One day last year, Enid Shapiro sat in her room at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center as the patient in the next bed underwent an unpleasant procedure, cries of distress and confusion ringing out as she was poked and prodded. Shapiro, across the room, tried not to look. Staff flitted around Shapiro to throw away needles, oblivious to her discomfort. "Nobody asked me," Shapiro said. "Nobody asked me if I'd like to leave the room." Since she was diagnosed with breast cancer, the hospital has saved Shapiro's life time and time again. But that sting of indifference at the hands of the hospital felt like a personal affront.