New Orleans So much of modern technology seems to only serve the systems and their owners, if they have any, in the name of efficiency and cost saving, that when any of us stumble on something that undoubtedly does both of those things for the company, but also actually, lo and behold, serves the public, then attention must be paid. I had that kind of ah-ha experience in a hospital of all places where the customers are patients, not happy to be in there, and uncomfortable at the least, and scared to death and of death at the most.
If we’re lucky and fate has given us good genes or something somewhere is looking after us along with the other fools and children, going to the hospital as patient, family, or friend is not an everyday occasion. At this point on the personal level, I’m hardly averaging once every ten years, so I count myself blessed, as the members always remind me. When I’ve been there the saving grace in the indifference of the institutions might be a nurse or housekeeper or dietary worker who actually seems to care and give a flip about dealing with your uncertainty and confusion. In my view experiences in the past, it has always seemed like walking into a cave where the only light and clarity was when you walked out again. Anger not pleasure would be the watchword, as one tried to get the attention of someone to explain what was happening to you or to deal with a problem. Add to these lifetime experiences, the fact that ACORN and our partners have done a ton of research on hospitals, particularly nonprofits, so no matter how the IRS sees them, they all operate as cutthroat, money grubbing businesses where the “buyer beware” should be their motto, not “do no harm.” All of which produces skepticism and premonition.
But, there I was with mi companera taking a family member for a procedure at 430am in the morning, girded for war and prepared for endless monotony and mystery once embedded as a cog in the industrialized, factory-based American model of mass healthcare. You registered and affixed your name tag and prepared for the worst, while assuring the family it would all be swell. The wating room though was the first surprise. Some chairs were comfortable. There were electric outlets everywhere. The Wi-Fi was open and free. There was even a long table where, coffeehouse style, I could set up my computer and work. Not bad, I thought.
The real treat though was technical. Rather than having to come back and forth to the desk to ask repeatedly what and when something would happen, everywhere there were electronic display screens above us with a host of 9 or 10-digit numbers running in two columns. It was easy to sit there with my guest badge and figure that it was going to be a busy surgery day, but it wasn’t until I heard the 4-digit number at the end of that string that was our charge’s number, that I started to get it. The sheet assigned a number and then in 10 brightly different colors you could figure out the status by the color from in the Facility to End Care. When it flashed from red to yellow, it meant it was time to go from the waiting room to the 4th floor for prep for the procedure. When you went eventually to green, the operation was on. When it went to various shades of blue, then you could stop worrying and knew good news was coming. It wasn’t perfect. The highlights on the color code in bold capital letters saying HOLDING, BEGUN, and NEAR COMPLETION didn’t correspond to the letters affixed to the colors on the screens, which was weird. On the other hand, there was a number for a “patient liaison” which in a panic would be worth a call.
Sitting at the table working, I was at the backdoor it turned out, where the two receptionists who registered people came in and out for coffee and whatever. I met the liaison as she showed one of the families the screen over the end of the wall and decoded it for the woman. We chatted enough for me to know this was her full-time job, working the room and the elevator, and explaining the whole thing to one and all.
Sure, this saved the hospital money. They no longer had to have doctors and nurses running up and down the elevators to explain everything to families and friends. There were fewer temper tantrums in the waiting room as people pleaded for information, as is common in emergency rooms everywhere. Instead, they had used some simple technology, which allowed nurses and aides on the prep and operating floors to simply mark the stage for the patient on a computer and have it seen in the waiting rooms. When I saw the number turn purplish and say Recovery, I could ask the security guard if that meant to back up to the fourth floor and see our charge. Easy-peasy.
Maybe this hospital was doing the right thing for the wrong reason, but in a time when we’re under attack by our tech overlords, it was a nice change to see something working for us for a minute, rather than making our lives harder and worse. I have to give the devil it’s due.