Tag: medicine

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Health medical

The Screen Between Us: How Data Eclipsed the Art of Healing

We often think of medicine as an intimate dance between two human beings—one seeking solace, the other offering expertise and care. For centuries, the physician’s most powerful tools weren’t just pills or scalpels, but their profound presence. It was the careful listening, the observational gaze, and the reassuring touch. Today, however, a glowing rectangular barrier has been erected right in the center of the examination room.

In our relentless pursuit to optimize and quantify healthcare, we inadvertently changed the very nature of the profession. As Dr. Robert Wachter observes in A Giant Leap, the introduction of the Electronic Health Record (EHR) transformed the physician’s daily life:

“In short, the job of being a physician was transformed by the electronic health record—and not for the better. Doctors found that they were spending half their day staring at their EHR and clicking through screens, nearly double the time they spent with their patients. Physician burnout reached alarming levels in 2022, with more than half of American doctors experiencing symptoms of exhaustion and detachment. EHR documentation was a key factor, significantly diminishing both wellbeing and career satisfaction.”

We digitized medicine to make it efficient, to prevent errors, and to capture vital data. Those were, and still are, noble goals. But in our rush to catalog the patient, we inadvertently turned the healer into a data entry clerk. The cost of this digital optimization is the soul of the medical practice.

When more than half of American doctors report symptoms of exhaustion and detachment, we cease facing a mere administrative hurdle; we begin witnessing a systemic crisis of spirit. Physician burnout is rarely just about working too many hours. It is, more often, a deep moral injury. It occurs when a professional is systematically prevented from doing the very work that gives their calling its meaning. Doctors endured grueling years of medical school to heal people, to connect, and to solve complex biological puzzles—not to feed a ravenous digital ledger.

The EHR was supposed to be a tool that served the physician, a modern augmentation of their capabilities. Instead, the physician has become the tool that feeds the EHR. The documentation demands have significantly diminished career satisfaction and personal wellbeing because they sever the foundational human connection that makes the practice of medicine bearable during its darkest hours.

We are at a critical juncture. The technology itself is not inherently evil, but its current implementation is failing the very people it was built to empower. We must reimagine medical technology not as a master that demands a constant tribute of keystrokes, but as a silent, invisible servant. Until we restore the primacy of the doctor-patient relationship—until the screen is pushed aside and unhurried eye contact is restored—the exhaustion will persist. Medicine is, at its core, a deeply human endeavor. It is time we step out from behind the screen and let the healers return to healing.

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AI AI: Large Language Models medical

Stethoscopes and Statutes in the Age of AI

David Sparks (aka MacSparky), dropped a casual bombshell on a recent podcast, the kind of offhand remark that lodges in your mind like a burr on a sock.

Paraphrasing, he said something like: “AI seems to be a boon for doctors and a threat to lawyers.” He was commenting on how he’s observed that sense among the members of his MacSparky Labs community.

It’s the sort of statement that invites you to pause, tilt your head, and wonder what lies beneath.

Sparks, a lawyer himself who gave up his legal career a few years ago, knows one of those worlds intimately. His words carry the weight of someone who’s walked the halls of courthouses and squinted at screens late into the night.

So what’s he pointing out that the rest of us might miss?

Start with doctors. Medicine is a profession of patterns and particulars, a dance between the general and the specific. A patient walks in—say, a 52-year-old man with a cough that’s lingered too long. The doctor’s mind whirs: pneumonia? Bronchitis? Something rarer, like sarcoidosis? The human brain is a marvel at this, but it’s not infallible. Enter AI, with its tireless capacity to sift through terabytes of data—X-rays, lab results, decades of case studies—and spot the needle in the haystack. A tool like Harvey, an AI platform now making waves in medical research, can crunch genetic sequences or flag anomalies in real time, handing doctors a sharper lens. It’s not replacing the physician; it’s amplifying her reach. For doctors, AI is like a stethoscope that’s upgraded.

