Pictures of the Future      Spring 2005

One More Time

A middle-aged man checks into a high-tech hospital. Everything he experiences, from his own wellness portal and tailored treatment to his beautiful avatar, is personalized. But when he wakes up, his feelings have changed…

Multicolored birds dart back and forth against a postcard blue sky in the high branches of tropical trees. Between cool thickets of palms and ferns I can see a line of hills sloping toward a distant shoreline as whitecaps skate toward vast, empty beaches. The sounds of the jungle mingle with the comforting murmur of sea and wind. I breathe deeply with satisfaction and lean back against the big pillow. "Just what the doctor ordered," I think to myself, "my personalized wellness portal. No calls, no..."

The pleasing sounds fade and Cynthia, my personal and perfect avatar—after all, I designed everything from the soothing sound of her voice to the enticing curl in her blond hair—appears from within the portal. "Darling, Bob, I hope the operation didn’t stress you too much. Dr. Richmond is on the line. Can you talk to him?" "Richmond, why of course—and Cynthia, I love the way you say ‘darling’"!

Dr. Richmond isn’t just any doctor. He’s my personal doctor, and he knows me like the back of his hand. You might say that he represents the hospital information system or HIS. But, to be perfectly honest, Richmond is the HIS—a genuine, real-time representation of all the healthcare information you can think of.

Just to fill you in, it was only a few hours ago that I had major surgery. It was my fault. For years my geno-pro (gene & protein) tests had been showing that I had a predisposition to building up dangerous plaque in my arteries. But I felt fine, and even though I’m a pharmaceutical company representative and should have known better—I just shrugged it off.

Then, not long ago, my latest test indicated real danger. My general practitioner recommended a thorough check-up, and his avatar—nothing compared to Cynthia in terms of looks—organized an appointment for me. It was a good thing she did.

A major hospital near my office had recently converted to molecular imaging and treatment technologies. They gave me a shot with a cocktail of molecules that would be drawn to different kinds of plaque. Then came a whole-body magnetic resonance scan to see where the different molecules had been absorbed. A few minutes later I was sitting in Dr. Dana’s office, a radiologist who looked like he was fresh out of Medical School.

The young doctor was shaking his head as he peered at a rollout monitor. "Bob," he said. "Problem here. MR shows unstable plaque in seven locations. Looks like ticken time bombs." He spoke with a Texas accent like a former President I could vaguely remember. "Richmond’ll sched you for treatment ASAP," he said as he got up, signaling the end of our meeting.

Sure enough, the next day Dr. Richmond appeared on my kitchen infotainment system as I was preparing a delicacy suggested by my Home Diet Advisor. "Bob, we’ve got you down for two days at Freedom General starting next Tuesday. Treatment will begin at 7. Relax. Take it easy. See you when you get there."

A second later Cynthia appeared. "Bob, darling, I’ve reorganized your appointments, cancelled deliveries, and reset the house. I’ll be sure to record your favorite shows, in case you miss them at the hospital." "Thanks Cynthia," I said, feeling truly grateful. "If you weren’t an avatar, I’d marry you in a minute." She blushed faintly before being replaced by my evening diet recommendations and specially designed relaxation music.

Easy as pie I thought. When I got to the hospital on Tuesday it was still dark outside. I checked myself in using my "StaWell" MedID and two finger scans. In the process, a washable radio frequency identification tag was printed onto the inner surface of my left index finger. It was good to know that in case anything happened to me, they would know who and where I was. Dr. Richmond appeared on my PDA and guided me to a room in the Therapeutic Radiology section where Dr. Dana was waiting.

Treatment began with a sedative and an injection of what Dana called "fluorescent labels"—molecules designed to glow only when absorbed by unstable plaque. Then, guided by the MR images taken during the previous week, he threaded a fiber optic line into my arteries that was outfitted with a tiny microscope and a device for heating and killing the glowing cells …

It felt as though only seconds had elapsed. But when I woke up I did not recognize where I was. It looked like the inside of "MyWorld"—my personalized portal. A 3D globe in the foreground showed the usual "favorites." By moving my hand in the air I was able to "spin the globe," three-dimensionally and bring up anything from individual multimedia-mails to Cynthia. Oh, Cynthia. I felt a warm glow. Cynthia was great. I could rely on her. And obviously the operation had gone well. I would be fine. I would go home soon and crack open the best bottle of wine in the cellar. If only…

I was just sinking into the sights and sounds of the tropical trees and ocean when Cynthia appeared. "Bob, Darling, Dr. Richmond is still on the line. He’s been waiting to speak with you for ages." "Cynthia," I said, "would you say ‘darling’ one more time"?
                                                                                                             Arthur F. Pease