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Tell Him What Your “Robot” Made You Do
Turns out Dad trusts AI more than doctors
This is not medical advice and is not endorsed by any medical board, unless you count the pine tree my dad leaned on. You can read it for free here.
We were halfway up a mountain when Dad began to limp.
“It’s nothing,” he said, the way men who have survived entire decades without Google always say it. “I’ll walk it off.”
Instead, I did what any responsible daughter would do: I took a picture. Not for the family album — for the AI.
It wasn’t a decision, more of a reflex, something I’ve learned to do in place of panic.
The signal shot off into the ether and came back with a diagnosis: probable lateral patellar subluxation.
I looked at Dad, who was leaning against a pine tree like a man deciding whether to live there forever.
“Let’s call for help,” I said.
From beside me came Dad’s voice, dry as ever: “Well, what’s your robot say to do?” — sticking with his catch-all term for anything techy.
It was four kilometers to the car. Four kilometers downhill, which I knew from experience was more punishing than uphill.
