| Recent Editor's
Notes Too much money or too many misconceptions? One thing technology rarely does is answer society's questions about health care If you are looking for rewards, try nursing Medically futile: When do we know a case is truly hopeless? Patient care decisions belong at the bedside Success starts with a good education Questions about quality have no easy answers Why didn't we notice euthanasia in "The English Patient?" Photo/Margie Paschke |
There's a new
fad in toys: Lots of kids are carrying around
keychain-sized cyberpets-on-a-screen. The
primitive-looking creatures, called Tamagotchi, hatch
on the screen and grow a year a day.  A health meter checks the
pet's age, weight, discipline, hunger, and happiness.
If your pet has only two out of four hearts
displayed for happiness, you play with it or give it
two snacks. If it needs discipline, you push a
button. (Ouch!) If it's sick, you give it
a shot. Sometimes two or three injections are needed
before the pet gets well. My kids each have a cyberpet and are fascinated with the textbook-like efficiency it takes to care for them. They especially like the chance to see the outcomes of their efforts so clearly defined. They tell me how satisfying it is to earn four out of four hearts in all categories. If they care for their pet properly, it becomes a cute, happy cybercreature. But if they neglect it, it grows into an unattractive alien. After the pet reaches a certain age, it returns to its home planet. At what age the pet leaves depends on how you take care of it. If it stays up to five years, the instruction booklet admonishes the children to be better caregivers next time. If it stays to be 10, they are told there's room to improve. Pets that reach 23 or more years are statistically amazing. I can't help but think our children's fascination with raising perfect pets by responding to the clear status display parallels the healthcare industry's drive to define our services down to precise, quantifiable data. Imagine what our electro-patient keychain toys would be like. The health meter would beep if a cyberpatient had pain, and we'd give it injections. Patient had a question? We'd give it an informational video to watch. Uncomfortable? We'd turn it over in bed. Just woke up? We'd assess vital signs and listen to lung sounds. Fortunately, my kids know the electropets are just a diversion and that the process of having a beloved pet can't be accurately measured with readouts and cookbook solutions. And caring for patients is no different. We're getting more and more outcomes data, and much of it will help guide us to do what really counts. I can't wait to see more information on what is statistically shown to be effective in nursing and health care. But I also know that in every patient encounter, something happens between the care provider and the patient that is not completely measurable. Could we be at risk of thinking that the process of caring for patients and their families—the commitment, intuition, knowledge, instinct, and teamwork—can all be somehow defined and expressed like the meters on my children's virtual reality pets? Barbara Bronson
Gray, MN, RN |
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