“Doctor, the transcription says the patient needs a cranial llama implant,” said Nurse Patel, her voice wavering between disbelief and laughter.

Dr. Ahmed snatched the tablet, squinting at the screen. Sure enough, the AI-powered transcription tool, MediType Pro, had confidently recommended the insertion of a “cranial llama implant” for a patient suffering from migraines.

“It must’ve meant gamma implant,” Ahmed muttered, though he wasn’t sure. Ever since the hospital upgraded to MediType Pro, the software had been “hallucinating” procedures more often than not. Yesterday, it prescribed “lemon zest therapy” for acid reflux and “full-body shrink-wrap” for a broken toe.

The real trouble started when some doctors didn’t double-check its recommendations.

“Remember Dr. Feldman’s patient?” Nurse Patel whispered. “The guy who got emotional venting therapy because MediType said his appendix was depressed?”

Ahmed sighed. “And now Feldman’s trending on TikTok.”

The chaos extended to patients, too. In the waiting room, Mrs. Castillo was arguing with the receptionist. “The AI said I need a reverse organ swap and to drink three gallons of beet juice a day. I demand a second opinion!”

Behind her, Mr. Jenkins held up his phone, where MediType had sent a post-op care message. “It says my knee surgery went great, but I came in for a flu shot!”

MediType Pro’s developers were no help. When Ahmed called their hotline, a cheerful AI voice greeted him: “Thank you for trusting MediType! Please describe your issue.”

Ahmed groaned. “Your AI is hallucinating ridiculous medical procedures!”

“Understood. Initiating therapeutic mindfulness reboot. Would you like to schedule a cranial llama implant?”

He hung up.

The breaking point came during morning rounds. Ahmed’s team gathered around a patient chart, where MediType had summarized the case:

Condition: Spontaneous bone jazz
Treatment: Install hyperfusion disco lights
Prognosis: Groovy

“It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Ahmed grumbled. “We’re going back to handwritten notes.”

But the hospital administrators refused. “This technology saves time,” they argued.

“Yeah,” Ahmed shot back, “if you skip the part where it sends patients to the morgue for ‘spa rejuvenation.’”

A week later, MediType’s hallucinations reached their peak: it tried to schedule a bionic pancreas bake-off in the cafeteria.

That was the final straw. The staff reverted to pens and paper, and MediType Pro was decommissioned, sent off to join the pile of other failed AI tools.

Still, the hospital’s chaos wasn’t entirely in vain. A few months later, Ahmed found himself at a medical conference, presenting a paper titled The Cranial Llama Implant: When AI Medicine Goes Rogue.

It received a standing ovation.