I was a bundle of nerves the first time I walked into the office of Dr. Warner Slack. 81-years-old at the time, he was a legend — a full Professor of Medicine at Harvard, founder of the Clinical Informatics Division at Beth Israel Deaconess, considered to be the “Father of Cybermedicine.” His students included the founders of Epic and Up-To-Date, two institutions in the practice of medicine in the United States.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?” Warner asked genially, something I’d learn was a consistent, and insistent, greeting. “Sure, thank you,” I stammered back.
My co-founders and I had just started Buoy some 5 months ago. Our goal — replace Google as the first step in health care. Knowing that we needed to find experts in medicine and technology, we had been hitting the pavement all around Boston to find the right people to join our cause. But, with such a lofty goal and an inexperienced team, we had become used to being rejected, talked down to, and discouraged in countless meetings with potential collaborators. So, I was surprised by Warner’s warmth and friendliness.
“So, what brings you in?”
He had no idea how relevant he was to our dream. I had found Warner’s name while reading through early literature on digital health. As I started digging through his work, I felt as if I was reading Jules Verne — it was shocking how many of Warner’s predictions had come true. He posited that computers would be better than paper charts at keeping medical records, which has been proven true by the ubiquitous electronic medical record of today. He believed that computers would also be superior to librarians in organizing the medical literature, leading to the founding of PaperChase, the predecessor to PubMed. Today, PubMed is used by nearly every scientific researcher on Earth. He installed the first email system ever used at a hospital. Even after the advent of the electronic medical record, he pushed his vision further, arguing that computers should help the doctor make decisions, which is precisely what IBM Watson is doing. And, he became concerned about patient privacy with the adoption of computers back in 1990, when Mark Zuckerberg was 6-years-old.
What was his earliest prediction? He wrote a groundbreaking paper in the New England Journal of Medicine about how he and his colleagues had developed a computer program that could take a medical history like that of a doctor. And, this was important because there was and will always be a shortage of doctors. This was in 1966.
“So, Dr. Slack, we want to build an artificially intelligent program to take a patient medical history and then help them safely self-triage. We’d like you to be our advisor.”
Warner sat there with a gleam in his eye and said, “I’m in. How can I help?” He then revealed that his dream before he died was to have his medical history taker, the aforementioned program developed in 1966, to be adopted by patients everywhere. In us, he saw a company he could teach to have the same patient-focused approach but now powered by modern data science and machine learning. Warner firmly believed that patients, “were the least utilized resource in healthcare,” and their insights should be trusted and used to improve care. He instilled in us the importance of this approach, which put the patient first. From how our program talks to patients to the amount of trust we give our patients’ answers, Warner’s vision became the backbone of our work. His dream was our dream.
So, Warner became one of our most involved advisors. He would call me every few weeks to ask what was top-of-mind.
“Warner, we’re trying to figure out how to create empathy in our questions.”
“How can I help?”
“Warner, one of our co-founders may get deported unless his green card application is approved.”
“How can I help?”
“Warner, we are struggling to raise our Series A.”
“How can I help?”
He was one of the foundational pieces of our little company.
A few weeks ago, I realized that I hadn’t heard from Warner in a couple of months. Assuming he was busy, I thought nothing of it. Then, I received word from a mutual colleague that he was in the ICU.
My co-founders, my fiancé, and I paid a visit the next day. We were heartbroken with what we learned — Warner had developed an incurable lung disease and was in palliative care, which means the doctors were only focused on his comfort as he waited for the disease to run its course. In tears, I told him, “Warner, guess what? Since we last talked, our little company has grown. Over 50M people will use our program this year. We’re interviewing a patient every 8 seconds, around the world, for free, forever.” He grabbed my hand and gave me a look that said he knew that his vision had been fulfilled, “I’m so happy.”
I saw Warner for the last time two weeks later. He had deteriorated immensely. He was struggling to breathe well enough to talk. I tried to make conversation so as not to force him to use his breath. But, with two forms of oxygen being pumped into his lungs, he grabbed my hand and whispered, “How can I help?”
Warner loved his work, and even in his final days, he was generous with both his time and knowledge. He showed me that being a visionary wasn’t synonymous with being a jerk. While his views were at times controversial, I have never met anyone who disliked Warner, even if they disagreed with him. In his willingness to provide aid, to help others, and to always offer a cup of coffee, he showcased what it means to be a great leader. Someone others can turn to for answers without disdain or condescension.
For all of this, I’d like to say thank you, Warner. Thank you for your ideas, your guidance, and your resolve. Most of all, thank you for believing in us. You were the first, and you really gave a bunch of twenty-somethings a reason to believe, too. We will remember you as we work towards our collective goal, but also whenever we take the time to listen to someone over a cup of coffee. You are already so missed.
