“It’s a lot like virtual reality, isn’t it?” Rupert asked as he steered his million-dollar LaFerrari around a hairpin turn. “We’ve been telecommuting for years, so why not telemedicine?”
Betty hung on with both hands and tried not to slide into Rupert on the sharp right curves. “Does your wife know you drive like a maniac?” she asked through gritted teeth. “I should know about telemedicine. After my accident, my surgeon operated remotely from India.[1] Telemedicine saved my life.”
“I remember that,” Rupert said as he blithely dodged food trucks and surfboard-festooned VW buses. “But it’s all so haphazard, isn’t it?”
“Nonsense!” Betty gave a stifled scream as the car swerved between two roving basketballs and a skunk. “There is even an American Telemedicine Association to keep things regulated.”
“I just heard about this plot to limit telemedicine – or limit abortions, not any other kind of telemedicine. So is this ATA some fly-by-night con artists who just popped up in the mean states?”
“Con artists?” Betty gasped as the car became airborne over the top of a hill. “They’ve been promoting telemedicine for 20 years!”
“Oh.” Rupert appeared to concentrate on his driving as he whipped the LaFerrari onto the freeway. “So how do you do an abortion over the Web?”
“There is a live examination with a nurse, then the doctor has a video conference.” Betty cringed when she heard a police siren going the other way. “Then the doctor can release a drawer electronically. The woman finds an abortion-inducing drug in the drawer.”
“Mice,” Rupert said. “Mice, rats. In a maze. Sounds like experiments in psychology class. Do they ring a bell, too?” He zipped down an exit ramp and headed down a wide boulevard. “Oh, wait. Red pill or blue one, right? I saw that in a movie once.”
“Rupert, this is serious,” Betty said, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “They’ve actually been practicing telemedicine for over 50 years. Teledermatology, teleneurology, prenatal care, rural care. There’s only one topic the mean states want to regulate, and that’s abortion. Why is that?”
“Politics, of course.” Rupert grunted as he dodged potholes and fallen tree limbs. “No one wants to pay taxes to maintain streets or bridges. No one wants to pay for someone else’s healthcare. No one wants to be their brother’s keeper.”
A mechanical arm reached out from the car and swept a tire from the road. It rolled into a parked car as Rupert and Betty sped by. The car windows became opaque and Betty heard popping noises from outside. “I hate driving through turf wars but it shaves 20 minutes off the trip,” Rupert said.
[1] See “Episode 18: Lights Out for Your Health!” of All My Clones, available at https://www.createspace.com/4166055 for less than your doctor’s office co-pay.