Then came daratumumab, or Dara, a monoclonal antibody that changed the game. It binds to CD38 on myeloma cells and flags them for immune destruction. For the first time, the immune system wasn’t collateral damage. It was the weapon.

In my case, even Dara-CyBorD wasn’t enough. Genetic testing revealed a translocation called t(11;14). For years, that spelled bad news. Patients with it often responded poorly to standard regimens. Their cancer cells overexpressed a protein called BCL-2, which locks down apoptosis, the cell’s self-destruct sequence. The cancer refused to die when told to.

But that same mutation turned out to be the key to a different option. It pointed directly to venetoclax, a BCL-2 inhibitor that reactivates apoptosis. It doesn’t poison the cell; it convinces it to destroy itself.

So I dropped the warhorses. No cyclophosphamide. No bortezomib. No dexamethasone. Just Dara and Ven: The antibody sniper and the molecular scalpel. The side effects fell, the logic sharpened, and the results improved. For the first time, the treatment fit the biology instead of bludgeoning it.

That evolution, from carpet bombing to precision strike, isn’t just my story. It’s medicine waking up to complexity. What used to be bad news in my cancer genome became the clue to my survival.

The defect becomes the doorway. Artificial intelligence keeps finding those doors.

Medicine With Memory

Every patient is a lesson waiting to be learned. For most of medical history, those lessons were lost, buried in charts, scattered across hospitals, and blocked by privacy laws and inertia. AI turns that noise into signal.

The old clinical model treats every case as an endpoint. You finish treatment, the data freezes, and the knowledge dies with the outcome. AI changes that. Each patient becomes part of a living system that learns continuously. Every success, every relapse, every resistance pattern refines the next prediction.

Evidence stops being static. It updates itself. When one patient’s cancer mutates, the system adjusts before the next begins. When a rare mutation responds to an unconventional drug, that signal propagates instantly. The feedback loop tightens from years to hours.

A New Kind Of Intelligence

AI doesn’t just analyze faster. It reasons differently.

It can read cytogenetics, a pathology report, your labs, and your doctor’s clinical notes, all as parts of the same puzzle. It can trace how a genetic variant aligns with a subtle pattern buried in thousands of data points, or how an molecular profile predicts which drug will work and which will fail.

No clinician can hold all that in their head at once. AI can. It connects whispers across molecular and clinical scales, translating noise into signal and chaos into structure. It doesn’t replace judgment. It expands it, augmenting memory with computation and turning intuition into pattern recognition.

The real breakthrough isn’t just speed. It’s depth. It’s the capacity for relentless curiosity, seeing connections that exhaustion, time, and cognitive limits would otherwise hide.

The New Scientific Method

AI isn’t just a tool for discovery. It’s the next phase of the scientific method.

The traditional cycle—observe, hypothesize, test, publish—was built for scarcity: limited data, limited compute, limited time. Science advanced in increments because it had to. Each paper was a frozen moment in a process meant to be continuous.

Now it can be. With AI, hypotheses emerge from the data itself. Models test them in parallel, across millions of variables. Every patient, every scan, every lab result becomes input for an experiment that never stops running.

This doesn’t make human scientists obsolete. It makes them collaborators with an intelligence that never sleeps or forgets. The role shifts from generating data to curating direction, from running trials to steering evolution.

Knowledge stops being a sequence of studies and becomes a living system of understanding. For the first time, science learns as fast as life changes.

CureWise

That idea became CureWise. Our mission is simple: Use AI to make precision medicine accessible. Give every patient the power to understand their disease, question their treatment, and collaborate as an equal partner in their care. Help them see what their doctors see, and sometimes what their doctors miss.

We’re not replacing clinicians. We’re arming patients with the intelligence to participate in their own care. Each patient is singular, but also part of a learning system that evolves with every treatment, every response, every outcome. Medicine stops being a monologue. It becomes a collaboration between patient, doctor, and AI, closing the gap between what’s possible and what’s practiced.

CureWise is what happens when you stop waiting for a cure and start building the infrastructure that makes one inevitable.

The Age Of Abundance

AI won’t cure cancer on its own. It will cure it through us, through the intelligence we build and the courage to use it.

The breakthrough won’t come from an algorithm or a lab. It will come from the way we connect what we know, what we’ve lived, and what we’re willing to share. The real advance isn’t artificial intelligence alone. It’s the abundance that arises when human and machine intelligence learn together.

I’ve seen that abundance begin in the smallest places: in loss, in data, in the moment chance gives way to understanding.

We are the training data. Our choices, our openness, our willingness to share what hurts and what heals: that’s what teaches the system. The more data we give it, the smarter it becomes, and the more generous our future grows.

I thought I’d stepped out of the longevity club. Instead, I’d stepped into its engine room. Precision medicine is where the keys to longevity are advancing exponentially. Peter Diamandis, who leads Abundance360, often talks about the power of a massive transformative purpose. I hadn’t just found mine. It had found me.