When my fourth son, Jason, was born with a severe congenital heart defect, I learned very quickly that medicine is not only about skill or intention, it is about time. Not days or hours, but minutes and seconds. I didn't understand then how deeply the systems around doctors shape those moments. I only knew that our lives now revolved around a children's hospital and a clock we could not slow.

In the early 1980s, my family's world pivoted on the urgent needs of our newborn. Jason was diagnosed with a serious congenital heart defect known as Tetralogy of Fallot. For eight months, we were immersed in Children's Hospital San Diego's pediatric cardiology unit, preparing for what was then considered cutting-edge open-heart surgery. The operation itself corrected Jason's heart structurally, but the aftermath, specifically the volume and complexity of blood transfusions, proved fatal. Before the age of one, Jason died from what should have been a life-saving procedure.

That experience did not just break my heart. It opened my eyes to how deeply systems matter, especially in healthcare. At the time, patient records were filled with paper charts, dictated notes waited for days to be transcribed, and diagnostic data lived in separate silos. The hospital's computer system, built on an early MUMPS architecture, was primarily administrative. Clinical workflow was still analog. There was no integrated, real-time platform connecting physicians to the........

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