Strategy

Pigeon Project Management Office (PMO)

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I just finished stacking two cords of wood, much like a squirrel getting ready for a long cold winter. My feet were doing the “Boy is it cold dance” in an effort to keep the blood circulating.  As I was picking up the scraps, my eldest picked up a piece and placed it in his backpack. When I asked him what he would do with it he told me he was going to carve it after school. His statement brought back boyhood memories of hours of whittling, an activity done if for no other reason than to get from one minute to the next. Grab a stick and whittle it away until there was nothing left.  What next? Grab another. The weight of the pocketknife felt equally good in my hand as it did in my pocket.
When is the last time the thought of whittling crossed your mind? Probably been a long time. It’s an activity meant for idle minds and hands, or minds that should be idle. There are times I find myself questioning what value so and so brings to the party. Do you do that?  “Why is she in this meeting?”  You know who I mean.  You’re sitting there trying to get your work done and all of a sudden, some Mensa wannabe with more idle time on their hands than a Lipitor salesman at a BBQ cook-off, makes an aerial assault on your cubicle like a pigeon on a Rodin bronze.  Drops in and changes the rules of the universe, at least your universe.

This happens more often than is documented on large healthcare IT projects.  People set new courses and define programs rules that may have nothing whatsoever to do with the project’s charter or scope.  You do have a written charter and scope in the project office, don’t you?  If not, it’s easy to see how new directions and rules can be given a certain specious authority.

What’s the best way to handle this situation? Often these management Mensas are nervous about a lack of visible results and they need to report on something.  They may feel the need to be doing something, something resembling leading.  They don’t mean to interfere, and they believe that their little forays into the world of super PMO (Program Management Officer) will actually add value. You tell me, are they adding value, or are they preventing the team from sticking to the scope? There’s that irritating scope word again.  The next time you see one wandering aimlessly through the rows of cubicles, hand that person a pocketknife and a nice piece of balsa wood.  Although their efforts won’t add any value to what you’re trying to accomplish, at least it will get them out of the way for a little while.

saint

Who was that woman who put in our first EHR system?

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The first home I bought was in Denver.  Built in 1898, it lacked so many amenities that it seemed better suited as a log cabin.  There was not a single closet, perhaps because that was a time when Americans were more focused on hunting than gathering.  Compared to today’s McMansions, it was doll-house sized.

It needed work—things like electricity, water—did I mention closets?  I stripped seven costs of paint from the stairs.  Hand-built a fireplace mantel and a deck.  I arrived home to find my dog had eaten through the lathe and plaster wall of the space which served as my foyer/family room/ living room-cum-hallway.  I discovered the plaster and lathe hid a fabulous brick wall.

My choice was to patch the small hole, or remove the rest of the plaster.  Within an hour I had purchased man-tools; two mauls, chisels, and a sledge hammer.  I worked through dinner and through the night.  The only scary moment came as the steel chisel I was using connected to the wiring of two sconces which were embedded in the plaster.  On cold nights I can still feel the tingling in my left shoulder.

As the first rays of dawn carved their way through the frosted beveled glass of the front door, I wondered why I never before had noticed that the glass was frosted.  I wiped two fingers along the frost.  A fine coating of white powder came off the glass leaving two parallel tracks resembling a cross-country ski trail.  I surveyed the room only to see that the air made it look like I was standing inside of a cloud.  The fine white powder was everywhere—my Salvation Army sofa and semi-matching machine-loomed Oriental rug from the Far East (of Nebraska), a two-ton Sony television, and a component stereo system that had consumed most of much earnings.

Bachelor living can be entertaining.  One of my climbing buddies moved in with me.  The idea was I’d keep the rent low, and he’d help me by maintaining the house.  He didn’t help.  I made a list of duties; he didn’t help.  I left the vacuum in the middle of the floor, for two weeks; he didn’t help.  I made him move out, and advertised for a female roommate—an idea I now wish I’d marketed.  A girl from church came over to see the place.  I turned my back on her, only to find when I returned that she was on her hands and knees cleaning the bathroom.  I was in love.  It was like having a big sister and mother.  She even asked if it was okay if since she was doing her laundry if she did mine at the same time.  Life was oh so good.

