Cell by Robin Cook

the phone.
    Sal glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot. He shielded his face with his hand and spoke in a low voice. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone but you are a doctor, so it probably doesn’t matter. My new doctor is something called iDoc. It’s a—”
    â€œI know what it is,” George said. He was shocked.
iDoc again!
“When did you start using the app?”
    â€œIt’s been a month or two now, I guess. Month or two. I can’t remember exactly.”
    George was taken aback. After a presentation that day heralding a new paradigm for medicine based on digital technology, he found out his neighbor was part of the Amalgamated beta test. It was a shock, not as much as ascertaining his deceased fiancée was part of the program, but a shock nonetheless.
    â€œCan I see your phone?” George asked.
    â€œSure. Sure.” Sal handed it over, pleased that George was taking an interest.
    George turned the phone over in his hand. The phone’s protective case was a startling electric orange. “Quite a shocking color,” George said.
    â€œI picked that out myself. I was always misplacing the damn thing. Now it’s hard to miss.”
    George turned the phone over to look at the screen. He stared at the iDoc icon on the screen, just like the one on Kasey’s phone and just like the one on the huge LED screen at the Amalgamated presentation. “How long did you say you’ve had it?”
    â€œCan’t remember exactly. My mind isn’t sharp as a marble anymore.” He laughed at his own joke. “A couple of months or so, I guess.”
    George suddenly understood why Sal’s medical questions had stopped. He had a 24/7 doctor in his pocket who didn’t mind being asked the same questions over and over. “Do you like having a doctor to talk with whenever you want?”
    â€œLove it. I use it all the time. Love it,” Sal said. “I used to have trouble remembering to take my meds, but not now. iDoc tells me whenever I need to take something. And it’ll remind me if I forget. But most important, I don’t have to think about the insulin anymore. It’s automatic. Auto—”
    â€œWhat about Dr. Schwarz?” George interrupted. “You used to see him quite a bit.”
    â€œNot anymore. Nope. Not anymore. He put the reservoir thing in, but that was the last time I saw him.” Sal raised the waistband of his T-shirt to show George a thin, nearly invisible scar on his left lower abdomen.
    George’s reaction was complicated, adding to his general unease.
    â€œBut you’re by far the best doctor I’ve ever met. The nicest, too,” Sal said. He seemed to have sensed George’s not-so-positive reaction.
    â€œAnd the name, Dr. Wilson?” George asked. “Where did that come from?”
    Sal blushed. “I hope you don’t mind. I had to pick a name . . .” Sal didn’t finish his sentence.
    â€œIt’s okay. Really! Thanks, Sal. I’m flattered. But I gotta go. Make sure you follow iDoc’s advice and rest up.” George handed Sal back his phone. “Catch you later, buddy.”
    â€œLater, Doc. Later,” Sal said, watching George walk off. He pocketed his phone and started to put away his polishing kit.
    George headed back toward his apartment, going through the back gate. He took in the relative rundown condition of the complex, which didn’t improve his mood. With a wry smile he imagined how it must compare to Paula’s home. Although he’d never been to her house, he knew Santa Monica had become a high-end neighborhood loaded with celebrities and studio executives living in multimillion-dollar homes.
    George’s apartment complex, likely built in the sixties from the look of it, was an eyesore. It was a poorly constructed U-shaped structure, just like a gazillion other apartment buildings strewn across the