On November 8th of last year, on general election day, my dad was admitted to a well-known hospital in Honolulu. As we'd learn a few days later, he'd contracted sepsis for a second time.
My dad would spend the next three months in two hospitals and an awful short-term rehab facility. It was a dark time for me, as well as my family.
It was in those grim months where it became clear to me why we do the work at Paubox.
Sepsis
Sepsis is the body’s extreme response to an infection. It's a life-threatening medical emergency that can rapidly lead to tissue damage, organ failure, and death.
For the first week of my dad's stay in the hospital however, it was not immediately clear sepsis was the root cause of his illness.
My daily routine
For the first month, my routine went like this:
- My wife and I would drive to the hospital after work.
- We'd sign in at the front entrance, put on masks, and take an elevator upstairs. Btw, you know something's off when the folks signing you in start recognizing you.
- When we got to the floor, I'd track down a nurse, who would tell me something to the effect of, there's been a shift change and the folks present aren't exactly sure what's going on with my dad.
- I'd then go see my dad, who oftentimes had no idea where he was. Sepsis is no joke.
- Before leaving, we'd take a selfie. The only pose I could think of was a thumbs up. What else can you do?
- I'd ask for a status update from a doctor, which would be done only by phone. The number the doctors called from changed often however, and my phone is set to send unrecognized numbers straight to voicemail. Other times, I was in meetings and simply could not pick up in time. No other forms of communication were offered to me.
- When I managed to get a doctor on the phone, the amount of information presented to me was overwhelming. The same drug can have two different names, medical conditions are hard to spell, let alone pronounce. We simply did not share the same vocabulary. I did my best to jot down what was being said, without much comprehension.
"Is my dad going to die this weekend?"
I vividly recall a particular weekend where my wife and I had a friend's wedding to attend on a neighbor island. We weren't sure whether we should go, as it was not clear to us if my dad would make it through the weekend.
Several days beforehand, I took off work early and tracked down two doctors on the hospital floor. Hoping to convey a modicum of intelligence, I calmly told them I have four patents to my name, but that I had no idea what's going on with my dad.
I followed up with, "Is my dad going to die this weekend?"
The doctor nearest me flinched. In his opinion, my dad was nowhere near critical condition and that yes, it was ok to go to the wedding for the weekend.
But here's the thing: Why did I not know that?
Communication in healthcare is broken
Here's a quick way to discover if someone works in healthcare- tell them the backbone of communication in healthcare is the fax machine.
If they express shock or disbelief, you have your answer.
Over the span of my dad's three months in two well-known hospitals and a short-term rehab facility (that should probably be shut down), the trend was same everywhere. The communication between the medical staff and the patient's family was badly broken.
No email. No text. Phone calls from a multitude of extensions, which means my phone never even rang.
And yes, on a couple occasions we were even asked to provide a fax number.
The Why of Paubox
Our mission at Paubox is to become the market leader for HIPAA compliant communication. We believe that journey starts with email.
This post is not a one-off experience. This happens everyday in the United States. The hospitals my dad stayed at are reputable, excellent facilities. Yet the communication is badly broken in American healthcare. Everywhere.
It's terrible and we're doing something about it. That is the why of Paubox.
Hoala Greevy
