AI vs Human Instinct: A Tech Tale of Life-or-Death Decisions

The saga of our last month has been a wild ride, featuring my husband’s week-over-week conversations with death. Doctors always tell us, "Don't Google your symptoms. There's a reason I'm the doctor." Yet, who can resist the rabbit hole of self-diagnosis? One minute you have a mild cough, and five clicks later, you're convinced it's a rare tropical disease. We’re told Googling symptoms is bad because it turns us into hypochondriacs with medical degrees from the University of Panic. But what happens when reality is even worse than Dr. Google’s dire predictions?

To fully grasp this story, you need to meet the man, the legend—my husband. He’s defied death at least three times this past month alone—not that I’m keeping track! He’s a Navy man and a father of four young children—four, six-year-old twins, and eight. If you can imagine Captain Chandler from The Last Ship, he is that kind of leader and can literally do it all! In any crisis, he’s our John Wick: cool, collected, and capable of improvising a power fix with potatoes or calmly moving me away from a tarantula without me even noticing. He’s the fun dad who dresses up as Branch from Trolls for the neighborhood Trunk-or-Treat and pretends his favorite movie isn't Daddy's Home. He's our rock, my partner, my best friend, father extraordinaire, and recounting the last month is hard, emotional, and all too human.

Our family has faced an unimaginable ordeal. My husband seemed to have a simple cold but was suddenly struck down by severe pneumonia—and this is the least exciting part of the story. Our journey through this crisis revealed the stark contrast between acting on human instinct and the role AI plays for personalized medical advice, understanding what everyone is talking about, and learning how to be an advocate for someone you love—to, in my case, SAVE THEM! I did curse him with a long life with me, and it seemed he was singing a little Meatloaf: "Oh now I'm praying for the end of time, so hurry...."

Before this, he wasn't feeling great, like with any cold. He started feeling pretty crappy and irritable. Being him, he took some NyQuil and tried to sleep it off. I checked on him, and his fever was sky-high—105.9, 106.8—what is happening! It was Saturday night, and after a friend's birthday party, I came home to find him nearly stroking out.

So, like any fever emergency, you either Google it or grab ice packs. I iced him down from the neck, under the arms, and on his head. He was SO mad at me—imagine a child refusing a cold bath, but a hundred times worse! I considered calling an ambulance, but with four kids to drag to the ER, my husband suddenly insisted he was fine.

The next day, I took him to urgent care, where they said it was nothing serious. That night, his fever spiked again! On Monday, I took him to the doctor and this time went in with him. He minimized his symptoms like he was invincible, and then the nagging wife (me) jumped in.

"Love, didn't you have a fever of almost 107 last night?"

The doctor's mouth dropped open. "Your fever is 103 right now. How long have you had a fever?"

Skip ahead to, "Let's get you to the ER for some tests to make sure it's not serious."

We thought we were in a next-gen healthcare facility—until reality hit. There was a robot making personalized IV bags based on your diagnosis—super cool technology. But it took over two hours for the next dosage because it was busy running into a wall by the elevator. Oh yes, nothing to worry about, just a robot having a bad day!

Three days later, they wanted to discharge him. I was concerned he wasn't exactly ready for a short walk to the car, but what do I know? He still had a 101-degree temperature. I had trusted the doctors and the hospital, but my gut—and trusty Google—told me otherwise. So, we left with some discharge instructions, medications and assurances that the worst was behind us.

The weekend arrived, and he didn’t get better. Our little daughter ran to tell me Daddy had fallen down coughing. I asked if we should go to the hospital, but he insisted he just needed rest. He spent the next few days in bed while we hoped the meds would kick in. Meanwhile, I turned into a Googling maniac, loving the new generative AI feature for giving me options, the right questions to ask, and where to look for a new path forward!

Armed with my new degree from the University of Panic and my trusty AI MedBot, I decided to see a pneumonia specialist, a.k.a. Pulmonologist. This time, I went into Dr. Lung's office with him to translate his man-speak into action. All he remembers is wanting to joke about the coincidence of the doctor's name.

Cue dramatic music—it's go time, round two!

Fast forward to ER, doctors running to meet us in the lobby, lots of scary tests to find out his oxygen was at 56. Now, I had no idea that this was SO bad until Google explained you usually die if your oxygen level drops below 60. He would then spend the next few days staring at a wall and drifting in and out of consciousness, while from all data points said he was improving based on the data they were collecting.

The irony is that my intuition told me something was off—yet he maintained his commanding presence and dry sense of humor, so as a newly Google-certified doctor, what do I know? And Chat GPT did state: "For accuracy and personalized medical advice, it's always best to consult directly with healthcare professionals."

After several days of watching the amazing wall with little conversation or interaction, he finally suggested we play Rummy—our go-to date night game. Normally, he kicks my butt or at least gives me a run for my money, but this time he couldn’t even figure it out. I knew something was seriously wrong and ramped up my conversations with Dr. Google!

