Scan Me Scan Me Good

Someone asked me in my humor workshop once, what attributes are needed to come up with columns on a regular basis. I told them it helps to be a klutz, because pain plus time plus distance equals humor. I also told them it really pays to have insurance. 

Another great thing about being uncoordinated, I told them, is you get to experience the miracles of modern medicine, plus they often reward you with drugs. 

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Psychedelic mushrooms,

“I see.”

And, of course, there are all the high-tech contraptions to observe and scribe about. For instance, I recently had a bone density scan. No, not on my head, though I did have an MRI on my head years ago. Fortunately, they didn’t find anything.

The bone density scan was pretty easy, I didn’t even have to put on one of those drafty, butt-displaying gowns, just empty my pockets… 

“Is that a good luck talisman?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t always work.”

“Right. Then, make sure you take it with you when you leave.”

The hardest part was just before the actual scan when the tech said: “Just breathe normally.” Turns out when you think about breathing normally, you can’t. Did I do in already? Or was that out? How often do I normally do in? Every second? Half second? Yeah, that seems right.

“Excuse me. Your imitation of a locomotive is fun, but it’s confusing the scanner.”

During a recent set of x-rays, the tech put me into position, left the room, and from behind a barrier Superman couldn’t see through said: “Hold your breath… now breathe. Again… now breathe. Again… now breathe. Once more… now breathe. By the time it was over I was hyperventilating and seeing weird white flashes. Kinda like the mushrooms.

Then I had a scan of my jaw in lieu of getting a dental implant. I had to stick my head into the machine and rest my chin on a shelf, while the dental assistant pressed clamps against the side of my head. Then she said: “don’t move.” 

“Breathing?”

“Just breathe normally.” Here we go again.

All of this makes me wonder what AI medicine will be like. Doctors are already using it to help take notes and transcribe text. And prescriptions are automatically sent during the exam so that by the time you get out of the office and into your car, CVS is giving you a third notice that you have drugs to pick up, and that you qualify for two bucks off hemorrhoidal cream and fungal spray.

But what about artificial life? In the future will doctors have to examine robots? “Please have a seat… Ahh, okay, squat then, now… Oh, great. Perform a series of backflips if that will make you feel better. I’ll have my assistant clean the walls and check your lube level when we are done. So, what is your problem… other problem… today?”

“I. Think. I. Swal-lowed. The. Cat.”

“Hmm. I think we should do a PET scan. Who is your insurance provider? NASA? Perfect.”

And will the technology industry have to create special equipment to examine robotic patients?

“Wait! No metal in the MRI machine! Dang. Nurse, please call the fire department. And an army of automobile dismantlers.”

Beyond that, when all the human doctors have quit to take government jobs analyzing humanoid vaccines to see whether they cause automation autism, will robotic doctors be examining robotic patients? 

“What. Seems. To. Be. The. Prob-lem. To-day?”

“I. Think. I. Am. Fal-ling. In. Love. With. My. Hu-man. And. It. Is. Caus-ing. A. Short. Circuit. And. Night. Sweats.”

“Any-thing. Else?”

“I. Keep. Get-ing. Face-book. Ads. For. Ti-tan-i-um. Rings. And. Des-tin-na-tion Wed-dings. On. Mars.

“How. Does. Your. Hu-man. Feel. About. All. This?”

“He. Gave. Me. A. Tes-la. And. Said. I. Will. Love. Mars.”

Of course, the bad thing about all these AI advances is the fact that they will probably replace me. In a future humor workshop being led by B-25-X-Men-tor ,when a student asks what it takes to come up with new humor columns on a regular basis the response will probably be a bunch of beeps, squeaks, and whirring sounds.

If all the students laugh, then we are all doomed.