Sometimes when one approach isn’t working it’s real easy to try something else.  And sometimes the something else gives you a solution in the form of a water-walker.  Healthcare IT and EHR aren’t ever going to be one of those sometimes.  There will be no water-walkers, no easy do-overs.  There won’t be anyone walking your hallways talking about their first wildly unsuccessful EHR implementation.  Nobody gets to wear an EHR 2.0 team hat.  Those who fail will become the detritus of holiday party conversations.  Who will be the topic of future holiday parties?  I’m just guessing, but I’m betting it will be those who failed to develop a viable Healthcare IT plan, whoever selected the EHR without developing an RFP, the persons who decided Patient Relationship Management (PRM) was a waste of money.  The good news is that with all of those people leaving your organization, it costs less to have the party.

I’d better go.  Somebody left the vacuum in the middle of the floor so I need to get cracking before my wife advertises for a female roommate.

saint

Reform: confessions of a drive-by mind

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My wife said she had to call DC.  “All of it?” I asked.  Failed to even crack a smile—she must have left her funny bone in her briefcase.  I described her mom’s dog as a tennis ball with lips which seemed to be bred to be terrified of everything.  That had me zero for two, and losing ground quickly.

Today’s social networking technology allows one to take umbrage with everything from reform to how your neighbor shovels the snow from their sidewalk.  It’s an especially neat set of tools for those of us who have borderline control issues.  Which I do not, I told the unfunny woman next to me.  “You want to tell people how to tie their shoes because you think you do it better than them,” she remarked.  “Which is probably why flying bothers you so much; your nagging belief that the pilot isn’t qualified.”

Where was I before I interrupted myself?  Now, before anyone starts name-calling, I shall admit that I can be a bit of a heterodox.  Sometimes instead of talking I write, it’s like taking my thoughts for a walk in the park with an occasional pause at a fire hydrant.

I am beset by several unanswered questions about reform.  What do you think?  Is healthcare reform an attempt to make America a risk-free society, to rid people of what might be in order to exercise control where none exists?  Is it possible Jerry Springer was asked to provide ad hominem comment over the healthcare reform legislation, or that the plot line was a rerun of something written by David Mamet?  Does the tedium of reading the bill’s thousand-plus pages make stamp collecting seem like a full contact sport?

It’s too bad the Administration had the misfortune of drafting the reform legislation without having the luxury of hiding behind the Iraq maelstrom as we did during the Cheney presidency.  We may find some solace in that even with it now looking like some form of reform—version 5.0—will pass this year, our system will still be better than the UK’s, which is essential since they do much better with Shakespeare than us—I think it has something to do with their dedication to the diction of the British English.  “O, yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt.” (Claudius in Hamlet.  Is this where Python got the idea for, “I’m not dead yet?”)

We would be more likely to turn Hamlet into a navel gazing rap musical, than try to do it justice by reciting the original English.  Perhaps that is why we enjoy PBS as it gives our snobbery a chance to imagine the world as a series of Masterpiece Theater renditions.

If the reform effort still smacks of vestiges of nineties healthcare kitsch, it may be because nostalgia is still what it used to be and never was.  Either way, it looks like we will have something more concrete at which we can pit our opinions.  It will cost in the neighborhood of nine hundred million dollars, and yet we still aren’t able to distill the main talking points on two or three PowerPoint slides.

saint

Pay attention to patients even when they’re not at your office.

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The wheel’s still turning, but the hamster is dead. One Brady short of a bunch. I like the ocean one because it reminds me of a bit done by the comic Ron White. In the bit he talks about the time he met a woman who was wearing a bathing suit made of sea shells which he held to his ear to find out if he could hear the ocean. Maybe you had to be there.

All day I’ve been operating as though I was one Brady short of a bunch—I actually have cufflinks with Marcia Brady’s picture on them, but we’ll save that for another day. The day’s highlight revolved around my daughter’s doubleheader field hockey matches–third and fourth grade girls. Their opponents looked better, older. In fact, I thought I saw one or two of them drive themselves to the field. Forty-eight degrees, first game at 8 AM. Not enough time to grab breakfast and get to the game on time. I dropped my daughter at the field and headed to a nearby convenience store to buy her a donut. As I pulled into the parking lot I noticed that I needed gas, so I figured why not multi-task it. I inserted the nozzle in the tank, went into the store, purchased a donut, and proceeded to drive away.

