Optional mammograms can save lives at any age.
A lack of coordination and continuity in healthcare isn’t a bug, it’s a feature; and it’s a reminder that even when it delivers the outcomes we want, the system asks too much of us in the process.
Fixing this calls for connecting medical imaging and patient data across the care journey, giving clinicians access to the historical data and clinical context they need for stronger decision-making, and streamlining workflows and image sharing so that clinicians spend less time on admin friction and more time on patient care.
Merge has a responsibility to accelerate progress responsibly, empowering clinical teams and providers with cloud-native enterprise imaging and innovative AI orchestration to give clinicians and patients the care experience they deserve.
With a background in business and biology, I’ve always been drawn to the place where science meets real people, where innovation can improve a patient’s day or even change their life.
Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to work on and hold patents for innovations that have made a real difference for patients, from dialysis machines that support kidney function, to NICU CPAP systems that help premature newborns breathe without invasive ventilation, to surgical instruments designed with women’s anatomy in mind. I bring that same focus to informatics solutions that simplify clinical workflows and give clinicians more time with their patients.
Innovation in service of patients and clinicians has always been my professional passion.
In September 2026, it became a personal one.
My mother is 83 and about as spry as anyone I know. She plays bocce three times a week, never misses mahjong or canasta, volunteers, and is the friend everyone calls when they need support.
At her annual physical, her doctor mentioned that at her age, routine mammograms were now optional. She could have one more if she wanted, and if not, no worries. My mother didn’t hesitate. She’d been compliant with annual mammograms and never had an issue, but if the care was available, she wanted to do everything she could for her health.
That’s when it all started.
The mammogram revealed two spots in one breast. Subsequent biopsies confirmed triple-negative breast cancer, a subtype that doesn’t respond to hormone-based therapies and often calls for more aggressive treatment. In that moment, everything felt urgent.
What followed was a blur — a constant cycle of hurry up and wait. We hurried to schedule the next appointment, complete the next test, and meet with the next specialist. Then we waited — for results, for the next call, for the next decision. Primary care, breast specialists, nurses, plastic surgery, oncology, and radiology, plus another ultrasound and another mammogram. Twelve appointments in all.
An MRI was not part of the initial plan, but it was added before surgery, creating yet another appointment in an already demanding schedule. That additional imaging revealed another spot that had not been seen before.
By the end of it, my 83-year-old mother had been through two mammograms, three ultrasounds, an MRI, two biopsies, and countless conversations with physicians, all within about four weeks. Then came surgery and post treatment, along with the work of coordinating among doctors, surgeons, oncologists, hospitals, and insurance.
I want to be very clear about one thing: the clinicians who cared for my mother were phenomenal. Every one of them was skilled, compassionate, and committed. This is not a story about bad doctors.
It’s a story about a system that asks too much of everyone in it.
My mother wasn’t sick when this started. She was active and strong, and still the pace of this process was exhausting for her. Now imagine a patient who is already frail, already in pain, or already overwhelmed.
In our case, we had advantages that most families don’t. I’ve spent decades in this industry. My mother and father are both sharp and engaged. Our family banded together as a team to navigate every appointment, every result, and every decision.
But what do most patients do?
What happens to the patient who doesn’t have a child in healthcare, a network to call, or the energy to ask questions when the next step is unclear? What happens to clinicians who recognize the fragmentation but are working within the constraints of the tools, workflows, and incentives they’ve been handed?
Living this alongside my mother crystallized something I’ve felt throughout my career: even when the system delivers the right clinical outcome, it can ask too much of patients, families, and clinicians along the way. That system must evolve so that coordinated, understandable care is the standard — not something families have to create for themselves. And we have an important role to play in making that happen.
A newly diagnosed cancer patient becomes, overnight, a project manager for their own care, with no training and no tools.
2. Why did the diagnostic journey require additional imaging before surgery?
The MRI revealed another spot that had not been seen before. How can we help ensure that each patient receives the appropriate imaging at the right point in the diagnostic journey, with a clear understanding of why each step is needed?
3. Why does a complex diagnostic journey require so many separate visits?
Some imaging and testing may be clinically necessary, but how much of the logistical burden could be reduced through coordinated scheduling, clearer communication, and better access to information?
4. Who helps connect the whole picture?
With nine appointments across multiple specialties, patients and families need a clear understanding of who is coordinating the journey, how information is shared, and where to turn with questions.
5. Are we designing for the average patient, or for the one with the least support?
If our systems only work well for families who can navigate them, they don’t work.
All of us in the industry can help improve the entire patient journey — from prevention and diagnosis to treatment, recovery, and ongoing care. Here are a few ways Merge is working to do just that:
These tools should support, not replace, clinical judgment. Used responsibly, they can help clinicians see the full picture, reduce unnecessary friction, and guide patients and families through a more connected care journey.
I’ve spent my career believing that innovation, better technology, better processes, and better information can make a difference. Watching my mother move through her diagnosis didn’t change that belief. It deepened it, and it gave it urgency.
Our clinicians are doing extraordinary work inside a system that makes their jobs harder than they need to be. Our patients, especially the oldest, sickest, and least supported among them, are carrying burdens they should never have to carry.
Every day in my professional life, I carry that experience—and my mother’s story—with me. It reminds me who we serve, why this work matters, and what a more connected patient journey must make possible.
Every image, every report, and every connection we help make is part of someone’s journey—someone’s mother, father, spouse, or friend. Together, across industry, health systems, clinicians, patients, and families, we can build a more connected path through care.
I’m grateful to share that my mother has been cleared of cancer following her treatment. She’s recovering well and expects to be back on the bocce court in a few weeks, which, knowing her, may be sooner.
Her recovery is an important milestone, but this is not the end of her story — or of what her experience can teach us.
Those who know me know that I am a private person. My mother asked me to share her story for two reasons: to thank the countless clinicians, friends, family members, and neighbors who supported her throughout this journey, and to raise awareness of the importance of discussing mammograms with your clinician at any age. When she told her friends about her experience, several were inspired to schedule their own mammograms.
During Breast Cancer Awareness Month, her story feels especially important — not simply as a reminder to be aware, but as a reminder to act. Her message is simple: take an active role in your care. Whatever your age, talk with your clinician about your individual risk factors and the screening approach that is right for you. And when screening is recommended and available, follow through.
To everyone navigating a diagnosis right now, and to every clinician, caregiver, friend, and neighbor supporting them: we see you, and we are committed to helping make the journey better.
If you or a loved one has navigated a journey like this, I’d welcome hearing what helped, what added burden, and what you wish had worked differently. Those experiences can help us build a more connected, compassionate path for the patients and families who come next.