Kaiser Health News

A Physician Travels to South Asia Seeking Enduring Lessons From the Eradication of Smallpox

Published

1 month ago

March 29, 2024

Céline Gounder
Fri, 29 Mar 2024 10:00:00 +0000

Smallpox was certified eradicated in 1980, but I first learned about the disease's twisty, storied history in 1996 while interning at the World Health Organization. As a college student in the 1990s, I was fascinated by the sheer magnitude of what it took to wipe a human disease from the earth for the first time.

Over the years, I've turned to that history over and over, looking for inspiration and direction on how to be more ambitious when confronting public health threats of my day.

In the late 1990s, I had the opportunity to meet some of the health care professionals and other eradication campaign workers who helped stop the disease. I came to see that the history of this remarkable achievement had been told through the eyes mostly of white men from the United States, what was then the Soviet Union, and other parts of Europe.

But I knew that there was more to tell, and I worried that the stories of legions of local public health workers in South Asia could be lost forever. With its dense urban slums, sparse rural villages, complicated geopolitics, corrupt governance in some corners, and punishing terrain, South Asia had been the hardest battlefield the smallpox eradicators had to conquer.

I decided to capture some of that history. That work became a podcast, an eight-episode, limited-series audio documentary, called “Epidemic: Eradicating Smallpox.”

My field reporting began in summer 2022, when I traveled to India and Bangladesh — which had been the site of a grueling battle in the war on the disease. I tracked down aging smallpox workers, some now in their 80s and 90s, who had done the painstaking work of hunting down every last case of smallpox in the region and vaccinating everyone who had been exposed. Many of the smallpox campaign veterans had fallen out of touch with one another. Their friendships had been forged at a time when long-distance calls were expensive and telegrams were still used for urgent messages.

How did they defeat smallpox? And what lessons does that victory hold for us today?

I also documented the stories of people who contracted smallpox and lived. What can we learn from them? The survivors I met are not unlike my father, who grew up in a rural village in southern India where his childhood was shaped by family finances that limited access to opportunity. The stories he shared with me about the big social and economic divides in India fueled my decision to choose a career in public health and to work for equity. As we emerge from the covid pandemic, that connection is a big part of why I wanted to go back in time in search of answers to the challenges we face today.

Unwarranted Optimism

I sought out Indian and Bangladeshi public health workers, as well as the WHO epidemiologists — largely from the U.S. and Europe — who had designed and orchestrated the eradication campaigns across South Asia. Those smallpox leaders of the 1960s and '70s showed moral imagination: While many doctors and scientists thought it would be impossible to stop a disease that had lasted for millennia, the eradication champions had a wider vision for the world — not just less smallpox or fewer deaths but elimination of the disease completely. They did not limit themselves to obvious or incremental improvements.

Bill Foege, a campaign leader in the 1970s, said by contrast today's policymakers can be very reluctant to support programs that don't already have data to back them up. They typically want proof of sustainability before investing in novel programs, he said, but real-world sustainability often only becomes clear when new ideas are put into practice and at scale.

The smallpox eradication visionaries were different from these cautious current leaders. “They had ‘unwarranted optimism,'” Foege said. They had faith that they could make “something happen that could not have been foreseen.”

In India, in particular, many leaders hoped their nation could compete with other superpowers on the world stage. That idealism, in part, stoked their belief that smallpox could be stopped.

During the smallpox program in South Asia, Mahendra Dutta was one the biggest risk-takers — willing to look beyond the pragmatic and politically palatable. He was a physician and public health leader who used his political savvy to help usher in a transformative smallpox vaccination strategy across India.

The eradication campaign had been grinding in India for over a decade. India had invested time and resources — and no small amount of publicity — into a mass vaccination approach. But the virus was still spreading out of control. At a time when India's leaders were eager to project strength as a superpower and protective of the nation's image on the world stage, Dutta's was one of the voices that proclaimed to India's policymakers that mass vaccination wasn't working.

Dutta told them it was past time for India to adopt a new, more targeted vaccine strategy called “search and containment.” Teams of eradication workers visited communities across India to track down active cases of smallpox. Whenever they found a case, health workers would isolate the infected person, then vaccinate anyone that individual might have come in contact with.

To smooth the way for the new strategy, Dutta called in favors and even threatened to resign from his job.

