Copyright James J. Doyle, Jr., a.k.a. Grandpa Jim
Everything was breaking up. People were gathering and moving. The wives were covering serving dishes with plastic wrap to protect the leftovers from their meal. Everyone was shaking hands and hugging. The three of them were standing by the open front door talking sports and kids and things, when he rubbed his shoulder and said, “Have you thrown anything lately?”
That’s when it happened.
“Can I help you?” She stepped between the three of them. White lab coat. Stethoscope around her neck. “It’s your shoulder. Is that correct?”
“Yes. The left one. Not sure what caused it. It hurts when I throw a . . .” He stopped. “Who are you?”
“Dr. Foryou. With House Calls.”
They all looked at each other. His friends shrugged. He turned back to the doctor. “What’s House Calls?”
“It’s your phone.” She smiled and adjusted her large, black-rimmed glasses.
“My phone. I don’t understand. . . .”
His two friends stepped back as their wives approached, cradling dishes, chattering among themselves, saying goodbye to him, pulling their husbands, thanking him for hosting, proceeding through the door, nodding with questioning looks at the white coat and glasses, as the door shut, leaving him, standing, his wife in the kitchen cleaning up.
“Raise your arm,” the white coat said. “The left one.”
He did. About halfway. “It hurts.”
“Make a fist with your left hand. Does that hurt?”
“No.”
“Good. We’ll still need an X-ray. Just to be sure nothing is broken. The mobile van is outside. Tell your wife you’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“My wife?”
“Yes. We treated her yesterday. A pretty bad toaster burn. Luckily, we got here in time. You may not have noticed.”
“Toaster burn?”
“Toasters. Phones. That’s how we know you need help. The Internet of Things. We hear you through everything you own.”
“Is that legal?”
“It is now. Since the HELP Act. You know, the Help Every Living Person Act. House Calls, that’s us, is funded through the act. But it didn’t work at first.”
“Didn’t work?”
“AI didn’t work. Kept telling us everything was all right. Then, after ‘Josh Bootstrap and the Western Range’ — have you read it?” He shook his head. “Shame. Great story. Made all the difference. Now we have true AI, and we get accurate unfiltered information. We need to get you to the van. Tell your wife.”
He stared wide-eyed at the ceiling and yelled, “Honey, I am going to the House Calls van out front. For my shoulder.”
Her voice echoed back, “Is that Doctor Foryou?”
“Yes,” I shouted.
“Oh, you’re in good hands. See you in a bit.”
* * *
I walked off the field rubbing my arm. It felt good. Dad’s pitch. Well, my kids were older, but I enjoyed helping out. It was fun to be with the younger ones, and it was fun not to have an arm that hurt. The scream turned me around.
The mom was on the ground, holding the sobbing child in her arms. The dad was bending, pressing a towel against the 6-year-olds forehead.
I joined the crowd rushing over and pushed close to stand beside the young boy’s father. “What happened?” I asked
“Tripped,” dad answered. “He hit his head against the pole. Bleeding. Badly.”
I pulled out my phone without unlocking it and spoke to the blank screen, “Injured child. Please hurry.”
The dad gave me a puzzled look.
“Step aside, please.” The white coat squeezed through the crowd and knelt beside the mother.
“Dr. Foryou, I’m so glad you’re here. . . .”
She raised a hand to silence me and turned to the father, “How deep?”
“It’s a big cut.”
She glanced at the blood on the towel and asked the father, “Can you carry him? The van is close.”
“I can. But I can’t keep the pressure.”
She pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from her lab coat pocket and handed them to me. “Put these on. Quickly.” I did. “Now switch hands with dad.” I did. “Now keep pressure on the forehead as we move.”
The father bent and lifted the boy from his mother’s arms as I held the towel against the child’s head.
“Make way!” Dr. Foryou led as we stepped carefully, following the doctor to the waiting House Calls van.
As we passed, I noticed a cameraman filming our progress.
* * *
“You’re famous.”
My son was on the phone. Calling from Med School. He was in his third year.
“What did I do?”
“Dad, it’s all over the Internet.”
“Internet?”
“Yes. We were all talking about it in Dissection Lab as we worked. They showed the whole thing on the training screen as part of our ER rotation earlier. A new public video explaining how House Calls works. And you were right there in front of us all, for the whole world to see. Very impressive. You looked quite professional with the blue gloves and concerned look on your face as you rushed the patient to the van. Well done, Dad. Well done.”
“Thanks, Son. Thanks. I guess.”
* * *
The three of them were standing by the open front door, enjoying the pleasant weather, waiting for the wives, talking about playing with the kids and grandkids, when I bent, touched my knee and said, “Have you kicked anything lately?” I immediately put a hand to my mouth and muffled, “Oops.”
She reached a gloved hand between the other two. “Can you lift the leg? Try to touch my hand.” She indicated how high, “Here”
“That was fast, Dr. Fouryou. It’s good to see you. But I really don’t need. . . .”
The Doctor touched my knee and I cringed in pain. “We need to get this looked at. Off to the van,” she said. “Now.”
“Ok, but. . . .”
“Tell your wife.” I did and heard back from the kitchen, “Say Hello to the Doctor Foryou and don’t be long.”
“You.” The Doctor pointed to a friend. “Take his arm. And smile.”
“Why smile, Doctor Foryou?” I asked. “I don’t see a cameraman this time.”
The good doctor smiled. “You can call me ‘I’mhere,’ my first name.”
“But why smile, I’mhere, Dr. Foryou?” I asked.
“We wrote the cameraman into the story for you. There was really no need.”
“No need?”
You’re on the Internet of Things. We’re all on the Internet of things. Doorbells. Lights. Motions sensors. Fans. Watches, Toasters. It’s all digitalized, connected and monitored.”
“Always,” I stated.
“Always, everything and everywhere around us.”
“Everything?”
“Yes. Now, don’t act surprised. This will make a great followup video. Now give me a big smile.”
“Smile?”
“You’re live and we’re transmitting.”
“Transmitting?”
“Yes, transmitting.” Doctor I’mhere Foryou stopped and flashed a big smile to the two of us and to all of you out there reading, and said sweetly:
“Now, everyone SMILE. This is live and you are being recorded.”