Lawyers, though, face a different challenge. Their craft is less about data and more about argument, a tapestry of precedent and persuasion woven over centuries. Sparks knows this: he’s stood before judges, parsing statutes, coaxing juries with a turn of phrase. But here’s the rub—much of lawyering is rote. Drafting contracts, reviewing discovery, chasing down case law—these are tasks of repetition, not revelation. AI can do them faster, cheaper, and with fewer coffee stains. Harvey, repurposed for legal work, joins programs like ROSS, built on IBM’s Watson, to scan legal databases in seconds, spitting out answers that once took associates hours to unearth. For the grunt work, AI is a scythe through wheat. The threat isn’t extinction but erosion—junior lawyers, the ones who cut their teeth on those late-night searches, might find the ladder’s lower rungs sawed off.

Yet law isn’t just mechanics; it’s theater. A machine can draft a motion, but can it read a juror’s furrowed brow? Can it pivot mid-trial when a witness veers off script?

Doctors heal with facts; lawyers win with stories. AI—Harvey or otherwise—might streamline the former, but the latter resists its grasp—for now. Sparks sees a fault line: medicine gains an important new partner, law sees a new rival.

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AI AI: Large Language Models Claude Creativity Writing

Co-Creation

Ethan Mollick, a professor at the Wharton School, has written a popular book on artificial intelligence titled “Co-Intelligence“. Like I do with most books I read, I’ve collected a series of highlights of various passages I found interesting when I read Mollick’s book – a book I enjoyed very much. This morning I came across one of those highlights which sent me off on this exploration.

But first let me share a perspective. A few friends of mine – when exploring how they might use artificial intelligence – reject the use of AI tools for helping them write. They feel strongly that the words an AI creates aren’t their own and strongly reject simply using an AI-generated output to create articles for their blogs, etc. I certainly appreciate their point of view – but I’m finding a more nuanced perspective on this question is more appropriate for me.

What I’m finding is that when I invoke AI to help me explore a topic, an idea, etc. that the result will almost always open up my thinking by exposing me to things, ideas, etc. that I hadn’t considered. In so doing, I come away feeling “richer” in the sense that I’ve learned – and not simply written – in the process. How I use the work product created by the AI varies – sometimes it’s helpful in critiquing something I’ve written. Other times I use it to help me better understand something – or explore by stepping outside my own brain.

Here’s an example from some exploring I did this morning. During my morning review of my Kindle book highlights using Readwise, I came across a quotation from Mollick’s book that I highlighted:

“If you can link disparate ideas from multiple fields and add a little random creativity, you might be able to create something new.” (Ethan Mollick, Co-Intelligence)

I love the idea of how creativity is influenced by the often seemingly random interconnections between ideas – and this quote concisely made that point. I wanted to explore this further so I asked Claude Sonnet to help me by writing an article in the style of author John McPhee that’s based on the quote. Here’s the exact prompt I used with Claude:

You are an expert writer in the style of John McPhee. You are helping me write interesting articles for my blog. Create a 750 word draft article for my blog based on the following quotation: “If you can link disparate ideas from multiple fields and add a little random creativity, you might be able to create something new.” (Ethan Mollick, Co-Intelligence)

I’ve been finding that Claude often does a more creative form of writing as compared to other chatbots. The article that Claude returned in response to my prompt really surprised me – so much so that I thought I’d just share it directly here.

So here we go…the following wasn’t written by me – rather, it was co-created based on a prompt from me and written by my co-intelligent partner Claude.

The Art of Cross-Pollination: Cultivating Innovation in Unlikely Places

In the verdant fields of central New Jersey, not far from where I sit typing these words, a peculiar ritual unfolds each spring. Farmers, their hands calloused from generations of working the land, don white protective suits that make them look more like astronauts than agriculturists. They move deliberately through their orchards, carrying small paintbrushes and vials of pollen.

