By Becca Camp. I am a pre-med student. In the last year, I’ve had the unique opportunity to attend several conferences that shaped my sense of vocation. Perhaps most significant was Mayo Clinic’s TRANSFORM Symposium, hosted by their Center for Innovation; over the course of a weekend, my calling to study care delivery (how to get high-quality care to people who need it the most) was unearthed. Volunteering at TEDMED first left me feeling discouraged; surely there was no way I’d ever make the same impact as the Dean Kamens and Craig Venters of the world. Almost immediately, though, I found myself surrounded by attendees who looked at me plainly and asked, “Why not?” They had no doubt in their mind about my potential, and as the conference progressed, I was able to tamp down my own doubt. With my newfound determination in place, I went to DC10 Summit Series where I was introduced to the people of my own generation who have a concrete plan for changing the world. This year I’ve been able to meet invaluable mentors, and been exposed to incredible ideas.

These opportunities came about largely from my use of networking on blogs and Twitter. I continue to be surprised and delighted by the people who reach out when I talk about things that interest me, and who offer to get me more involved in the conversation at these conferences. Once there, I become the pupil of every person I meet. But naturally, I tend to be one of the only students, if not the sole representative, at every conference I attend. I’m surrounded by very few peers.

The result of these conferences was the discovery of my mission: effecting a paradigm shift in the culture of health in this country. It’s the vision that keeps me committed to writing, studying, and applying to medical school. But when I go back to class, and try to talk to my colleagues about what I’ve learned, I have trouble finding anyone interested in listening. It’s clear that the lack of a shared experience precludes shared enthusiasm. Inevitably, my professors are the only ones willing to engage in conversation about what drives me–and I go right back to being a solitary pupil. Broaching topics such as care delivery with my pre-med colleagues is often met with blank stares or flippant remarks about helping people being a means to a financial end. Additionally (and I hesitate to generalize), but in my experience, it seems that the women I encounter in my classes are difficult to engage about larger matters of vision. Older generations of feminists remember a time where young women were afraid to show their intelligence and competence in conversations that go beyond daily life and relationship issues. Could this still be going on?

Of course, the internet gives me the ability to connect with passionate women and men of all ages who are as eager as I am to teach and learn. However, the absence of face-to-face interaction nags at me–savvy as I may be at building relationships in my social networks online, those professional relationships become the most meaningful and permanent only after meeting in person. All this leaves me in a sort of liminal space, somewhere between the students I spend time with every day and the mentors who show me what is possible.

So here’s an open question for Disruptive Women: How does one go about establishing a peer group, one that gathers like-minded young people (women, in particular)? With or without access to the internet, during college as well as later in life, how did you find the people who engaged you?

By Rebecca Camp. AUSTIN, TX– Today’s SXSH conference (South By Social Health) saw many successful, multi-disciplinary approaches to weaving together new media and health care. I was bothered, however, by a theme that’s becoming increasingly common in the health care conversation: patients treated as consumers.

When a company follows capitalistic principles, the goal is to increase value by offering better services at a lower price. The company strives to improve their bottom line by offering more value than their competitor, in an effort to put their competitor out of business. Offering good customer service complements this strategy. In industries other than health care, the result is a benefit to the consumer: quality products and service at a lower price. Southwest Airlines, for example, employs a very effective social media presence. They respond to complaints tweeted by customers, which is has garnered the company praise in addition to a loyal customer base. But does this consumer-centered strategy translate to health care?

Mayo Clinic is held as a model for value in health care, but attributing their success to “consumerism” is off-base. The new media strategies being presented by health care institutions at SXSH essentially boiled down to damage control by tending to disgruntled Twitterers, and analysis of the types of complaints being registered. Though claiming to be influenced by social media mavens at Mayo’s Rochester flagship, the strategy is misguided and far removed. Mayo Clinic works because of a philosophy of care that puts the needs of the patients first—which does not equate to reactionary PR moves on social media sites. Absolutely nothing about their strategy distinguished it from other industries—and in the context of health care, replicating the strategy of Southwest Air and its ilk borders on insulting. Mayo Clinic avoids the noisy Twittersphere when addressing something as important as patient care; when a complaint is registered, that’s what their specialized center for patient service is for. Their Sharing Mayo Clinic blog allows a community of patients, staff, and families to form, which anticipates service problems before they even occur. This is the absolute obligation of companies in charge of delivering health care to a society.

My issue is also a philosophical one.

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