He died in 2020, but I spoke with his son Yogesh Parashar, who said Dutta straddled two worlds: the in-the-trenches realities of smallpox eradication — and India's bureaucracy. “My father did all the dirty work. He got enemies also in the process, I'm sure he did, but that is what he did,” Parashar said.

A Failure to Meet Basic Needs

Smallpox workers understood the need to build trust through partnerships: The WHO's global smallpox eradication program paired its epidemiologists with Indian and Bangladeshi community health workers, who included laypeople with training and eager and idealistic medical students. Those local smallpox eradication workers were trusted messengers of the public health program. They leveraged the region's myriad cultures and traditions to pave the way for people to accept the smallpox campaign and overcome vaccine hesitation. While encouraging vaccine acceptance, they embraced cultural practices: using folk songs to spread public health messages, for example, and honoring the way locals used the leaves of the neem tree to alert others to stay away from the home of someone infected with smallpox.

Smallpox eradication in South Asia unfolded against a backdrop of natural disaster, civil war, sectarian violence, and famine — crises that created many pressing needs. By many, many measures, the program was a success. Indeed, smallpox was stopped. Still, in the all-consuming push to end the virus, public health writ large often failed to meet people's basic needs, such as housing or food.

The smallpox workers I interviewed said they were sometimes confronted by locals who made it clear they had concerns that, even in the midst of a raging epidemic, felt more immediate and important than smallpox.

Eradication worker Shahidul Haq Khan, whom podcast listeners meet in Episode 4, heard that sentiment as he traveled from community to community in southern Bangladesh. People asked him: “There's no rice in people's stomachs, so what is a vaccine going to do?” he said.

But the eradication mission largely did not include meeting immediate needs, so often the health workers' hands were tied.

When a community's immediate concerns aren't addressed by public health, it can feel like disregard — and it's a mistake, one that hurts public health's reputation and future effectiveness. When public health representatives return to a community years or decades later, the memory of disregard can make it much harder to enlist the cooperation needed to respond to the next public health crises.

Rahima Banu Left Behind

The eradication of smallpox was one of humankind's greatest triumphs, but many people — even the grandest example of that victory — did not share in the win. That realization hit me hard when I met Rahima Banu. As a toddler, she was the last person in the world known to have contracted a naturally occurring case of variola major smallpox. As a little girl, she and her family had — for a time — unprecedented access to care and attention from public health workers hustling to contain smallpox.

But that attention did not stabilize the family long-term or lift them from poverty.

Banu became a symbol of the eradication effort, but she did not share in the prestige or rewards that came after. Nearly 50 years later, Banu, her husband, their three daughters, and a son share a one-room bamboo-and-corrugated-metal home with a mud floor. Their finances are precarious. The family cannot afford good health care or to send their daughter to college. In recent years when Banu has had health problems or troubles with her eyesight, there have been no public health workers bustling around, ready to help.

“I cannot thread a needle because I cannot see clearly. I cannot examine the lice on my son's head. I cannot read the Quran well because of my vision,” Banu said in Bengali, speaking through a translator. “No one wants to know how I am living my life with my husband and children, whether I am in a good condition or not, whether I am settled in my life or not.”

Missed Opportunities

I believe some of our public health efforts today are repeating mistakes of the smallpox eradication campaign, failing to meet people's basic needs and missing opportunities to use the current crisis or epidemic to make sustained improvements in overall health.

The 2022 fight against mpox is one example. The highly contagious virus spiked around the world and spread quickly, predominantly among men who have sex with men. In New York City, for example, in part because some Black and Hispanic people had a historical mistrust for city officials, those groups ended up with lower rates of Mpox vaccination. And that failure to vaccinate became a missed opportunity to provide education and other health care treatments, including access to HIV testing and prevention.

And so has it gone with the covid pandemic, too. Health care providers, the clergy, and leaders from communities of color were enlisted to promote immunization. These trusted messengers were successful in narrowing race-related disparities in vaccination coverage, not only protecting their own but also shielding hospitals from crushing patient loads. Many weren't paid to do this work. They stepped up despite having good reason to mistrust the health care system. In some ways, government officials upheld their end of the social contract, providing social and economic support to help these communities weather the pandemic.

But now we're back to business as usual, with financial, housing, food, health care, and caregiving insecurity all on the rise in the U.S. What trust was built with these communities is again eroding. Insecurity, a form of worry over unmet basic needs, robs us of our ability to imagine big and better. Our insecurity about immediate needs like health care and caregiving is corroding trust in government, other institutions, and one another, leaving us less prepared for the next public health crisis.

