Passe

Today’s Ragtag Daily Prompt is anachronism. I guess that would be Helen Burling Ottaway’s watercolors, since an AI can do them, and my work as a physician. The American Academy of Family Practice (AAFP) wrote: “So, the AAFP looked into an AI assistant for clinical review that can “pull the data together in a problem-oriented manner and give you a snapshot of exactly what’s going on with your patient without having to search and click and find things.”

Um. Ok, I am thinking of a patient who was about to be transferred from our small hospital to a bigger one. His notes came across my desk. I called the hospitalist. No less then four physicians during the hospitalization, starting with the emergency room physician, had written that his abdomen was “flat, soft, non-tender, no masses”. What this told me was that 1. Not one of them had done an exam. 2. Not one of them had read my notes nor the surgeon’s notes. 3. The bigger hospital was going to laugh themselves silly if they did an exam. Why? He had an 8 by 8 inch enormous umbilical hernia present for 20+ years, which had not gotten fixed yet because of other medical issues.

Great. So let’s make it worse by having an AI pick out what is important from the patient record and have it make up exams, which people are too lazy to do. Physicians are too lazy to do. People, you had better read every single note your doctor or nurse practitioner or physician’s assistant writes, because you want to go on record in writing when they get it wrong. It is an absolute horror show. Read your notes, because your doctor is most likely not reading the notes from the specialists. I find it amazing, horrifying and sloppy.

I learned to paint watercolors from my mother. I am not primarily an artist, but I learned all sorts of techniques from her. We do not learn from plugging an idea into a computer. We learn from doing. And yes, it is work to learn techniques, but it is worth it!

Soft cloak

The sparkling water distracts, while she is shy above it, cloaked. She waits for the moisture that remains after Mount Olympus has taken her share from the clouds as they roll over. Over the year Mount Olympus and her sisters take hundreds of inches before the clouds pass on to Tahoma, but she catches the moisture left and builds a soft cloak. She is nearly hidden in the blues and pale blues. Look for her.

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It doesn’t fit, but I wrote it for the Ragtag Daily Prompt: risque.

Keeping watch

“I’ll keep watch for you and then you keep watch for me.”

“Let’s all get cleaned up.”

“What a beautiful day!”

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: trust.

Taken at Fort Worden yesterday, with a Canon Powershot SX40 HS.

Small hopes

Alone today and quiet, happy with it
“I think you write more than I do, even though
I write for a living.” “I love it,” I say.
It is my daily quiet writing time: four am.
No one is here but me and the cats
and they just ate and are grooming each other.
Just me and paper and pens and computer
still dark out and cold. I check to see if it is clear.
No, not today. I hope to see the green comet.
Little hopes, small ones, quiet ones, that do not
bother anyone. No one is jealous or wants to take them
away. I hold them warm in my heart, Beloved,
and do not think of love.

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: temptation.