I didn't mind driving through icy Boston roads at five in the morning -- but I did mind the fact that I was doing a job that computers should be able to do far faster and more accurately.
The EHR was a terminal-based system, and I wound up routing traffic through a local proxy, analyzing the logs, and figuring out how the protocols worked. (I'm sure that reading about terminal emulators would have been more effective than reverse engineering them; I can only blame sleep deprivation.) I ultimately built a Python script to drive the terminal based on a list of medical record numbers, recording vital signs and slotting them into pre-formatted progress notes for printing. It even plotted sparklines for fever curves.
It worked. And the chief of surgery loved it. He wrote me a stellar evaluation that prominently mentioned my work with the computer system (I also did good clinical work and all).
Two months later when the medical school dean read my evaluation, I got a very angry phone call. She was horrified that I had "hacked" into the computer system and taken matters into my own hands. I tried my best to explain how the system worked, and why it wasn't a threat. But I didn't really get the message across.
The upshot, though: I realized just how broken healthcare information systems were -- and that I enjoyed working on solutions. After medical school I joined the research faculty at Boston Children's Hospital, where I'm working on open specs, tools, and standards that make it easier to integrate third-party health apps with clinical data and EHRs [1]. It's been an interesting ride -- and I've learned an incredible amount about health interoperability, politics, data, and security along the way.