For the metrics lovers, those who like order over chaos, those whose desk is always neat, have you discovered my Brady moment? My purpose in going to the store was to buy a donut, not gas. My mind was focused on the donut, not on the gas. Once the donut was resting safely on the passenger’s seat my mission was over, or so I thought. Something was gnawing at me as I pulled away from the pump, something that flared at me in my rearview mirror. I knew what it was a full second before my body got the message to react to it. “Hit the break,” my mind screamed. I could see what remained of the black gas pump hose as it pirouetted helplessly behind my car. I fully expected the entire gas station to be consumed by a giant fireball like the one at the conclusion of the movie Rambo. Once I was convinced that neither I nor–it turns out that neither nor does not violate the rule of using a double negative in a sentence–anyone else in the vicinity was in mortal danger, I exited my car and walked to the pump.

My first reaction, and I don’t know why, was to see if the pump was still charging my credit card. Selfish? That means that subconsciously I had already made the decision to flee, but that I didn’t want to flee if my charge card was still open. I retrieved the severed hose from the ground and inserted it in the pump, thereby closing out the sale on my credit card. I looked around. There wasn’t anyone who had witnessed my little AARP moment. Since they hadn’t, I figured why bother anyone. Kismet; my turn on the hamster wheel.

I’m convinced it’s the little things that determine whether your initiatives succeed or fail. It’s usually nothing tricky, nothing that requires two commas worth of new technology. It’s being focused and being committed to excellence in the menial tasks which comprise each patient interaction, especially those that occur outside of the office. What little things are being overlooked in your practice?  Could social media solve some of these?  In a heartbeat, and for a cost that would surprise you.

Oh, and don’t forget to hang up the hose when you’re done.

black saint 2

What are the voices telling you?

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My favorite thing about healthcare is having witnessed it up close and personal both as a cancer patient in the 80’s and as the survivor of a heart attack seven years ago.

I was fortunate enough to have testicular cancer before Lance Armstrong made it seem kind of stylish.  Caught early, it’s one of the most curable cancers.  As those who’ve undergone the chemo will attest, the cure is almost potent enough to kill you.

I self-diagnosed while watching a local news cast in Amarillo where I was stationed on one of my consulting engagements.  As we were having dinner, my fellow consultants voted to change the channel—I however had lost my appetite.  I went to my room, looked in Yellow Pages—see how times have changed—and called the first doctor I found.  This is one of those times when Never Wrong Roemer hated being right.

So, yada, yada, yada; my hair falls out in less time than it took to shower.  A few more rounds of chemo, the cancer’s gone and I start my see America recovery Tour, my wig and I visiting friends throughout the southeast.  If I had it to do over, I would go without the wig, but at twenty-seven the wig was my security blanket.  I don’t think it ever fooled anyone or anything—even my house plants snickered when I wore it around them.

I owned a TR-7 convertible—apparently it never lived up to its billing as the shape of things to come, more like the shape of things that never were.  My wig blew out of the convertible as I made my way through Smokey Mountain National Park.  I spent twenty minutes walking along the highway until I spotted what looked like a squirrel laying lifelessly on the shoulder—my wig.

The last stop on my tour was at a friend’s apartment in Raleigh.  Overheated from the long drive and the August sun, I decided to take a few laps in her pool.  I dove in the shallow end, swam the length of the pool, performed a near-flawless kick-turn and eased in to the Australian Crawl.  As I turned to gasp for air, I noticed I was about to lap my hair.  I also noticed a small boy, his legs dangling in the water, with a look of astonishment on his face.

My ego had reached rock bottom and had started to dig.  I had one of those “know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em moments” and never again wore the wig after learning it was such a poor swimmer.

Do you get those moments, or get the little voice telling you that your EHR strategy isn’t fooling anyone?  It’s okay to acknowledge the voices as long as you don’t audibly reply to them during meetings—I Twitter mine.

Sometimes the voices ask why we didn’t evaluate the EHR vendors with a detailed RFP.  Other times they want to know how that correspondence course in project management is coming along.  It’s okay.  As long as you’re hearing the voices you still have a shot at recovery.  It’s only when they quit talking that you should start to worry.  Either that, or try wearing a wig.

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The effect of poor planning

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I’ve always considered myself to be rather athletic, although I must have been on break when they handed out the coordination genes.  Perhaps that is why I tended towards individual efforts like running.

As it was, I was fairly good at ice skating as long as I was moving forward, the straighter the better.  Turning and stopping required an abundance of room, and an absence of other skaters.

Whoever came up with the notion that if you can ice skate you can roller skate was either lying through his teeth, or I became skating’s anti-matter.  At the time of my first attempt at roller skating I was unaware that ice and roller skills weren’t transferable.  Have I mentioned I like having an audience?  I decided to audition my roller skating skills at a public skating rink while on a first date.

