Recently, one of my friends, a computer wizard, paid me a visit. As we were talking, I mentioned that I had recently installed a picture archiving and communication system and a radiology information system. I told him how happy I was with the system and showed him a compact disk (CD) from it. To my surprise, he threw it into my microwave oven and turned it on. Instantly I got very upset, because the System had become precious to me, but he said, "Do not worry, it is unharmed." After a few minutes, he took the CD out, gave it to me and said, "Take a close look at it." To my surprise, the CD was quite cold to hold and it seemed to be heavier than before. At first, I could not see anything, but on the inner edge of the central hole, I saw an inscription, an inscription finer than anything I had ever seen before. The inscription shone piercingly bright, and yet remote, as if out of a great depth: 12413AEB2ED4FA5E6F7D78E78BEDE8209450920F923A40Eel0E50CC98D444AA08E324. "I cannot understand the fiery letters," I said in a timid voice. "No, but I can," he said. "The letters are Hex, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of DICOM, which I shall not utter here. But in common English, this is what it says: Two integration profiles to schedule work flow. Five for radiology with room to grow. One for the bacon to bring it home. One for HIPAA all alone. And one for results for those who would know. One technical framework in which to find them. One technical framework to guide them. One technical framework to bring them all. And in the Connect-a-thon bind them. In the Land of Lincoln where no shadows are. We continue the saga of the fellowship of the IHE: clinicians, radiologists, informaticians, administrators, technologists, imaging system vendors, and non-imaging system vendors, as they begin their year 4 transactions.
Copyright RSNA, 2002