by Nick Jacobs

Having been an observer of scientific research projects for the past seven years, I have recently made an observation that undoubtedly proves irrefutably that parallel universes do exist. On a recent beach trip, six young mom's in our family and our extended family decided to send their hunters off to deep sea fish for Father's Day, leaving two grandfathers and a four year old boy behind to protect the house.

Because he was not included in the fishing trip, the boy would have been crushed, but the old dudes bailed out his dad and mom by inviting him to go fishing with us. Neither of us had been fishing since we were young dads, about thirty years ago, so the day was already predetermined to be interesting. We strapped the little guy into his car seat and left in search of a fishing pier. It took us about forty minutes and fifty four dollars for gasoline, a bottle of Superman apple juice, some Halloween candy corn and a piece of beef jerky.

When we arrived at the fishing pier and entered the main building, it was like a time warp. In a large glass case there sat a talking humanoid Pirate that told fortunes. Then we passed 70 different pinball, video, basketball and bowling machines. When we finally arrived at the cashier's corner, eight more bucks lighter; we saw reality in a completely different light. Renting two poles with sinkers and hooks required an $80 deposit. Miscellaneous fishing fees were $48, and that included a bag of blood worms. Our wrists were then stamped, and we went out onto the pier and into the blazing, morning sun.

We were instructed to cut the blood worm which contained what seemed to be about a pint of blood. The little boy became very quiet, looked at me and said, "You're killing him." At that point I taught him about regeneration. Then we launched the baited hooks into the Atlantic Ocean and five minutes later caught a four inch fish which we promptly threw back into the sea. After about 90 seconds more, the little guy looked up and said, "Poppa, I want to go home now." He turned and started walking toward the exit.

On the way home he cried out for a toy, we stopped and bought him a little pirate, armed to the teeth, and a motorcycle for a grand total of $5.34. When we walked into the beach house, he opened his motorcycle and the wheel fell off. He stopped crying 20 minutes later when his mom convinced him that it would go to the broken toy hospital and be fixed.

If you're wondering about my introduction to parallel universes, it should be perfectly clear to you by now that this trip was exactly like scientific research. You start out not knowing where you're going; spend lots of money trying to get there; have great expectations; end up with much less than you or anyone had anticipated; have to throw it back in, and too many times, the wheels fall of.

Parallel universes.

by Nick Jacobs

It's amazing to me how much and yet how very little has changed during the past ten years. The subtleness of the metamorphosis is similar to the 212th degree, the point at which water goes from hot to boiling. First, you're hot, and then you're cooked.

Today I put on a new suit. It was the same size, same cut, same style and same manufacturer, but today, I looked like a watermelon in a silk stocking. That extra pound must have been the tipping point. After 20 years, the 42 Regular was not happening. If the coat button had launched and become airborne, it could have killed someone.

Another thing happened today that was totally my fault. My words took the moment to a boil.

Many of you have read about my periodic consternation relating to scientists and the world of science. Sometimes, just sometimes, as they apply science to living, the participants view of life becomes a little skewed. Sometimes the brilliant scientists think about things too long, or they get into too much analytical detail, but the characteristic that is the most worrisome to me is that they come from a world where normalcy involved feeding, holding, loving and talking to bunnies for months, and then cutting them open to see what impact the experiment had on their arteries.

It was because of this trait that I decided to hire some hard working, fun loving, spirited, people to liven the place up a little. So, a few years ago, four terrific people joined us to bring additional life, spirit, fun, and spontaneity to the institute.

At 3:55 this afternoon, I was running out of the door on my way to a doc meeting in the hospital when I noticed something for the third time that week, new paper signs. No one could ever fully appreciate my hatred for paper signs unless they had spent the past twenty years living inside of my suits. You see, I had a boss who scoured the eight floors of the hospital building where I had worked to find these paper things, and then, rather than take them down, he just screamed at me. You see, paper signs represented transience, instability, poverty and unsupervised spontaneity to him and now to me. These signs in question had been breeding over the past few weeks, like the flimsy metal hangers that the laundry gives you. You start out with two, and by the end of the week you have a laundry bag full.

So, as I left the building, I turned to one of my happy souls and said, "What the heck are these signs doing here?" Unfortunately, she took it personally. She had been asked to help make the signs, and, as an artist, she took pride in her work. It was as if I had screamed, "Hey, your kid is ugly!" As Joe Lieberman would say, "Bipartisanship means never having to say you're sorry." Why couldn't I just have said, "Let's get some permanent signs?" Maybe it would have been better to have said, "This sign is so beautiful that we should get it memorialized by having it bronzed?"

Anyway, I was later informed that I had upset my friend very much. Running out the door with three other people who observed my despicable remark probably didn't help.

So, I'm dedicating this blog to all of those people who have been hurt by my curt, CEO, verbal shots. In Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, he writes, "Life is full of sadness. The best years of life are short. Events are cruel. And other people are cruel. In such a world, it is your DUTY to find and cherish whatever real happiness you can."

So, Cathy, and all the Cathy's I've boiled, I'm sorry. It wasn't personal. It's just that those paper signs are killin' me.

by Nick Jacobs

Almost every week someone says to me, "How did you make the transition from being a teacher and professional trumpet player to running a hospital and a research institute?" In so many ways, it is exactly the same job. Clearly, the human mind sometimes has trouble grasping non-traditional career paths. As a young man, my passion was for helping people through education. It was clear to me that you could change a person's life almost completely with enough information.

There is no question that my journey was out of necessity. During the 70’s and 80’s the area where my family decided to settle we experienced the highest out migration of any city in the United States except for East St. Louis, Missouri. This was due largely to something called the Johnstown Flood. Unemployment reached 19% and my most demanding job was to find a way to continue to be employed to care for my family. So, at age 40 with a B.S. and an M Ed in hand, I headed back to Carnegie Mellon University for a second Masters in Public Management/Health Systems Management. It was a good decision, a unique program and a very different approach from the typical MHA or MBA because it exposed us to all aspects of public management. After that the Executive Program for Health Systems Certification at Harvard put some meat on the bones, and finally, the Fellowship from the American College of Healthcare Executives finished the credentialing journey. It took nearly a decade in total and almost more hours than a typical day held, but it provided the ticket to passage.

Would I do it again? Truthfully, my desire to nurture and care for people has been fulfilled in every way. The gift of healthcare delivery is second only to helping a lost kid find their way through education. Am I disappointed in the Medical Industrial Complex? Sure, but nothing that man has touched is perfect. My only advice to the student readers is that sometimes the hard way is more meaningful. All but my B.S. degree were attained while employed. It was extremely difficult to put in a 70 hour week and then drive to Pittsburgh two hours each way after work, but the experience was very rich because of the direct applicability to my job on a daily basis. School is great, and continuing education is a must. Don’t stop.

by Nick Jacobs

The general public is totally dependent upon people in my position to stand up and take responsibility for running a competently staffed hospital. Each and every one of us is dependent upon those individuals trusted with our lives to be kind, competent, capable and sure of their skills.

There is no reason for staff members to treat you poorly. There is absolutely no rationale for anyone to ignore, talk down to, or mistreat either you or a loved one. Do not be afraid to stand up for yourself or your loved one. There is no reason for you to receive poor treatment. Allow yourself to become empowered.

You should not be exposed to unnecessary infections. You should not be subjected to an ineffectual physician or staff member. You should not be kept in the dark about your treatment. Your loved ones should not be kept away from you. You should do or have done what you want.

That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.