——————————
By: Céline Gounder
Title: A Physician Travels to South Asia Seeking Enduring Lessons From the Eradication of Smallpox
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/smallpox-eradication-lessons-insecurity-public-health-gounder/
Published Date: Fri, 29 Mar 2024 10:00:00 +0000

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Medical Residents Are Increasingly Avoiding States With Abortion Restrictions

Published

2 hours ago

May 9, 2024

Staff Editor

Julie Rovner, KFF Health News and Rachana Pradhan
Thu, 09 May 2024 12:01:00 +0000

Isabella Rosario Blum was wrapping up medical school and considering residency programs to become a family practice physician when she got some frank advice: If she wanted to be trained to provide abortions, she shouldn't stay in Arizona.

Blum turned to programs mostly in states where abortion access — and, by extension, abortion training — is likely to remain protected, like California, Colorado, and New Mexico. Arizona has enacted a law banning most abortions after 15 weeks.

“I would really like to have all the training possible,” she said, “so of course that would have still been a limitation.”

In June, she will start her residency at Swedish Cherry Hill hospital in Seattle.

According to new statistics from the Association of American Medical Colleges, for the second year in a row, students graduating from U.S. medical schools were less likely to apply this year for residency positions in states with abortion bans and other significant abortion restrictions.

Since the Supreme Court in 2022 overturned the constitutional right to an abortion, state fights over abortion access have created plenty of uncertainty for pregnant patients and their doctors. But that uncertainty has also bled into the world of medical education, forcing some new doctors to factor state abortion laws into their decisions about where to begin their careers.

Fourteen states, primarily in the Midwest and South, have banned nearly all abortions. The new analysis by the AAMC — a preliminary copy of which was exclusively reviewed by KFF Health News before its public release — found that the number of applicants to residency programs in states with near-total abortion bans declined by 4.2%, compared with a 0.6% drop in states where abortion remains legal.

Notably, the AAMC's findings illuminate the broader problems abortion bans can create for a state's medical community, particularly in an era of provider shortages: The organization tracked a larger decrease in interest in residencies in states with abortion restrictions not only among those in specialties most likely to treat pregnant patients, like OB-GYNs and emergency room doctors, but also among aspiring doctors in other specialties.

“It should be concerning for states with severe restrictions on reproductive rights that so many new physicians — across specialties — are choosing to apply to other states for training instead,” wrote Atul Grover, executive director of the AAMC's Research and Action Institute.

The AAMC analysis found the number of applicants to OB-GYN residency programs in abortion ban states dropped by 6.7%, compared with a 0.4% increase in states where abortion remains legal. For internal medicine, the drop observed in abortion ban states was over five times as much as in states where abortion is legal.

In its analysis, the AAMC said an ongoing decline in interest in ban states among new doctors ultimately “may negatively affect access to care in those states.”

Jack Resneck Jr., immediate past president of the American Medical Association, said the data demonstrates yet another consequence of the post-Roe v. Wade era.

The AAMC analysis notes that even in states with abortion bans, residency programs are filling their positions — mostly because there are more graduating medical students in the U.S. and abroad than there are residency slots.

Still, Resneck said, “we're extraordinarily worried.” For example, physicians without adequate abortion training may not be able to manage miscarriages, ectopic pregnancies, or potential complications such as infection or hemorrhaging that could stem from pregnancy loss.

Those who work with students and residents say their observations support the AAMC's findings. “People don't want to go to a place where evidence-based practice and human rights in general are curtailed,” said Beverly Gray, an associate professor of obstetrics and gynecology at Duke University School of Medicine.

Abortion in North Carolina is banned in nearly all cases after 12 weeks. Women who experience unexpected complications or discover their baby has potentially fatal birth defects later in pregnancy may not be able to receive care there.

Gray said she worries that even though Duke is a highly sought training destination for medical residents, the abortion ban “impacts whether we have the best and brightest coming to North Carolina.”

Rohini Kousalya Siva will start her obstetrics and gynecology residency at MedStar Washington Hospital Center in Washington, D.C., this year. She said she did not consider programs in states that have banned or severely restricted abortion, applying instead to programs in Maryland, New Hampshire, New York, and Washington, D.C.

