Healing at a Distance
From a pandemic necessity to a multibillion-dollar industry, telehealth is changing how, when and where Americans access care.
Six months. That’s how long I was going to have to wait for a contact lens exam at my eye care center.
An office scheduler had called me to explain that my optometrist had left the practice, and my appointment next week would have to be rescheduled for the next available appointment—26 weeks later.
I hung up frustrated. I’d worn the exact same contacts for nearly two decades. Surely there had to be some other option? I quickly googled 1-800 Contacts. I’d seen the company’s advertisements before, but I’d never used their services.
Right at the top of the homepage was a link for an online vision exam. “Renew your contact prescription at home,” it offered, and for only $20 (my eye care center charges $80). Sounded good to me.
I clicked the link, and after answering a few questions to confirm my eligibility, I was prompted to use my phone camera to take a picture of each eye. Thirty seconds later, I was standing in my kitchen, 10 feet away from my phone as instructed, recording myself as I covered my right eye. “E, J, K, M.” Then left, “Q, P, T, V.”
I told the website what brand of contacts I wear and what my prescription is, paid the $20 and hit submit.
Could it really be this easy?
Six minutes later, I got the email. “Amy, your prescription is on file.” The address on the prescription was in Utah, where 1-800 Contacts is headquartered. It was signed by an optometrist who, according to my Google search, is quite an accomplished practitioner and professor based in Tennessee.
My contacts arrived in the mail a few days later.
The COVID Catalyst
The term telemedicine, which combines the Greek prefix tele and the Latin word medicus to mean “healing at a distance,” was coined in the 1970s. But its earliest known examples date back much further. In 1874, a surgeon in South Australia used a telegram to provide wound-care instructions to a patient more than 1,200 miles away. In 1879, three years after Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, a letter published in The Lancet medical journal suggested the device “might be of considerable use to doctors to ease their practice,” citing an example of an anxious American mother who called a doctor late at night fearing her baby had croup. “Lift the child to the telephone and let me hear it cough,” the doctor commanded, according to the anonymous letter-writer. After hearing the baby, the doctor determined the child did not have croup, and “all anxiety quieted.”
The internet, smartphones and video calling greatly expanded remote care options in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. But even well into the 2010s, the American healthcare system was resistant to widespread implementation for a broad variety of reasons, explains Professor of Economics Mónika López-Anuarbe, who specializes in health economics.
“The U.S. was not using telehealth as much as other countries were,” she says. “And then, boom! COVID hit.”
In January of 2020, Colin Gallant ’12, who earned a master’s degree in public health from Boston University after studying philosophy at Conn, had just started working as a health center manager for Planned Parenthood League of Massachusetts. The center where he worked did not provide abortion care services at the time, so it was deemed non-essential and was shut down during the early stages of the pandemic just two months later.
“The big conversation was around continuing to provide services at a time when people felt unsafe leaving their homes,” Gallant explains. “My boss called me and he’s like, ‘Since you’re not busy, why don’t you start spinning up the telehealth program?’ They had been thinking about it, so it wasn’t totally from scratch, but we basically brought it from a high-level conceptual conversation among leadership to beginning to provide telehealth services within a week.”
Likewise, Chrissie Brewer ’09, a New York City-based board-certified psychiatric nurse practitioner who specializes in care for children and young adults, was seeing patients in both a private practice and through the New York Foundling, the oldest and largest non-profit child welfare agency in the city, when the pandemic hit.