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There is a quiet crisis happening in healthcare operations. Not in emergency rooms or intensive care units, where burnout is well-documented and widely discussed. But in the back-office teams that manage chronic care programs, coordinate patient outreach, and try to keep vulnerable populations engaged with their health.
These teams are burning out. And the reason is not what you might think.
At Optum, I worked with care coordination teams managing chronic care programs. These were mostly non-clinical staff, trained to support patients with conditions like diabetes, heart disease, and hypertension. Their job was to call patients regularly, check on their medication adherence, remind them about appointments, and escalate concerns to clinical teams when needed.
It should have been rewarding work. Helping people manage serious health conditions. Making a real difference in patient outcomes. Building trusting relationships over time.
Instead, it had become soul-crushing.
The problem was not the patient interactions. The problem was everything that came before the patient interactions. Each care coordinator was responsible for 50 to 100 patient cases. Before making an outreach call, they had to review the patient file. That sounds simple. It was anything but.
A typical patient file was fragmented across multiple systems. Electronic medical records contained clinical notes and diagnoses. Claims history showed what treatments and medications had been used. Care guidelines outlined what interventions were recommended for specific conditions. Past call transcripts documented previous conversations and patient concerns. Lab results indicated current health status.
None of these systems were integrated. To understand a single patient, a care coordinator had to open five or six different applications, read through dozens of pages of information, and manually piece together a coherent picture. This took 60 to 90 minutes per case.
By the time they picked up the phone to call the patient, they were mentally exhausted. They had spent an hour and a half reading. Their eyes hurt from screen time. Their mind was cluttered with medical terminology and data points. And they still had 30 more calls to make that day.
Where was the emotional capacity for empathy?
Cognitive load is a term from psychology. It refers to the amount of mental effort required to process information. When cognitive load is high, performance suffers. More importantly, emotional capacity decreases.
Think about the last time you had to prepare for something important after a long day of cognitively demanding work. Maybe a presentation after back-to-back meetings. Maybe a difficult conversation after hours of problem-solving. You probably noticed that you had less patience, less creativity, less emotional bandwidth.
That was what care coordinators were experiencing. Every single call. The preparation phase drained their cognitive resources. By the time they talked to patients, they were running on empty.
The calls suffered. Coordinators were going through scripts mechanically. They were missing emotional cues from patients. They were not picking up on subtle signs of distress or non-adherence. They were focused on checking boxes and moving to the next task.
Patients felt it. Engagement scores were declining. Many patients stopped answering calls because the conversations felt impersonal and transactional. Some filed complaints about being treated like case numbers rather than people.
The care coordinators felt it too. They had entered this field to help people. Instead, they felt like they were administering a bureaucratic process. Attrition was rising. Quality audits were failing. Program ROI was under pressure. And worst of all, people who genuinely cared about patient welfare were leaving the field discouraged and burned out.
We introduced a GenAI-based care summary engine. The goal was not to replace care coordinators. It was to give them back their cognitive capacity. To offload the mechanical work of information gathering so they could focus on the human work of patient engagement.
The system did something conceptually simple but technically sophisticated. It parsed multiple data sources and created a unified clinical digest. For each patient, it would generate a summary that included:
Key health flags. Things like adherence risk, recent hospitalizations, or concerning lab results.
Relevant history. Important details from past interactions, including patient preferences, barriers to care, and what worked in previous conversations.
Suggested talking points. Not a rigid script, but conversation starters tailored to the patient condition and engagement history.
Natural language query capability. If a coordinator wanted to check something specific, they could ask in plain English. Was the patient prescribed insulin in the last 90 days? Has the patient mentioned financial concerns?
The system would find the answer across all data sources and present it clearly.
The immediate impact was obvious. Case prep time dropped from 60 minutes to under 15 minutes. Care coordinators could review the AI-generated summary in 10 to 12 minutes and spend the remaining time thinking about the conversation strategy, not hunting for information.
But the deeper impact was emotional. Coordinators had mental energy back. They were not exhausted before the call even started. They could bring their full attention to the patient conversation.
The quality of calls transformed. Coordinators were listening more carefully. They were picking up on emotional cues. They were asking follow-up questions. They were responding with empathy instead of scripts.
One coordinator told me something I will never forget. She said, “I feel like I am doing the job I was hired to do. Before, I was a data processor who occasionally talked to patients. Now, I am a care advocate who happens to use data.”
Patient engagement scores improved by 18 percent. But the numbers do not capture what actually changed. Patients started trusting the coordinators again. They opened up about barriers to care, like not being able to afford medications or struggling with side effects. They asked questions they had been afraid to ask. They stayed on calls longer because the conversations felt genuinely helpful.
Here is something counterintuitive. Staff productivity increased by 40 percent. You might assume that happened because people were working faster. That was part of it. But the bigger reason was that people were working better.
When care coordinators were burned out, they made mistakes. They missed important details. They had to redo work. They escalated cases unnecessarily because they did not have the full picture. They spent time on follow-up calls that could have been avoided with better initial conversations.
When care coordinators had emotional capacity, they got things right the first time. They identified issues early. They provided more effective interventions. They built stronger patient relationships that led to better long-term outcomes.
Productivity is not just about speed. It is about effectiveness. And effectiveness requires emotional and cognitive capacity.
Attrition decreased over the next two quarters. People were not leaving because the work became easier. They were staying because the work became meaningful again. They could see the impact they were making. They felt valued for their human skills, not just their ability to process information.
This story is not just about healthcare. It is about any role where human judgment, empathy, and relationship-building matter. Which is most roles, if you think about it.
Sales professionals who spend hours researching accounts before calls. Relationship managers who prepare for client meetings by reading through endless reports. Customer support agents who navigate complex knowledge bases while talking to frustrated customers. Teachers who spend weekends grading and preparing lessons instead of resting.
In all these cases, cognitive load is the enemy of human excellence. When people are mentally exhausted from information processing, they cannot bring their best selves to the human interactions that actually matter.
GenAI offers a way out. Not by replacing human expertise. By amplifying it. By taking over the mechanical cognitive work so humans can focus on the irreplaceable emotional and strategic work.
If you lead teams that interact with customers, patients, clients, or students, ask yourself this question. How much of their time and mental energy goes to information processing versus human connection?
If the answer is “too much time on processing,” you have an opportunity. You can use GenAI to offload cognitive load. You can give your people back their emotional capacity. You can transform roles from mechanical to meaningful.
This is not about efficiency. It is about humanity. It is about creating work environments where people can be fully present, fully empathetic, fully themselves.
At Optum, the innovation team that built the care summary engine ended up scaling it across behavioral health and oncology programs. Not because leadership mandated it. Because people in those programs saw what was possible and wanted it for their teams.
That is how you know you have found something meaningful. When people ask for it because they want to do better work, not because they are required to use new technology.
GenAI did not give us more productivity. It gave us back our empathy. And that made all the difference.