From Airports to Hospitals: Why America’s Systems Are Designed to Drive You Crazy
As I settle into my seat on my way to Rome from Boston, I decided to start writing this op-ed and was immediately reminded that flying is a unique kind of purgatory. The stream of passengers filing past me in the aisle seem to be determined to make contact with my shoulder. I’d say about 10% of them muster a mumbled “sorry” before shuffling on. The other 90%? They just plow ahead, blissfully unaware or perhaps fully aware and just not caring.
The woman seated next to me is already irritated. She’s fuming that the overhead bin space should be reserved for people in the bulkhead row since there’s no room to stow bags under the seats in front. Honestly, it’s not an unreasonable request, but it’s also not something I can solve, so I nod sympathetically and pretend to be deeply engrossed on my IPad doing work. Meanwhile, I’m using only half the armrest on my left, while the gentleman beside me has already claimed the other half — and then some. He’s passed out, breathing heavily, like a St. Bernard after a long day of herding children at a snowy playground. “How is he already asleep?” I ask myself with some envy.
I’m trying to block out the orchestra of heavy breathing, disgruntled murmuring, and the occasional thud from a suitcase that refuses to fit in an overhead bin. That’s when I realize I’m tapping my foot, caught up in the rhythm of Andy Grammer’s “Love Myself” playing through the airplane speakers. It’s a surreal moment — only days before I was at his concert in New Hampshire and now I am here again, unironically grooving to the same tune, but this time on a plane. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.
And so, I started to reflect on my encounter at the check-in counter just hours earlier, where I experienced a moment that could easily be a metaphor for modern healthcare. It began innocently enough with me asking the counter agent during checkin about a potential upgrade, only to be told, with a calmness that bordered on eerie, that my ticket was still “open.” I blinked, trying to understand if “open” was some new airline lingo for “negotiable” or “for an automatic upgrade.”
The agent proceeded to explain that while my ticket had been booked, it hadn’t actually been “ticketed.” I was confused, so I showed her my ticket and she just repeated that statement two more times as if there was a language barrier. For a moment, I half expected Ashton Kutcher to pop out from behind the counter and yell, “You’ve been Punk’d!” Instead, I got a serious, somewhat apologetic look as she asked if I’d made any recent changes to my itinerary. I had — a few weeks ago, I shifted my return flight to save $700, and maybe I fiddled with the outgoing flight too, though the specifics were lost to the haze of late-night travel planning. After all, I am a parent with three kids and I barely remember what we did last weekend, let alone the exact date I laid in bed, mindlessly tinkering with my flights on the Delta app.
Despite the agent’s best intentions, the experience quickly devolved into a 45 minute nightmare of airline bureaucracy, reminiscent of the absurdities I often witness in healthcare. The details about the “ticketing process” were thrown at me like confetti at a parade, except instead of feeling celebratory, I felt like I was being subtly accused of incompetence. I pointed out that from my perspective, nothing appeared to be wrong. I had boarding passes, seat assignments, and even a vegetarian meal option confirmed. There were no flags or errors on the app, yet, here I was, held hostage by a system that seemed designed to confuse rather than assist.
This entire episode reminded me of the countless patients who navigate the healthcare system only to be met with similar frustrations. Much like my experience at the airport, patients often find themselves entangled in a web of technical jargon and procedural minutiae that leaves them feeling like they’ve somehow failed. The focus on internal processes — whether it’s the “ticketing” system or healthcare’s billing codes — often obscures the bigger picture. The result? Confusion, frustration, and a growing distrust in the very systems designed to serve us.
At the end of the day, whether I’m dealing with Delta or a healthcare provider, I don’t need to know where things went wrong behind the scenes. What I want, much like a patient, is a simple, effective solution and recognition of the inconvenience. Not once was there an apology and admission that this a problem on their end. If a meal is served late at a restaurant, I don’t need a detailed account of what went wrong in the kitchen — I want an apology and a quick fix. It’s the same in healthcare: patients deserve clarity, compassion, and most importantly, solutions, not a lecture on the steps of the system.
As I sit here, crammed into my economy “plus” seat with a snoring St. Bernard impersonator beside me, I can’t help but reflect on what this all means. Delta’s system needs an overhaul if they expect customers like me to trust their app. After all, am I really to blame when the app’s information doesn’t match what’s on the terminal screens at the counter? Similarly, should patients be held accountable for the inefficiencies and errors that plague healthcare systems? The answer, in both cases, is a resounding no.
I’m optimistic about the future, mainly because I’ve seen the strange, almost magical way AI can improve customer experiences. Take Lemonade, for instance — not the drink, but the insurance company. I get my black lab’s pet insurance through them, and their chat agent is a marvel of modern technology. It’s always cheerful, borderline unnervingly so, but in a way that makes you think it might actually care about you and your dog. It’s available 24/7, always ready to ask me just the right questions, gather all the necessary information, and then — like some benevolent digital butler — approve my claim within 24 hours. In two years, I haven’t spoken to a single human, yet somehow this AI feels like my own personal assistant, one that knows my dog by name and probably even remembers his favorite toy.
Now, imagine we brought that kind of experience into healthcare. Picture a digital navigator that could take care of all your issues with the same efficiency and charm, while in the background, all the messy details — those behind-the-scenes kitchen disasters — were quietly resolved. No more navigating confusing websites, outdated directories, patient portals or arguing with billing departments; you’d just get solutions, neatly packaged and served with a side of peace of mind. I’d pay for that in a heartbeat, and I think hospitals should too. In fact, it’s one of the things we at Reveal HealthTech are doing in healthcare and why I am passionate about technology built with a purpose to serve patients. The best news is hospitals, health systems, and pharma companies are recognizing the need and we are working together trying to bring a bit of that Lemonade magic into healthcare. Because let’s be honest, if an AI can make buying pet insurance feel personal, it’s about time it did the same for our health.
And as I tap my foot along to Andy Grammer’s tune, I’m reminded that whether it’s in the skies or in a hospital, it’s the human connection that ultimately matters. True progress in healthcare will come when technology fades into the background, allowing human connection to take center stage. Maybe it’s time we all started focusing on that a little more.
Salim Afshar
Of note: the Delta Air Lines crew on the plane was excellent. When I arrived to my seat, their was a handwritten note- somehow it works — brings a sense of human connection and courtesy