The night was proceeding swimmingly.  I learned quickly that it I stayed to the edge and leaned towards the center of the rink, centrifugal force would keep me from falling.  My confidence in my abilities began to build.  Music boomed from the overhead speakers.  Several couples held hands, the more skilled ones crossed their arms in front of them and held hands.  I tried it and eased us into the first turn.  The song switched to Barry Manilow’s “I write the songs.”  To my misfortune, I knew the words, and began to serenade my date.  When I guy sings Barry Manilow in front of anyone but his own shadow, only two things can happen and they’re both bad.

We hit the second turn and I began to accelerate.  We sped past a number of couples.  I sang louder, concentrating more on the words than on the task of keeping us both upright.

For those unfamiliar with the design of roller skates I should explain what I perceive to be a flaw design flaw—one which you will note has been eliminated in roller blades.  The flaw?  On the front of each roller skate about an inch from the bottom is a round rubber device that resembles a stunted hockey puck.  It serves no known purpose other than to sucker punch novice skaters.  If you mistakenly try to build speed by pushing off with the toe of your roller skate—as you do in ice skating—you are actually hitting the emergency brake.  And because the brake is at the front of the skate, the physics is such that once your feet stop, the only direction the rest of your body can go is head over heels.

I looked like I had purposefully launched myself over a pommel horse.  During the first few seconds of my flight I was reluctant to let go of my date’s hands.  I thought that if we fell together that there was some small chance that I could shift the blame for the crash to her.  We separated at speed and created sort of a demolition derby for those around us, bodies piling up like logs awaiting entrance to a saw mill.  For the rest of the evening it felt like people were pointing at me as if to say, “Steer clear of him, he’s the one who took us all out.”

My one mistake caused a chain reaction of bad events and a severely hematomaed ego.  Bad things rarely happen in a vacuum.  There’s cause and effect, and the effect can be disastrous.  For those of you whose EHR program is underway who may have scrimped on the planning process—you know who you are—you may as well be the captain of the Titanic throwing refrigerant in the water.  There is no recovery from bad planning.

No matter what the shape of your EHR implementation, if you find yourself humming a few bars of “I write the songs”, only two things can happen and they’re both bad.

saint

The importance of due diligence

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What was your first car?  Mine was a 60’ something Corvair–$300.  Four doors, black vinyl bench seating that required hours of hand-stitching to hide the slash marks made by the prior owner, an AM radio, push-button transmission located on the dash.  Maroon-ish.  Fifty miles to the—quart—I carried a case of oil in the trunk.

I am far from mechanically inclined.  In high school I failed the ASVAB, Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery—the put the round peg in the round hole test.  Just to understand how un-complex the Corvair was, I, who hardly knows how to work the radio in a new car, rebuilt the Corvair’s alternator—must not have had many working parts.  I could see the street from the driver’s side foot well.

However, it had one thing going for it, turning the key often made it go—at least for the first three or four months during which I owned it.  Serves me right.  A guy in school who I didn’t know who was selling it pitched it to me as his dream car.  Not wanting to look stupid, I bought into the sales pitch.  Pretty poor due diligence.  An impulse purchase to meet what I felt was a social imperative—a date-mobile.

The last time I made a good impulse purchase was an ice cream sandwich on a hundred degree day.  Most other decisions could have used some good data.  The lack of good data falls on one person, me.

How good is the data you have for deciding to implement and EHR?  In selecting an EHR?  Did you perform the necessary due diligence?  How do you know?  It’s tedious, it can lack intellectual stimulation?  You want to be seen as someone who made a wise choice.

The difference between you and me is that when I learned I’d made a poor decision I bought a different car.  You can’t do that with an EHR.  You’re stuck looking at the street through the hole in the floor for a long time.

saint

A reply to Government Health IT on Meaningful Use

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A response to a post in Government Health IT. http://www.govhealthit.com/newsitem.aspx?nid=72187#

Although I can’t prove it, I’ll bet by 2012 the meaningful use standards will have gone the way of the first reform bill. Hospitals should not be making buying decisions that involve hitting standards that have no meaningful use.

However, if hospitals fail to be able to deliver on what the system can do and how well they roll it out within their organization, they have no one to blame but themselves. This is why I place such a premium on planning and establishing detailed functional requirements. Involve the users, excel at change management, and plan like the success of your organization depended on it.