“We're physicians,” said Kousalya Siva, who attended medical school in Virginia and was previously president of the American Medical Student Association. “We're supposed to be giving the best evidence-based care to our patients, and we can't do that if we haven't been given abortion training.”

Another consideration: Most graduating medical students are in their 20s, “the age when people are starting to think about putting down roots and starting families,” said Gray, who added that she is noticing many more students ask about politics during their residency interviews.

And because most young doctors make their careers in the state where they do their residencies, “people don't feel safe potentially having their own pregnancies living in those states” with severe restrictions, said Debra Stulberg, chair of the Department of Family Medicine at the University of Chicago.

Stulberg and others worry that this self-selection away from states with abortion restrictions will exacerbate the shortages of physicians in rural and underserved areas.

“The geographic misalignment between where the needs are and where people are choosing to go is really problematic,” she said. “We don't need people further concentrating in urban areas where there's already good access.”

After attending medical school in Tennessee, which has adopted one of the most sweeping abortion bans in the nation, Hannah Light-Olson will start her OB-GYN residency at the University of California-San Francisco this summer.

It was not an easy decision, she said. “I feel some guilt and sadness leaving a situation where I feel like I could be of some help,” she said. “I feel deeply indebted to the program that trained me, and to the patients of Tennessee.”

Light-Olson said some of her fellow students applied to programs in abortion ban states “because they think we need pro-choice providers in restrictive states now more than ever.” In fact, she said, she also applied to programs in ban states when she was confident the program had a way to provide abortion training.

“I felt like there was no perfect, 100% guarantee; we've seen how fast things can change,” she said. “I don't feel particularly confident that California and New York aren't going to be under threat, too.”

As a condition of a scholarship she received for medical school, Blum said, she will have to return to Arizona to practice, and it is unclear what abortion access will look like then. But she is worried about long-term impacts.

“Residents, if they can't get the training in the state, then they're probably less likely to settle down and work in the state as well,” she said.

——————————
By: Julie Rovner, KFF Health News and Rachana Pradhan
Title: Medical Residents Are Increasingly Avoiding States With Abortion Restrictions
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/medical-students-residents-spurning-abortion-ban-states/
Published Date: Thu, 09 May 2024 12:01:00 +0000

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Kaiser Health News

Paid Sick Leave Sticks After Many Pandemic Protections Vanish

Published

4 hours ago

May 9, 2024

Staff Editor

Zach Dyer
Thu, 09 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

Bill Thompson's wife had never seen him smile with confidence. For the first 20 years of their relationship, an infection in his mouth robbed him of teeth, one by one.

“I didn't have any teeth to smile with,” the 53-year-old of Independence, Missouri, said.

Thompson said he dealt with throbbing toothaches and painful swelling in his face from abscesses for years working as a cook at Burger King. He desperately needed to see a dentist but said he couldn't afford to take time off without pay. Missouri is one of many states that do not require employers to provide paid sick leave.

So, Thompson would swallow Tylenol and push through the pain as he worked over the hot grill.

“Either we go to work, have a paycheck,” Thompson said. “Or we take care of ourselves. We can't take care of ourselves because, well, this vicious circle that we're stuck in.”

In a nation that was sharply divided about government health mandates during the covid-19 pandemic, the public has been warming to the idea of government rules providing for paid sick leave.

Before the pandemic, 10 states and the District of Columbia had laws requiring employers to provide paid sick leave. Since then, Colorado, New York, New Mexico, Illinois, and Minnesota have passed laws offering some kind of paid time off for illness. Oregon and California expanded previous paid leave laws. In Missouri, Alaska, and Nebraska, advocates are pushing to put the issue on the ballot this fall.

The U.S. is one of nine countries that do not guarantee paid sick leave, according to data compiled by the World Policy Analysis Center.

In response to the pandemic, Congress passed the Emergency Paid Sick Leave and Emergency Family and Medical Leave Expansion acts. These temporary measures allowed employees to take up to two weeks of paid sick leave for covid-related illness and caregiving. But the provisions expired in 2021.

“When the pandemic hit, we finally saw some real political will to solve the problem of not having federal paid sick leave,” said economist Hilary Wething.

Wething co-authored a recent Economic Policy Institute report on the state of sick leave in the United States. It found that more than half, 61%, of the lowest-paid workers can't get time off for an illness.

“I was really surprised by how quickly losing pay — because you're sick — can translate into immediate and devastating cuts to a family's household budget,” she said.

