The questions we ask change the thing we make.
I haven't been feeling well lately. I've been more tired than usual; I've experienced some dizzy spells and other odd, seemingly unrelated symptoms—eye-twitching, ear-ringing, sudden weight changes, and difficulty sleeping. As the symptoms seem to mount I call my care coordinator, a person who represents both the insurance company and my provider. They review my history, including the recent addition of my DNA profile that I've received through an independent organization. Based on my genetic risk factors of age, gender, and so on, she recommends that I see an endocrinologist. An appointment is scheduled right then, and a few days later I walk into the clinic and check in. I don't have to fill out any additional paperwork; they know who I am, why I'm there, my birth date, and all other relevant information.
The initial clinical assessment includes checking my weight and blood pressure. The nurse asks if anything has changed since the phone call and confirms any new medications since the last recording. I report nothing new and within a few moments the nurse sends me to lab for a blood draw. After a short wait the doctor comes in and sits across from me to have a discussion. She holds a tablet in her hand; there is no computer screen anywhere in the room and she makes no attempt to distract herself from our conversation about my health, she just asks ...