How You Lose Control (Part III)

See also “How You Lose Control (Part II)”

Sara Wall-Bollinger, Executive Director for Health Planning at Health-e-Connections, showed me what appears to be the paper copy of a power-point production.  It says “Who is Health Connections?

  • Health Advancement Collaborative of Central New York
    • A multi-stakeholder organization that has patient, physician, hospital, insurer, employer and pharmacy representation.”

Oops.  Employer?  Does this actually mean that your boss can find out that you have been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis before you can?  The first person listed in the stakeholders is you, but you’re not going to be served for a year or two.  And just exactly how have you, the patient, been represented in this system?  Show me; come on, show me where the patients have been represented in the Health Advancement Collaborative of Central New York.

What the heck is the Health Advancement Collaborative of Central New York (HAC-CNY)?  Have you ever heard of it?  No, me neither.  Well, buried in their web site is the statement “HAC-CNY’s priority has been to create what is now HeatheConnections, the RHIO for Central New York.”  The Health Advancement Collaborative is the mother fucker of—oh!  Excuse me—I did not mean to say that!  The Health Advancement Collaborative is the parent organization that created Health-e-Connections, which has all your medical records and won’t let you in.

Now how about that business about HAC having “patient . . . representation?”  There are about two dozen people on the board, including the CEOs of all the hospitals, and not any one of them is patient-friendly. Go look for yourself:   Do you see anybody on that board to whom you could reach out and ask for information? 

Here’s another little fun thing about HAC-CNY ( ).  Their page has a tab for “News—Press Releases—In the media” and it’s completely blank.  All these high-powered people are operating in secret.  They have not told you a thing about what they are doing.

Do you remember the first time you walked into your doctor’s office and got hit with the HIPAA form?  “What the heck is this?” you asked.  “This” was government interference in the relationship between you and your doctor, which had been working so well for so long.  They did it to you without your knowledge or consent.  You did not ask for a super duper secrecy act that would put you at odds with your doctor’s secretary, but you got it because Big Brother designed and implemented it without your knowledge.

They are doing it again.  The big money interests—hospitals and insurance companies—have organized as the Health Advancement Collaborative.  Their first priority was to create Health-e-Connections, which has created a data base of all your health information, and to which you have no access.  This is not a from-the-bottom-up response to a need you, the citizen/patient, have expressed.  This is your government treating you like an insensate lab rat.  They will decide what serves their interest and you will have no say in the matter.

What are you going to do when you are refused treatment because you have not consented to release your information?  Can’t you just hear some receptionist telling you “We can’t accept you as a patient because you haven’t consented to release data.  How can we treat you?”

I’ll tell you how you can treat me:  you can talk to me.  You can ask me what’s wrong, and who else I’ve seen about it, and what drugs I’ve tried.  You can treat me with respect, not as if I’m a stupid rat in a cage.  You can develop a personal relationship with me.  I am not an object; I am Anne C Woodlen.

Yesterday a professional woman told me that she had actually done the hard work of penetrating SUNY Upstate Medical Center’s EPIC data base and found that it contained many errors about her, including that she has a sister.  She doesn’t.

I went through the hard work of getting my records from St. Joseph’s Hospital. Among other things, it said that I have a hearing loss in my left ear.  I do not now, and never have had, any problems with either of my ears.

I only just now have found out about the Health Advancement Collaborative and it’s shaken me.  Government and the 1% have already decided what they’re going to do to us.  They have all our so-called “medical information,” right or wrong.  The system is in place; the data has been entered.

Are you okay with this?

About annecwoodlen

I am a tenth generation American, descended from a family that has been working a farm that was deeded to us by William Penn. The country has changed around us but we have held true. I stand in my grandmother’s kitchen, look down the valley to her brother’s farm and see my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother Hannah standing on the porch. She is holding the baby, surrounded by four other children, and saying goodbye to her husband and oldest son who are going off to fight in the Revolutionary War. The war is twenty miles away and her husband will die fighting. We are not the Daughters of the American Revolution; we were its mothers. My father, Milton C. Woodlen, got his doctorate from Temple University in the 1940’s when—in his words—“a doctorate still meant something.” He became an education professor at West Chester State Teachers College, where my mother, Elizabeth Hope Copeland, had graduated. My mother raised four girls and one boy, of which I am the middle child. My parents are deceased and my siblings are estranged. My fiancé, Robert H. Dobrow, was a fighter pilot in the Marine Corps. In 1974, his plane crashed, his parachute did not open, and we buried him in a cemetery on Long Island. I could say a great deal about him, or nothing; there is no middle ground. I have loved other men; Bob was my soul mate. The single greatest determinate of who I am and what my life has been is that I inherited my father’s gene for bipolar disorder, type II. Associated with all bipolar disorders is executive dysfunction, a learning disability that interferes with the ability to sort and organize. Despite an I.Q. of 139, I failed twelve subjects and got expelled from high school and prep school. I attended Syracuse University and Onondaga Community College and got an associate’s degree after twenty-five years. I am nothing if not tenacious. Gifted with intelligence, constrained by disability, and compromised by depression, my employment was limited to entry level jobs. Being female in the 1960’s meant that I did office work—billing at the university library, calling out telegrams at Western Union, and filing papers at a law firm. During one decade, I worked at about a hundred different places as a temporary secretary. I worked for hospitals, banks, manufacturers and others, including the county government. I quit the District Attorney’s Office to manage a gas station; it was more honest work. After Bob’s death, I started taking antidepressants. Following doctor’s orders, I took them every day for twenty-six years. During that time, I attempted%2
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