These are the pear farmers of Mercer County, and they’re engaged in a practice as old as agriculture itself: cross-pollination. But why, you might ask, are they doing by hand what bees have done for millennia? The answer lies in the delicate biology of pear trees and the fickle nature of their reproduction.

Pear trees, it turns out, are notoriously poor self-pollinators. To produce fruit, they need pollen from a different variety of pear tree. But pear blossoms produce relatively little nectar, making them unattractive to bees. So these farmers, in their space-age suits, play the role of bees, manually transferring pollen from one variety to another, ensuring a bountiful harvest come autumn.

As I watched this process unfold on a crisp April morning, I was struck by a quote I’d recently encountered from Ethan Mollick, a professor at the Wharton School: “If you can link disparate ideas from multiple fields and add a little random creativity, you might be able to create something new.”

The pear farmers of Mercer County, in their own way, embody this principle. They’ve taken an idea from one field (entomology) and applied it to another (agriculture), adding their own creative twist (the paintbrushes and protective suits). The result? A thriving pear industry in a region where it might otherwise be impossible.

This concept of cross-pollination – of ideas rather than pollen – is not unique to agriculture. In fact, it’s a principle that underpins much of human innovation and creativity.

Consider, for a moment, the work of Frances Glessner Lee, often called the “mother of forensic science.” Lee was born into wealth in the late 19th century and, like many women of her social standing, was skilled in the domestic arts, particularly miniature-making. But Lee had a passion for criminal investigation, nurtured by her friendship with George Burgess Magrath, a medical examiner.

In the 1940s, Lee combined these seemingly disparate interests to create the Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death – intricately detailed dioramas of crime scenes used to train detectives. These miniature crime scenes, built with the precision of a dollhouse maker but imbued with the gruesome details of a murder scene, revolutionized forensic training. Lee had taken skills from the traditionally feminine world of crafts and applied them to the male-dominated field of criminal investigation, creating something entirely new and profoundly useful in the process.

This principle of creative cross-pollination extends far beyond the realms of agriculture and crime scene investigation. The history of human progress is littered with examples of innovations born from the unlikely marriage of disparate fields.

Take, for instance, the development of GPS technology. The seeds of this now-ubiquitous system were planted when physicists William Guier and George Weiffenbach at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory realized they could track the Soviet Sputnik satellite by monitoring its radio transmissions. This was an impressive feat in itself, but it was their colleague Frank McClure who made the cognitive leap that would change the world. McClure realized that if the scientists could track a satellite from the ground, they could also use satellites to track positions on the ground.

This insight – born from the collision of rocket science, radio engineering, and a healthy dose of Cold War paranoia – led to the development of the Transit system, the precursor to modern GPS. Today, this technology guides everything from missile systems to the smartphone in your pocket, all because a group of scientists were able to flip their perspective and see their work from a new angle.

But perhaps the most striking example of creative cross-pollination comes from the field of medicine. In the early 1940s, a Scottish bacteriologist named Alexander Fleming was researching influenza. One day, he noticed that mold had contaminated one of his petri dishes – a common enough occurrence in a microbiology lab. But Fleming observed something unusual: the area around the mold was clear of bacteria.

This chance observation, combined with Fleming’s willingness to investigate rather than simply discard the contaminated sample, led to the discovery of penicillin. Fleming had linked the disparate fields of mycology and bacteriology, added a dash of serendipity, and created something that would revolutionize medicine and save countless lives.

As we navigate an increasingly complex and interconnected world, the ability to cross-pollinate ideas from different fields becomes ever more crucial. The challenges we face – from climate change to antibiotic resistance – are too complex to be solved within the confines of a single discipline.

So perhaps we should all take a cue from the pear farmers of Mercer County. Don our metaphorical protective suits, pick up our idea-paintbrushes, and venture into unfamiliar orchards of thought. For it’s in these unlikely places, where disparate ideas collide and combine, that the seeds of innovation are sown.