A wish I regret

I made a wish in the emergency room.

Not a big wish. Not even a real prayer. More like the kind of sentence you mutter under your breath when you are tired, frustrated, hungry, thirsty and starting to lose the better version of yourself.

My grandmother, now in her early 90s, told me over the phone that she’d taken a fall, but insisted she was feeling better. Still, something in her voice lingered. Not wanting to take the chance, my wife, Cori, and I made the 45-minute drive from Medina into Geauga County to check on her ourselves. The moment we arrived, we understood the assignment. Gram needed to go to the ER to be sure.

Fast forward two hours. The three of us were still in the waiting room. It felt like forever. I paced. I tried to breathe. I went to a vending machine, put in $10 for chips and water, and watched the machine spin without giving me anything.

That was about the moment it happened. Not out loud. But I thought it.

I wished the whole ER system were run by AI.

I dreamed of the possibilities.

No waiting. No confusion. No clipboards. No guessing. Just a machine rolling out like the robot in “Rocky IV,” asking for your name, scanning your information, sorting you into a queue and moving you along like a DoorDash order.

Efficient. Fast. Clean.

Then the triage nurse called us back.

At first, I was still carrying all my frustration into the room. I was ready to be annoyed. My grandmother was tired and trying to explain what happened, but she was getting lost in the details. So I stepped in and told the story as clearly as I could.

The nurse listened. Really listened.

Then she looked at me and said, “Thank you. That was clear. I needed that.”

Then she looked at my grandmother and said, “We’re going to get you taken care of, OK? I got you a nice room, and it’s right across from the bathroom.”

That was the moment I realized my grandmother wasn’t the only one who needed a human being in that room.

I needed one too.

Maybe a screen could have moved us faster. Maybe an AI system could have sorted the information more cleanly. Maybe the whole process could have been more efficient.

But it wouldn’t have looked at my grandmother with warmth.

It wouldn’t have understood that a woman in her 90s might need a room close to the bathroom without us asking.

That was when I was grateful my wish didn’t come true.

Because maybe one day health care will be faster. Maybe it will be smarter. Maybe it will be powered by systems that move us in and out with perfect precision.

But I hope we don’t become healthier while feeling less human in the process.

Oh, and Grandma?

She’s doing better.

Still kicking butt, as always.