I started plugging in every medical term I overheard and every fact I knew, determined to change the outcome. Google, in its unemotional and factual way, put the cards on the table: acute respiratory failure, antibiotic-resistant bacteria, acute pulmonary edema, sepsis, and a 10 to 30% chance of survival with possible brain damage.

Human behavior, or at least my behavior, had been to wait for more information and medical guidance. Medicine takes time to work, for the body to heal. But I was beginning to think that all my human intuition was right, and armed with Google, I was ready to be the SWAT Team Commander. This is when I realized the role of the advocate in medicine. I was the advocate, the only person who knew what actually happened and when. When technology fails to provide a consistent and seamless experience, or when one data point is wrong—because they’re dealing with John Wick and his "I can go on" attitude—it all falls apart.

I had to go home and relieve the babysitter because visiting hours were ending. I wondered if he would be alive in the morning, yet I was forced to leave, thinking, how is any of this okay? How can he be all alone when he clearly doesn't know what’s going on? I sat in the car, sobbing, dreading how I would face the kids and bounce into Happy Mommy mode. "Daddy is doing great and misses you guys so much!" I'd say when I got home, after driving and missing all the familiar turns.

At that moment, I felt hopeless. How could I have been there as an intelligent human being and not done more? How did we get here? The person I would talk to about any problem could no longer count to seven. He didn't know what was happening, and I saw myself losing him. I started fuming—why had we left the hospital the first time? Why was nothing working? Where was that damn robot? Why didn't anyone have an end-to-end understanding of his care? The doctors were amazing, yet technology and data were failing them. It was a complete and utter failure of technology, personalization, and end-to-end processes, and the price would be his life. This was the moment I knew I had to become Superwoman—or at least a better Googler.

I haven’t met a problem I can't solve. If this were a tech or business issue, I'd know what to do. This is familiar—incident management, triage—I'm no stranger to an emergency. Time to be me: gather the data points, develop a strategy, and fix this. Armed with AI to fill in the gaps, this is triage based on data and weighing risks against progress. I've got this!

This is the moment to fight... Take back my life song... Prove I'm alright song... And when driving to the hospital, use GPS song...

I told the hospital and doctors that my husband couldn't be trusted to give accurate information, so they needed to call me with every update. He celebrated his birthday in the hospital, almost missing it. A few days later, they would send him home again. I insisted he wasn’t better, but their data and technology overruled me. When I arrived that morning, miraculously he was "good to go." He was more alert, could play Rummy, and carry on a basic conversation. He had nurses laughing and doctors fooled. He even had visions of competing in a jiu-jitsu competition dancing around in his head. My husband, a flawed data point creating hallucinations and bias, convinced them he was better in those morning hours before I arrived. He was the BAD Data!

I get it, technology sometimes fails. But how is it that my AI shopping assistant can remind me it's my husband's birthday through multiple channels and suggest the perfect gift based on my medical Googling history, while I'm living a technical nightmare for a medical crisis? Retail tech offers seamless communication and personalization, yet the medical system lacks fluidity in end-to-end personalized patient care. Imagine if we could take pictures of him throughout this ordeal and use technology to note the color change from flesh tone to grey, instead of relying on cryptic notes—what a novel idea. After all, my retail apps know the colors I like and show me styles and options customized to my tastes. Why can't healthcare leverage this?

After going home a second time, he just still wasn't getting any better. We were told there might be an underlying condition - nothing like thinking you have an untreatable issue when you've narrowly escaped death twice!

Three nights later, at midnight, John Wick wakes up thinking he's having a heart attack. Poison dart through the window? I think not. Waking up to this, I insist he go back to the ER. After dropping off the kids, I arrived at 8 AM with Dr. Google. Aside from being on some fluids, nothing much was happening. I started asking Google questions with everything I knew to be fact. Armed with his paperwork listing all diagnoses and findings, I put it to the test. Knowing that action was needed, Super Advocate to the rescue.

I insisted he needed a CT scan since he didn't get one when he left the hospital days before. "Nurse, I need a CT stat!" After much back and forth, they finally did the scan and found a blood clot in his lung. He may be glowing yellow now, but this was serious. The clot couldn't go to his brain or heart. We had a new mission: stop the blood clot. And get this man some lottery tickets!

Armed with the treatment plan, I got involved and stayed close. With my handy AI tech, I closely monitored the ultrasound on his legs, comparing the images with what I found online. To my surprise, I was getting good at this. I asked the right questions and ensured the medications addressed the blood clot. When we left the hospital, I saw genuine improvement. After a month of this nightmare, I felt relieved, like it was finally over. We left with a prescription for a blood thinner and instructions that had to be taken at a specific time to avoid certain death and two extra pills for coverage as the pharmacy filled the prescription.

"We are the champions, We are the champions, no time for losers, 'Cause we are the champions of the world."

We go home and the next morning he takes his final pill. We check the app, and the prescription will be ready in the afternoon. We head there, but their computers are down, so they can't process the prescription with insurance, take credit cards, or use the phones—the fax machine has left the building! It feels like we're stuck in a bad sci-fi movie that NEVER ends.

