Epic Haiku

Epic Haiku Mobile EHR Access for Urgent Patient Care Decisions

Rushing between ICU rounds one stormy Tuesday, I desperately needed lab results for a crashing patient—my workstation was three floors away. That’s when a colleague swiped open Haiku on her rain-smeared phone. Within seconds, we saw the critical potassium levels. That heart-pounding moment transformed how I practice medicine; now, Epic’s data lives in my pocket like a stethoscope. Designed exclusively for clinicians tethered to Epic EHR, this isn’t just another app—it’s your hospital’s nervous system condensed into a secure rectangle. If your days involve sprinting from codes to consults while charting haunts your nights, Haiku slices through the chaos.

Real-Time Patient Lists reshaped my morning rituals. At 5:03 AM in the doctors’ lounge, coffee steaming beside stale muffins, I scroll through newly admitted oncology patients. Seeing each name with diagnosis codes and room numbers materialize feels like unfolding a battle map before dawn—no more frantic EHR logins at nursing stations. The relief is visceral: shoulders drop, pulse steadies.

Critical Results Alerts once saved Mr. Henderson’s kidney during my daughter’s piano recital. Vibrations cut through Bach’s Minuet in G as creatinine spikes flashed red. That cold jolt down my spine? Pure gratitude. Tapping the notification opened his trend graph instantly—no wrestling with VPNs in parking lots.

In Basket Mastery lets me crush prescription renewals between surgeries. Last Tuesday, leaning against OR-7’s scrubbed wall, blood speckling my shoes, I approved insulin refills while anesthesia prepped. The seamless toggle between patient charts and messages creates eerie calm amid beeping monitors—like finding silent eye in a hurricane.

Voice-Integrated Consults transformed corridor collabs. During a rapid response, I called pulmonology directly from Mrs. Torres’ vitals screen. Hearing Dr. Chen’s "Try 10cm PEEP first" through tinny speakers while nurses bagged the patient… that crisp urgency glued our team together. No more misheard pager numbers.

Picture this: Midnight moonlight stripes the NICU isolette as I sit rocking a methadone baby. One thumb navigates to discharge summaries while bottle-feeding with my other arm. Fonts auto-enlarge in the dimness—no blinding white screens disturbing fragile sleep. Or Tuesday trauma bay chaos: Paramedics shouting GSW stats, my palm smearing blood on Haiku’s screen as I pull up past surgical notes. The login holds through it all, steadfast as a trauma shears.

The upside? Launching Haiku feels quicker than drawing meds—three swipes from locked screen to reviewing ECGs. But I curse when cross-coverage pages vanish if cell signal dips in elevator shafts. Still, that’s like complaining about ambulance sirens; minor irritants when lives hang in balance. Wish they’d add med reconciliation flags though—almost missed a warfarin interaction during a code stroke.

Perfect for residents drowning in cross-cover lists or attendings rounding at three hospitals. Just ensure your admin enables voice calls; mine didn’t until I begged after missing sepsis alerts. Now? I check Haiku more than my own heartbeat.