Digitized Care

Digitized Care

In 1964, My father lost a leg to cancer. He didn’t slow down one bit. He spent the next 30 years on crutches raising six children, coaching Little League, volunteering, running for office, and traveling around the world on business. In April 1993, he had emergency by-pass surgery. This slowed him down — slightly.

My sister’s wedding was scheduled for June and my father was determined to walk her down the aisle. Not yet back to full strength, he drove 400 miles to the wedding. As a small concession to his recovery, he rented a wheelchair for walking long distances. On the wedding day, which was also my parent’s 38th anniversary, Dad walked my sister down the aisle. He enjoyed the rest of the day in the rented wheelchair. 

Flash forward twenty years. Still on crutches, Dad had slowed down a bit due to severe gout. He applied to his health-care system for a wheelchair. They responded that since he had returned a more-sophisticated wheelchair twenty years earlier and was now applying for a simpler one, he must have “gotten better.”  Request denied.

We were stunned. But being the family we are, we asked him if he had grown a new leg since we last visited. We were also angry. No one had examined my father or even asked him any questions. He had been denied sight-unseen.

Patients today, despite huge technological advances in care, have become less and less visible to the healthcare system. A patient consults a doctor who arrives carrying a computer. She taps at the keyboard while symptoms are described. While they chat, the doctor orders tests, forwards information to other doctors. makes notes in her records, and sends a prescription to the printer. Her data is analyzed by insurance companies and healthcare systems who decide if the care should be covered or denied.

The introduction of computers has made medical care more efficient but less personal. Abraham Verghese, physician, educator, and author of many books, worries that the “human connections” of medicine are being lost in the digital age. Time-harried doctors can’t look at their patients, listen to their stories, or know who they are. The cornerstone of medicine — one person caring for another — is lost when computers step between patient and doctor.

After struggling two more years on crutches, my father finally got his wheelchair.  His caring doctor who knew him well, resubmitted the application, clearly stating my father’s condition and his need, and his request was approved. We still laugh about the “new” leg but also wonder how many others don’t get the care they need. Many people remain unseen — those without families, insurance, advocates, or money. 

Doctors are people. Patients are people. People are not data. When healthcare policies are based on data alone, much is lost. Digital medicine cannot replace the compassion a good doctor offers his patients. Health does not happen without caring.