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EHR: my 12-step program

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Sometimes I need to shift into neutral and allow myself the luxury to pause and reflect.  This afternoon I find myself reflecting on the past 35 years, coincidentally, the same number of years since I graduated from high school—it’s okay to fast forward to the end to see if I actually tie this into anything worth your time, I can’t guarantee anything as of yet.  If I don’t come through, I’ll owe you one.  Maybe I’ll write something so obtuse at the end about reform that you’ll feel as though the fault lies with you for not understanding me.

So, we are to meet tonight—I have seen none of them since I departed for the Air Force Academy.  There is a reason I haven’t seen anyone.  The part I don’t get is why at this time we’ve mutually decided to end our hibernation.  It’s a little like the emergence of the seventeen year locusts times two.

We have only Facebook to blame for this folly.  I must admit it has been rather entertaining seeing pictures of them as adults, and reading how they describe themselves.

During my senior year I pulled my hair back when I ran.  My hair is no longer pullable.  I am some twenty pounds heavier than my playing weight.  I considered the drive-through face lift on the way down today, but thought the bandages would give it away.

Do most people go through this, wondering if you’ll impress those for which you held with such low regard, and they for you?  (That sentence was a bugger to piece together.)  At what point do we say this is stupid and move forward?  I’m guessing it must happen at year thirty-six or beyond.

I don’t understand my motivation in agreeing to come.  Is there an entertainment factor, some degree of closure, an in-your-face moment?  Is it because you get to look the high school bully in the eye and pretend he’s the parking attendant, tossing him the key to your Mercedes and ordering him not to scratch it?  What is it about those four years as opposed to any other four years that draws people back?  There is definitely something voyeuristic to it.  No other four year period in anyone’s life could exert that same pull.  Maybe that speaks to the transitory pattern of our lives after high school.

It’s the only time when we saw the same hundreds of people day in and day out for four straight years.  Maybe it had to do with having no responsibility, or maybe it had to do with bell bottoms, platform shoes, and long hair.  Relationships were built in the hallways next to our lockers—sort of a premature cohabitation—and lasted until the bell rung for home room.  New ones—upgrades—began to blossom on the school bus on the way home.  It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.  It was Nixon and Led Zeppelin, Peter Max and 3.2 beer.

These people with whom I am about to reunite, we are strangers once removed—by tomorrow I will know if it would have been better to have left it that way.  Some of them will never be mistaken for someone who knew how to calibrate ground-to-air missiles—perhaps they think that of me.  Some are poltergeists who  think of themselves as the Zeitgeists of my generation—I do not know what that means, but it looked like a good sentence as I was typing it.

There’s less than two hours until the foot lights come up and the actors have to move downstage to their positions.  I’m guessing that only the boringly secure have decided to play themselves.  The twelve-steppers are deciding which character to play on opening night and rehearsing their lines with their spouse or significant other—a term by the way which held no meaning in high school.  Costumes lay strewn across the hotel bed as the actors decide on the perfect, here’s how I turned out after thirty-five years look.  I find myself torn between the erstwhile bon vivant prepster and the Barry Sonnenfeld, Men in Black look.

Anyway, I’ve waxed and waned to the degree where I now feel completely marginalized.  I wrote in my year book that I wanted to be president.  A lot of these people are a few fries short of a Happy Meal, but I think even they will discern quickly that I fell short of that goal.  Nonetheless, I wake each day intent on slaying my personal dragons.  You?  Here comes the segue.

The time is coming where we will need to decide which character we will play in the roll out of our EHR systems.  Are there those who will break from the pack, eschew what others will say about their approach, toss aside the conventional wisdom of being in lock-step with the majority, and decide to approach this as a solution to a business problem?

I dare say that most will choose the path most traveled.  The path that says how wrong can I possibly be by doing what everyone else is doing.  Those who act on what they know is right, those who look for an EHR solution that rates future flexibility higher than the ability to conform to non-existing standards, higher than the gossamer guidelines of certification and meaningful use, will find that not only have they leapfrogged their peers, they will find that they have selected wisely.

Those who choose to follow the crowd may find themselves hibernating with the cicadas.

saint

Hospital Impact – Healthy Choices: Nine Healthcare Bloggers Worth a Click

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Hospital Impact – Healthy Choices: Nine Healthcare Bloggers Worth a Click http://bit.ly/5KUlg

saint