One-Minute Coach · Dr. Rob
Here's something they don't teach in school: an inventor isn't a special kind of person. An inventor is just an ordinary person who refused to accept that a problem had to stay a problem. Give me a few minutes, and I'll show you the pattern. You already have everything you need to start.
I grew up watching my father solve problems. He wasn't an engineer. He wasn't formally educated in a fancy way. But he couldn't afford to hire someone to fix things — so he figured it out himself.
He'd watch an uncle. Help a neighbor and come away with a new skill. He used his curiosity the way some people use a toolbox. His superpower wasn't a diploma on the wall — it was the simple belief that he could figure it out, and the willingness to try. And he did.
That shaped everything about how I think. When someone says, "There's gotta be a better way," the question was never "Who's qualified to fix this?" It was "What do I need to learn — and who can I learn it from?"
I've been fortunate to hold more than a dozen patents. But every single one started the exact same way: someone hit a moment of real frustration — "this sucks, there's gotta be a better way" — and instead of just venting, we captured it.
The shirt pocket
Back in critical care, I kept a little notebook in my shirt pocket. Sounds almost too simple. But when I'd see a problem — friction in the system, a near-miss, something that just didn't make sense — I'd jot it down and go on with my day. At day's end, those scraps went into a folder in a drawer by my bed. About once a month, I'd sit down with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and actually think: What if we could fix this one?
You don't have to work in medicine for this to matter. The same notebook — the same habit — works if you're a parent, a student, someone in a job that frustrates you, or just a person who wants to feel like they have some say in how their day goes.
Story 1 · The cost of a problem ignored
The handwriting that cost a life
One patient I'll never forget died from a medication error. Bad handwriting on a paper chart. Transcribed by a nursing assistant. Transcribed again. Read by a nurse. Filled by a pharmacist. And at every step, good people were too intimidated to question the "almighty doctor" about whether he'd even written it right. The patient died.
That one sat in my pocket a long while. But then came the question: What system could have prevented this? And what unexpected good might come from solving it? We built a medication dispensing and documentation system — right patient, right time, right dose. Ordered so we never ran out. Volumes large enough to bring the price down for everyone.
The payoff I never expected: the month before my father died, he was hospitalized — and that very system was used on him. He proudly told his nurse that his son invented the thing saving her so much time. And he got his medicine safely, on time. One death prevented. One father's dignity. A whole hospital running smoother.
Story 2 · Success without a paycheck
The simulator that became a robot
Dr. Rosenow at Mayo Clinic came to me with his own frustration. You have to understand who this was — one of the finest medical educators Mayo ever produced, President of the American College of Chest Physicians, and editor of the board certification exam that every lung specialist in the country had to pass. And he came to me: "Rob, I have to test whether surgeons are actually good at bronchoscopy — not just trust what their program director says. You're good at the procedure, and you're good with these new things called computers. Could we build something that tests their skill?" Being asked by a man like that is still one of the honors of my life.
Together we built the world's first virtual endoscopy simulator. Sounds like a business jackpot, right? Here's the honest part: I didn't make money on it. A creative, insightful inventor doesn't automatically make a successful businessperson.
But the core concepts in that simulator are now built into the surgical robots used worldwide. My own daughter went to medical school, trained on my simulator's descendants — and is now a robotic surgeon. Every time someone tells me "my robotic surgery went perfectly," I just smile. That's the invention, still working.
The pattern I've learned
Listen for the problem
When someone says "this sucks, there's gotta be a better way" — don't dismiss it. Capture it. Write it down. Let it sit.
Pause and imagine — no limits
Don't jump to a fix. First ask: What skills do I need? What knowledge? What people should I talk to? What expert, anywhere, could help?
Tackle the barriers one by one
Missing a skill? Learn it, or find someone who has it. Missing an idea? Find the person who loves exactly this kind of puzzle.
Propose it back — "What if?"
Bring a reasonable possibility back to the person who was frustrated and ask: What if we tried this? Why not us? Why not now?
Test it. Build a team. Try it.
You don't need certainty. You need a first attempt and at least one other person willing to attempt it with you.
