In this installment we interview Hisa Zhu, Project Executive at Hammes, a healthcare consulting, development, investment and management firm. She is currently involved as Owner's Rep in the building of Wynn, a Mohawk Valley Health System hospital in downtown Utica, New York. We talk to Hisa about her dedication to what she does and having the courage to be a changemaker in construction. 

Sure, I studied architecture and initially worked for a couple of architecture firms, one of them a healthcare design firm. I did a lot of expansions on the design end. But I also learned that construction consists of lots of silos — lots of little worlds of their own — and found myself in one of them. Unlike in the time of  Leonardo da Vinci, who was an engineer and architect and builder all rolled into one, I was constricted to this one activity, glued to a computer screen doing CAD drawings.

I also didn't like dealing with things that were just conceptual. So I went over to the dark side — as they say in architecture — and applied at a healthcare design-build firm in Albany. It was my first foray into being on the problem-solving end of things, and I really enjoyed it.

Since then, I have been involved with the healthcare building from several different angles: the architecture side, the PM side, but I also did business development for a while. All of that comes together in what I am doing now: being on the Owner's side. 

What's great about this role is that I can pull from all those experiences. So I appreciate what the architects are going through and their challenges. And from the construction management side, it helps me understand which constraints and guardrails they are working with. Having diverse experiences helps me appreciate what everybody is trying to accomplish.

A hospital is like a big breathing machine. There is this intense coordination taking place between all the parts. Everything, the way the building is used and the different workflows, all of these have to come together seamlessly. It has more complexity to it than most other building types, and I like the problem-solving aspect that comes with that.

My typical day is not typical, though. One day I might be going through a building, ensuring nobody's in there when the demolition crew comes in. The next day I might be looking at the headwall in an emergency room (that's the wall where all the medical equipment can be plugged into), ensuring we've got the right amount of outlets and devices on it. On another day, I would be working with the hospital leadership on a marketing campaign. And that's part of what makes this job so great for me. I need a million balls in the air; it keeps me engaged.

One project that sticks out and that I am proud of is the building of a military courtesy room at the Albany Airport. It’s a place where military people and sometimes their family members can have a moment of peace if their flight is delayed instead of having to wait on the concourse or in a public area. It's a 500 square feet room, so it's certainly not the biggest project I've ever worked on.  

It's actually just a room with a couple of recliners. There's a kitchenette. And in the back there's an area with an Xbox. There is typically a volunteer who checks people in. The military personnel who come through there are often 18-year-olds. Just kids, really. They sometimes don't have a dollar in their pocket. And they are just kids, really, they don't know how to do things. They might not know how to find a cab or a hotel.

Or they might be with their moms and dads who are in tears because the kid is being sent off to wherever. It's a place for people who are often facing a difficult time. And having a quiet space where they can be for a while can make a big difference. The idea came when I was sitting at the Austin Airport. A friend called. The son of one of the people she worked with was killed in Afghanistan. She asked if I could think of a way to honor him. 

And I saw this poster on the wall that said: If you are a member of the military and your flight is delayed, or you're stranded, go to the USO (United Service Organization - a place of comfort for military service members) office, and they will put you up for free at the airport Hilton.

So I said to my friend: why don't we do something like that? She agreed, and the next thing I needed to do was go in and ask the airport owner. I entered this plush office with a large man sitting behind his desk. It was daunting to ask. And part of me believed I was going to get into trouble. But I thought to myself: in the worst case scenario he'll say no.

He listened to me silently for a while while I explained to him how we wanted to build the courtesy room in the kid's memory. And when I was done, he said: absolutely, let's do it. I walked out there on cloud nine. That kind of thing really excites me; to be a conduit for positive change. And even though the project was small, the human impact per square foot is exceedingly high. Engaging the community and showing girls that construction is a valid career path for them.

To return to the current project, a hospital is a community building. It does not belong to the hospital CEO or the board of directors; it belongs to the people of the community it serves. As Bob (Scholefield, Owner at MVHS) always says to the people visiting: This is your hospital.

About a year after I joined, we did something called the "Build a hospital Contest." The pandemic was raging; kids were all at home. And we wanted to find a way to engage the community and interest more girls to go into construction.

We decided to target a younger audience, because by the time people get to college, many of them have already made up their minds about the career choices open to them. So we organized this contest for the district's elementary and middle schools. 

The idea was: build a hospital using materials you find at home. It must include a main entrance, an emergency department, a patient tower, and a helipad. Then take a picture with your smartphone and send it to us.

We only expected a few entries, but we got over a hundred. It was quite the lesson learned how much work it is to evaluate a hundred builds. They were made from all kinds of things. Some were made from cardboard, and some from lego. We even had one made entirely out of pasta. 

Another thing we did was we approached the Utica zoo with the question if they could draw us up a laundry list of medical equipment they might like to have. Because with Wynn hospital, we are merging two campuses, so obviously things will be redundant. The idea was if the Zoo needed specific equipment, like scalpels, or an ultrasound, we might be able to provide that for them. So we get to help the zoo and re-purpose equipment that would otherwise end up in the trash.  

I think it's another example of how much good you can do within the existing structures if you are just willing to look for the possibilities.Taking a broader view, people might be tempted to see these kinds of efforts as peripheral. But they are critical because it's about people. 

Hospitals can be a scary thing. Folks are generally not there because they want to be. And we want to take some of that scariness away. 

Not just by engaging them with the project. But also in terms of thoughtful design. We are always looking for ways to be less institutional and more hospitality based. Making it warmer, more familiar to people, not just utilitarian. 

Because also, evidence shows how many subtle things encourage healing. It's not just the drugs and the machines. The built environment can play a significant role in accommodating that. I am grateful to be in a position and have a platform where I can contribute to these kinds of changes.