Wething noted that the lost wages of even a day or two can be equivalent to a month's worth of gasoline a worker would need to get to their job, or the choice between paying an electric bill or buying food. Wething said showing up to work sick poses a risk to co-workers and customers alike. Low-paying jobs that often lack paid sick leave — like cashiers, nail technicians, home health aides, and fast-food workers — involve lots of face-to-face interactions.

“So paid sick leave is about both protecting the public health of a community and providing the workers the economic security that they desperately need when they need to take time away from work,” she said.

The National Federation of Independent Business has opposed mandatory sick leave rules at the state level, arguing that workplaces should have the flexibility to work something out with their employees when they get sick. The group said the cost of paying workers for time off, extra paperwork, and lost productivity burdens small employers.

According to a report by the National Bureau of Economic Research, once these mandates go into effect, employees take, on average, two more sick days a year than before a law took effect.

Illinois' paid time off rules went into effect this year. Lauren Pattan is co-owner of the Old Bakery Beer Co. there. Before this year, the craft brewery did not offer paid time off for its hourly employees. Pattan said she supports Illinois' new law but she has to figure out how to pay for it.

“We really try to be respectful of our employees and be a good place to work, and at the same time we get worried about not being able to afford things,” she said.

That could mean customers have to pay more to cover the cost, Pattan said.

As for Bill Thompson, he wrote an op-ed for the Kansas City Star newspaper about his dental struggles.

“Despite working nearly 40 hours a week, many of my co-workers are homeless,” he wrote. “Without health care, none of us can afford a doctor or a dentist.”

That op-ed generated attention locally and, in 2018, a dentist in his community donated his time and labor to remove Thompson's remaining teeth and replace them with dentures. This allowed his mouth to recover from the infections he'd been dealing with for years. Today, Thompson has a new smile and a job — with paid sick leave — working in food service at a hotel.

In his free time, he's been collecting signatures to put an initiative on the November ballot that would guarantee at least five days of earned paid sick leave a year for Missouri workers. Organizers behind the petition said they have enough signatures to take it before the voters.

——————————
By: Zach Dyer
Title: Paid Sick Leave Sticks After Many Pandemic Protections Vanish
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/paid-sick-leave-post-pandemic-state-laws/
Published Date: Thu, 09 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

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Kaiser Health News

Forget Ringing the Button for the Nurse. Patients Now Stay Connected by Wearing One.

Published

1 day ago

May 8, 2024

Staff Editor

Phil Galewitz, KFF Health News
Wed, 08 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

HOUSTON — Patients admitted to Houston Methodist Hospital get a monitoring device about the size of a half-dollar affixed to their chest — and an unwitting role in the expanding use of artificial intelligence in health care.

The slender, battery-powered gadget, called a BioButton, records vital signs including heart and breathing rates, then wirelessly sends the readings to nurses sitting in a 24-hour control room elsewhere in the hospital or in their homes. The device's software uses AI to analyze the voluminous data and detect signs a patient's condition is deteriorating.

Hospital officials say the BioButton has improved care and reduced the workload of bedside nurses since its rollout last year.

“Because we catch things earlier, patients are doing better, as we don't have to wait for the bedside team to notice if something is going wrong,” said Sarah Pletcher, system vice president at Houston Methodist.

But some nurses fear the technology could wind up replacing them rather than supporting them — and harming patients. Houston Methodist, one of dozens of U.S. hospitals to employ the device, is the first to use the BioButton to monitor all patients except those in intensive care, Pletcher said.

“The hype around a lot of these devices is they provide care at scale for less labor costs,” said Michelle Mahon, a registered nurse and an assistant director of National Nurses United, the profession's largest U.S. union. “This is a trend that we find disturbing,” she said.

The rollout of BioButton is among the latest examples of hospitals deploying technology to improve efficiency and address a decades-old nursing shortage. But that transition has raised its own concerns, including about the device's use of AI; polls show the public is wary of health providers relying on it for patient care.

In December 2022 the FDA cleared the BioButton for use in adult patients who are not in critical care. It is one of many AI tools now used by hospitals for tasks like reading diagnostic imaging results.

In 2023, President Joe Biden directed the Department of Health and Human Services to develop a plan to regulate AI in hospitals, including by collecting reports of patients harmed by its use.

