Just before the weekend, I had occasion to visit the kindly family GP (fear not, twas nowt serious). It's been a while since I last went to the doctor's surgery. So long in fact, that it's now no longer actually known as a doctor's surgery, it's been upgraded to a
Medical Centre. A whole heap of expensive
work has been done refurbishing and improving
the place, inside and out, since my last
visit, including the installation of an
intranet connecting the doctors and nurses
with each other and putting the reception
desk in instant contact with all the staff in
the practice. It's all very impressive. While
I was there I had to have separate tests with
staff located in different parts of the
building and there were no hurriedly scribbled
notes to be handed over, garbled phone calls
made or shouted instructions barked along
corridors. A quick internal email or two from
my doctor to the relevant colleagues was all
that was required to make the necessary
arrangements. My whole visit was hi-tec and
seamless, at least until the very end, when a
survivor from the 20th century put in an
unexpected appearance.
Returning to my own doctor at the conclusion
of my visit, she suggested that I needed one
more little test, one that couldn't be done
there at the Medical Centre, but would
require a trip to the out-patients department
of the nearest hospital, 20 miles away. Not a
problem I thought, expecting her to swing
back to her keyboard and tap in an email
request for an appointment, but no. She told
me that I'd be informed of my appointment
later in the day, as she'd first have to...., wait
for it....,
fax my details over to the
hospital.
Fax! I guess it goes to show that,
for all the millions spent upgrading and
improving the infrastructure, technology and
communications, if a tried and trusted system
still works and ain't broke, why fix it?
Here's a tune by the Red Guitars, from a time
when fax machines were the very cutting edge
of 'Good Technology'.
