Healthcare technology has transformed how we deliver care. Yet some of the most difficult moments in a patient's or family's healthcare experience happen after an appointment ends. A patient may leave a consultation with a clear treatment plan, only to feel overwhelmed hours later. A family caregiver may understand the medical decisions ahead but struggle with what those decisions mean for their own life. These emotional experiences are an important part of navigating illness, yet they don't always fit neatly within the boundaries of healthcare delivery.
A serious diagnosis, a change in physical independence or the responsibility of caring for a loved one can fundamentally alter someone's life. These experiences often involve grief, even when no one has died. Patients may grieve the loss of their health or the future they had imagined. Caregivers may mourn changes in their relationships while managing the practical responsibilities of care. Someone living with a progressive illness may experience repeated losses over months or years. Healthcare professionals see these experiences every day, and many provide meaningful emotional support alongside their clinical responsibilities. Still, no care team can be present for every moment in which a patient or family member is processing what they're experiencing.
The experience of illness doesn't pause between appointments, and grief doesn't follow a discharge plan. As artificial intelligence becomes increasingly integrated into healthcare, much of the conversation has focused on efficiency, clinical decision-making and reducing administrative demands on providers. Those advances matter, but I've become increasingly interested in another role for technology: helping people navigate the emotional experiences that unfold between and beyond clinical encounters, when human support may not be immediately available.
When people hear about AI being used for grief or emotional well-being, they often ask whether a machine can genuinely understand what someone is going through, or whether we're attempting to replace human relationships with artificial ones. I understand that skepticism and share many of the underlying concerns. I don't believe replicating a human relationship should be the goal.
Technology doesn't need to experience compassion to be designed with compassion in mind. An AI-guided resource might help someone put language to feelings they haven't been able to articulate, recognize an experience as grief, reflect on a difficult conversation or prepare to ask for help. It can offer a space to work through thoughts at someone's own pace, including during the hours when other forms of support may be unavailable. Making that support genuinely useful requires thoughtful design, clear boundaries and an understanding of when human support is needed.
Technology doesn't need to experience compassion to be designed with compassion in mind.
Some of the most encouraging feedback has come from therapists, clergy and others who support people through loss. In conversations about Solace, they've recognized its potential to complement their work, particularly between personal interactions. Their interest reinforces something I've come to believe strongly: technology doesn't have to replace human connection to make a meaningful contribution to someone's experience.
For those developing and evaluating healthcare technology, this offers another way to think about accessibility. We've already seen how technology can transform access to medical information, services and care. I believe it can also expand access to emotional support for people navigating illness, caregiving and loss.
Those experiences don't begin or end with a medical appointment, and the ways we support people don't have to either.
