Monthly Archives: October 2022

Open Your Mouth and Say Beep

I had my first robot doctor’s visit.

Well, I’m the one who visited. But a robot did the doctoring. In fact, the entire visit was without human contact, a first for me. And the experience was seamless — save for near-contact with a human being, who nearly fucked the whole thing up.

The occasion was a CAT scan my sentient doctor needed. But medical imaging is as expensive as a Marvel motion picture, just with an hour-long wait. And no popcorn.

The exorbitant cost forces myriad patients to reserve a spot in line for what amounts to an IMAX X-ray machine. On the day I visited, there a dozen patients, some on crutches, some in slings, some with a belly full of baby.

The night before, I looked over the electronic pre-exam instructions for a non-contrast CAT-scan: Bring insurance, a mask and a stomach emptied of a four-hour fast, including water.

As instructed, I showed up an hour early with the proper criteria. After finishing the paperwork — slid beneath a ceiling-high Covid shield that encapsulated the reception area of the waiting room — I took a seat with 45 minutes to spare.

About 10 minutes later, a woman came out from behind the section area. She wore a mask and gloves as she delicately walked a plastic cup brimming with…something.

“Hi Mr. Bowles,” she said in a friendly tone. ”You need to drink this. It’s contrast for the scan.”

I leaned back in my chair. ”I think mine is a non-contrast scan.

She stiffened and turned. ”I’ll take another look at your file,” and disappeared behind the desk.

I would not hear from her again, to neither confirm or deny whether I was supposed to drink…something.

An hour later, a…tech? nurse? told me to lay down on a gurney hooked to a large digital display that sat over a five-foot(?) ring that flashed lights and featured a giant, spinning lens.

“Put your hands over your head and listen for the instructions,” he said, politely. When I did, I heard the click of the iron door behind him.

It took a minute, but then a calm male voice. ”Hold your breath for three seconds,” he said. I couldn’t help but notice that the ”doctor” had a male voice, unlike Alexa, Siri, GoogleHome, Amazon and just about any A.I. you’d like to do secretarial tasks.

So I took a breath. A large hold-breath emoticon lit up over the ring, and the bed slid into the ring, which spun like an auto-focus camera looking for the target. The bed slid back, and a breathe emoticon lit up.

So I breathed. The process, twice more. The metal door clicked.

“Okay, we’re done,” he said, again politely. ”The requesting physician should have results in two to three days. Thank you.”

I dressed and walked out. I had registered at a new medical center, undergone a procedure and been discharged without human interaction. Thankfully, because the human interaction was the only near-glitch in the day.

I’ve heard much sturm and drang lately over the rise of Artificial Intelligence and the dark specter it casts the fate of humanity. But I think that fear is misplaced.

Look at the real source of human suffering, through just the headlines of today. It’s not natural disaster, famine or disease, and it won’t come attached to Artificial Intelligence like email malware.

Math adds up; that’s why there’s an equal sign. To err is human; that’s why there’s us. We’re in the way.

The real existential threat facing us is Human Intelligence.

There must be an app for that.

The Doctor Is Out

What if Hannibal Lecter had a therapist he didn’t eat?

That’s the premise of The Patient, a chilling new series from Hulu, which has become the most creative streamer in Hollywood. The network also produces Reboot, a terrific sendup of Hollywood’s branding frenzy. That gives them the two best shows on TV this fall.

And while Reboot is a little too derivative of 30 Rock, The Patient feels wholly original — outside the offshoot premise. Consider: When was the last time you saw a different serial killer? Why do they all look and act like Jeff Dahmer or Ted Bundy?

Patient Sam Fortner (Domnhall Gleeson) resembles neither. Sam is twitchy, dorky, and a Kenny Chesney nut, literally. He’s skinny and adolescent-looking, but tall and old enough to be menacing. He looks like he could be an angry incel. He looks like he could be a school shooter.

Scarier still, Sam knows he’s broken. He’s done his internet research. He knows he needs help — which makes it double the challenge. That, too, feels troublingly familiar.

Steve Carrell, who plays the hapless therapist, proved himself the best serious actor to emerge from the Daily Show troupe with the movie Little Miss Sunshine. Here, he’s Alan Stauss, a psychotherapist trying not to lose his mind after being abducted and chained in Sam’s basement.

Sam’s lone hostage demand: Cure me before I kill again, or it will be you. Oh, and his mom lives upstairs.

The show takes a skewering look at co-dependence, a unique take on serial killing. The good doctor has an imaginary therapist, a wayward son and gobs of uncertainty over his own professionalism, fathering and Jewishness, of all things. The show suggests co-dependence needs two active participants: One to play with the blade-edge of the knife; and one to say ’Don’t cut yourself.’

Also unique is its format. The show is darkly funny, but it is no comedy. Yet its runtime is sitcom-short, a half-hour with commercials. I don’t know of another half-hour crime drama. But that sounds about right.

The series sometimes challenges its own powers of disbelief suspension. The show lost some critics with a grown male protagonist so seemingly passive with his captor and captivity. The upstairs mom, afraid to turn in her own son, turned off others.

But unique crime fare is tough. And real-story abductions get a lot weirder than this one.

If you think you may be suffering from Procedural Fatigue and Zombie Viewing Syndrome, see your doctor immediately. Or don’t, if you’re thinking of abducting your physician.

Either way, The Patient is worth a session.