An Offering to the Gods of Doctors and IMTS 2026, Chicago

I have long believed that doctors and physicians have their own gods, and those gods expect offerings. In Hindu mythology, there is Dhanvantari, physician to the devas and god of Ayurveda. This does raise an important theological question: do gods get sick?

I digress. When you are young, the offerings are small and infrequent: a copay, cough syrup, and a promise to drink more water. As you grow older, the gods become more demanding. The visits multiply, the blood tests become more creative, and the offerings arrive in larger denominations.

In mathematical terms, the frequency and size of the offerings are directly proportional to your age.
Age is the subscription plan nobody remembers choosing.

Recently, I traveled to Chicago for IMTS, the industrial manufacturing show approaching a century of existence. More than 2,800 exhibitors had gathered to display machines, software, and robots.
There were robots. Then there were more robots. And did I mention that there were robots?
Some were welding, lifting, inspecting, and assembling. FANUC robots turned a life-size Corvette upside down as casually as I turn a page. Boston Dynamics robot dogs climbed stairs, supposedly looking for people who needed rescuing. I suspect they were also assessing whether humanity was worth the effort.
The robots are getting smarter. Meanwhile, we are getting better at scrolling through reels while lying perfectly still.

IMTS occupied every wing of Chicago’s enormous McCormick Place. Color-coded carpets guided visitors toward different halls. This was helpful because after 12,000 steps and three identical-looking corridors, every human begins to navigate like a malfunctioning Roomba.
The show had everything: Formula One cars, NASA rockets, submarines, drones, and a model of a supersonic aircraft inspired by Concorde. TDK, which many remember as a cassette-tape giant, demonstrated sensor-fusion software. While some of us still need a pencil to rewind a cassette, the cassette company has moved on to autonomous systems.
Metal was cut, drilled, polished, and shaped with extraordinary precision. There was enough advanced machinery to make you wonder whether your toaster has been underperforming all these years.

There was one other thing at IMTS: people.
There appeared to be 100,000 of them, arriving from around the world. They shook hands, crowded into booths, and breathed the same carefully recycled convention-center air.

It was not merely a trade show. It was an international networking event for viruses.
Every bug and strain had thousands of potential customers. No registration fee. No booth cost. No badge. They circulated, multiplied, and explored new markets. If viruses had a marketing department, IMTS would have been a strategic global expansion opportunity.

When I returned home, I felt fine. I even attended another company event. Clearly, I had escaped.

Then, at about 10 p.m. on Friday, the gods of doctors sent an invoice.
First came the lethargy. Then the chills, followed by fever and body aches. By the third day, it felt as if someone had pushed a wooden stick wrapped in coarse sandpaper through my throat.
The fever was manageable. The chills were manageable. Even the body aches could be negotiated with.
But losing my beautiful voice? I wanted to scream “Nooooo!” like Darth Vader at the end of Revenge of the Sith.
Unfortunately, screaming requires a voice. This was an unacceptable escalation.

At three in the morning, sounding like a retired low-budget villain, I scheduled an urgent-care appointment. I wanted medical advice, but also what patients call “the good drugs.”

At 7am, I was at the clinic. When I met the doctor, the first thing she said was, “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while!”
She quickly added, “Which is a good thing.”
Remember the offerings. Apparently, I had fallen behind on mine.

After listening to my symptoms, she asked, “Did you travel recently?”
I was astonished. Was she a physician or a clairvoyant? Could doctors now see airports in a patient’s aura?
The explanation was less mystical. She had seen many travelers returning with COVID. The virus may no longer inspire the same fear, but it has not retired. It has merely changed its business model. This version came with what my daughter called “razor-blade throat.”

My test was positive.
Then came devastating news. The effective nighttime medicine that once helped people sleep could no longer be prescribed in the same way. Oregon’s rules had changed since my previous illness.“The last time you were sick was in 2022,” my doctor reminded me.

Offerings!
I had missed an entire regulatory cycle. This is what happens when you neglect your offerings.

At the pharmacy, I collected several medicines, each with a list of side effects long enough to qualify as a separate illness. I wondered whether the cure required more courage than the disease.
Still, the gods had spoken. I paid the offering, returned home, and began swallowing an impressive collection of pills.

Then came the public-relations phase. I contacted everyone I had encountered in Chicago, Portland, at home, and in the office. I felt like a one-person contact-tracing department issuing an earnings warning. Despite my efforts, I brought three people at home down with me. Others remain on alert, probably reconsidering every recent interaction with me.

My throat is still scratchy, and my beautiful voice has not fully returned. I was supposed to speak at a couple of events, but my colleague, boss, and friend Niladri stepped in. I have no doubt he will perform admirably. He still needs a turban to complete the impersonation, but that is a story for another day.

I began typing this on my phone while lying in bed. I am (or soon will be) on the mend and hope to walk around soon without feeling as if the floor has adopted a gentle ocean motion.
The doctor gods have received their offering.

When my voice finally returns, the world should prepare itself.
After several days of involuntary training in the lower register, I may pick up my guitar and sing a few Kishore Kumar songs.

It is only fair that everyone else should now receive my offering.

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Links to other personal stories:

1. Five Rupees, Eight Meals, and a Lesson for Life
2. The Parable of a Wise Man
3. Black Dogs

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