A multi-specialty health platform built so the patient stops being the integration layer: one record that carries a prescription to the pharmacy, a test order to the lab, and the result back to the doctor who asked for it. Patient, clinician and operations are three surfaces over one token system, and the safety rules constrain the interface rather than decorate it. You can open it and use it on this page.
A design prototype on fictional data. Not a medical device, and not a source of clinical advice.
The real prototype, not a recording. It starts where a real user would: a splash, three intro cards, then a passwordless sign in. There is no password to type and the six-digit code is already filled, so you can walk the whole way in or skip ahead. Runs entirely in your browser.The real prototype, not a recording. It opens over this page, and closing it brings you straight back here.
In a big multi-specialty hospital, the patient usually holds the whole system together by hand. They carry a paper prescription to the pharmacy, a paper lab requisition across town, a printed report back to the doctor who ordered it. Every one of those handoffs is a place where the system quietly asks a sick person to do its integration work for it. CareBridge is one shared record trying to close those gaps instead.
Someone with abdominal pain doesn't know if they need Gastroenterology, General Medicine, or the Emergency Room. An alphabetical list of 32 departments isn't help, it's a quiz they didn't study for. So the entry point is plain language (describe it yourself, or point at a body map), at most four skippable questions, always with the option to just book something general. What comes back is a suggestion with its reasoning shown, explicitly labelled a suggestion, never a diagnosis.
Underneath every question runs a red-flag check: mention chest tightness with exertion and you get Cardiology; add shortness of breath and the whole flow is overridden straight to emergency options. And because a demo that actually dials emergency services is a real incident, not a rough edge, the number is shown with no live phone link behind it; the limitation is printed on screen rather than hidden and hoped past.
You can watch one thing cross the gap that usually breaks: a prescription written mid-consult becomes fillable in two taps, a test order becomes a real booking with a phlebotomist and a time window, and the result returns straight to the doctor who asked for it instead of a portal the patient has to remember to check. On the clinician's side, a pre-consult brief assembles what's already known before the door opens, and a critical lab value at the top of the queue carries the exact time it came back.
A worsening result renders in calm blue whether it rose or fell; red is reserved only for the emergency button, a critical-value card, and a delete confirmation. If red meant 'worse' everywhere, every routine fluctuation would read as an alarm and the real alarm would stop meaning anything. Lock-screen notifications never name a condition: they just say something's waiting, because it isn't always the patient holding the phone. And no photograph is ever attached to a record; patients and clinicians get generated initials instead, because a face next to a diagnosis is a privacy risk with no clinical upside.
132 screens are genuinely clickable across patient, clinician and operations, all reading from one shared design system. What's not real: there's no backend, no clinician has reviewed the triage logic, and every patient and case is fictional. This is a prototype for thinking with, not a medical device, and not clinical advice.