The leader of BioIntelliSense, which developed the BioButton, said its device is a huge advance compared with nurses walking into a room every few hours to measure vital signs. “With AI, you now move from ‘I wonder why this patient crashed' to ‘I can see this crash coming before it happens and intervene appropriately,'” said James Mault, CEO of the Golden, Colorado-based company.

The BioButton stays on the skin with an adhesive, is waterproof, and has up to a 30-day battery life. The company says the device — which allows providers to quickly notice deteriorating health by recording more than 1,000 measurements a day per patient — has been used on more than 80,000 hospital patients nationwide in the past year.

Hospitals pay BioIntelliSense an annual subscription fee for the devices and software.

Houston Methodist officials would not reveal how much the hospital pays for the technology, though Pletcher said it equates to less than a cup of coffee a day per patient.

For a hospital system that treats thousands of patients at a time — Houston Methodist has 2,653 non-ICU beds at its eight Houston-area hospitals — such an investment could still translate to millions of dollars a year.

Hospital officials say they have not made any changes in nurse staffing and have no plans to because of implementing the BioButton.

Inside the hospital's control center for virtual monitoring on a recent morning, about 15 nurses and technicians dressed in scrubs sat in front of large monitors showing the health status of hundreds of patients they were assigned to monitor.

A red checkmark next to a patient's name signaled the AI software had found readings trending outside normal. Staff members could click into a patient's medical record, showing patients' vital signs over time and other medical history. These virtual nurses, if you will, could contact nurses on the floor by phone or email, or even dial directly into the patient's room via video call.

Nutanben Gandhi, a technician who was watching 446 patients on her monitor that morning, said that when she gets an alert, she looks at the patient's health record to see if the anomaly can be easily explained by something in the patient's condition or if she needs to contact nurses on the patient's floor.

Oftentimes an alert can be easily dismissed. But identifying signs of deteriorating health can be tough, said Steve Klahn, Houston Methodist's clinical director of virtual medicine.

“We are looking for a needle in a haystack,” he said.

Donald Eustes, 65, was admitted to Houston Methodist in March for prostate cancer treatment and has since been treated for a stroke. He is happy to wear the BioButton.

“You never know what can happen here, and having an extra set of eyes looking at you is a good thing,” he said from his hospital bed. After being told the device uses AI, the Montgomery, Texas, man said he has no problem with its helping his clinical team. “This sounds like a good use of artificial intelligence.”

Patients and nurses alike benefit from remote monitoring like the BioButton, said Pletcher of Houston Methodist.

The hospital has placed small cameras and microphones inside all patient rooms enabling nurses outside to communicate with patients and perform tasks such as helping with patient admissions and discharge instructions. Patients can include family members on the remote calls with nurses or a doctor, she said.

Virtual technology frees up on-duty nurses to provide more hands-on help, such as starting an intravenous line, Pletcher said. With the BioButton, nurses can wait to take routine vital signs every eight hours instead of every four, she said.

Pletcher said the device reduces nurses' stress in monitoring patients and allows some to work more flexible hours because virtual care can be done from home rather than coming to the hospital. Ultimately it helps retain nurses, not drive them away, she said.

Sheeba Roy, a nurse manager at Houston Methodist, said some members of the nursing staff were nervous about relying on the device and not checking patients' vital signs as often themselves. But testing has shown the device provides accurate information.

“After we implemented it, the staff loves it,” Roy said.

Serena Bumpus, chief executive officer of the Texas Nurses Association, said her concern with any technology is that it can be more burdensome on nurses and take away time with patients.

“We have to be hypervigilant in ensuring that we are not leaning on this to replace the ability of nurses to critically think and assess patients and validate what this device is telling us is true,” Bumpus said.

Houston Methodist this year plans to send the BioButton home with patients so the hospital can better track their progress in the weeks after discharge, measuring the quality of their sleep and checking their gait.

“We are not going to need less nurses in health care, but we have limited resources and we have to use those as thoughtfully as we can,” Pletcher said. “Looking at projected demand and seeing the supply we have coming, we will not have enough to meet demand, so anything we can do to give time back to nurses is a good thing.”

——————————
By: Phil Galewitz, KFF Health News
Title: Forget Ringing the Button for the Nurse. Patients Now Stay Connected by Wearing One.
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/hospital-artificial-intelligence-patient-monitoring-biobutton-houston/
Published Date: Wed, 08 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

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