We return before closing to find them sorting through a stack of printed papers. Panic sets in—if he doesn’t take his medication, the blood clot could travel to his brain or heart. And guess what—prescription? What prescription? Who are you? Our only option is to contact the hospital. We call, and they move it to a 24-hour pharmacy at a different location, so we wait. Ready to drive as the clock ticks down to midnight, being told it is ready via a text, they don’t have it either and never did—it was sent to the original Sci-Fi Drive-In location, which is now closed. Now the hospital is stunned. They’ve invested time, only to go in circles. So, back to the hospital.

The next day, I called the corporate office to report the life-threatening issue, after all seems like they should know. I pointed out their tech glitches could be fatal—turns out, there are no real consequences because we're just customers who can go elsewhere.

Heard loud and clear, we switch pharmacies. But alas, the new pharmacy is having trouble getting the prescription transferred—more Sci-Fi Drive-In problems. There's also a mismatch in the packaging, requiring a prescription rewrite for what’s in stock versus the fancy package, even though it’s the exact same medication. So, I need this medication, you have this medication, but because it’s not in the right package, I can’t have it. 2+2=4, right?

All logic and sense have left the building, and if it weren’t for keeping him alive, I might have given up. So, I'm back to Google. Did you know that without calling each pharmacy, you don’t know if they have the medication in the right package? It's like a time warp to the '90s, with neighborhood kids trying to find a Blockbuster with the latest movie in stock.

Needless to say, we found "The Matrix" and took the red pill.

Concluding Thoughts from This Never-Ending Saga...

Trust Your Instincts and Leverage Technology

Throughout this ordeal, my intuition played a crucial role. Despite AI and technology providing valuable information, it was my understanding of my husband's usual behavior versus his current state that led me to advocate for a crucial CT scan, which revealed a life-threatening blood clot in his lung.

Limitations of AI

This experience highlighted the limitations of AI in understanding the nuances of a patient's condition. While AI can process vast amounts of data and provide general guidance, it lacks the human intuition necessary to interpret the subtleties of individual cases. My husband's situation required more than just following protocol; it needed a personalized approach that only human instinct could provide.

Importance of Human Oversight

In the hospital, I faced numerous challenges due to the lack of seamless communication and coordination. When the robot responsible for delivering customized medication packets malfunctioned, causing a delay in my husband's treatment, the course of action was not to manually administer these medications but to fix the robot. This technological failure underscored the importance of human oversight in medical care and focusing on action, not just relying on technology. With the breakdown of pharmaceutical care and technology, something we often take for granted becomes a nightmare—or a horror film.

Communication and Advocacy intertwined with the Medical Journey

Moreover, the inconsistency in communication between medical staff members across various touchpoints—doctor's visits, urgent care, hospitals, and pharmacies—made it difficult to ensure my husband received the right care. Throughout his medical journey, I had to continuously advocate for him, questioning every detail and ensuring that his oxygen levels and monitors were appropriately managed. The fast-paced hospital environment, combined with varying levels of engagement from healthcare professionals, made it a daunting task to maintain a consistent flow of information and care.

Understanding Your Data

This experience also taught me the importance of understanding your data. Sources of bad data can create biases and hallucinations in AI, leading to misguided conclusions. Bad data can often be masked as good data, creating a false sense of accuracy. In my husband's case, his ability to appear alert and make jokes masked the severity of his condition, leading to flawed data points that suggested he was better than he was. This underscores the need to critically evaluate data and ensure its accuracy to make informed decisions and provide personalized care unique to an individual medical journey.

Human Intuition and Technology

Reflecting on this experience, I realized how crucial it was to rely on my instincts and advocate for my husband's health. While AI provided valuable insights, it was my ability to interpret and act on those insights that made the difference. By understanding the medical terms and conditions through AI, I was able to ask the right questions and push for the necessary interventions.

Behind-the-Scenes Final Thoughts

Our family's journey through this medical crisis underscores the importance of human instinct in healthcare. AI can assist in providing information and general guidance, but it is our intuition and ability to understand the unique aspects of each situation that ultimately make the difference. Without trusting my instincts and advocating, we might have faced a much darker outcome. This experience has reaffirmed the value of combining human intuition with technological advancements to achieve the best possible care and it doesn't stop within a hospital but follows a patient - after all it is their medical history that extends beyond the wall of one doctors office or experience to make up the whole person and know how to act or what do and to understand you have a John Wick in the room.

A thought-provoking TWIST ending...

I read this to my husband, who has no memory of these weeks or his John Wick persona. What he does remember is "those emergency sandwiches" I brought him—the irony being he was on a do-not-eat order that was unknown to me, and I could have killed him! That’s his fondest memory. Without proper information, we are at the mercy of the data and the flaws in our healthcare system, underscoring the crucial need for human intuition and advocacy working hand in hand with timely, consumable information throughout the medical journey.