Sugaring the pill
I am diabetic. Not the insulin-dependent type, I am Type 2, diet-controlled, no-chocolate-for- me-thank-you, and I'm not even on tablets for diabetes.
But I have to have an annual diabetic check at the doctor's, and mine was due in January.
Well, I kept trying to book it but the dates and times they kept offering me kept clashing with some freelance work that I was already booked for (and was this work, by ironic coincidence, helping to train medical practitioners of various kinds in communication skills? Yes, it was, since you ask).
So finally, by booking about three weeks ago, I managed to get an appointment for this afternoon. And it was very busy in our office and I didn't feel like going because I had too much to do but nevertheless off I went to the doctor's, arrived a few minutes early, and checked myself in using the automatic screen where you tell them what gender you are and when your birthday is and it rewards you by telling you that you are checked in for your appointment at 3pm.
I was only a tiny bit concerned that I'd be told that the diet isn't enough and I'll have to go on to tablets, but not really worried.
Doctors came and collected patients: nurses came and collected patients: nobody came and collected me. At 3.30pm, when I was still waiting, I went and asked the receptionist what was happening.
She looked very puzzled for a while and then called one of the nurses. They peered at the computer screen for a bit and then said that ah, well, what had happened was that someone had booked me in with a doctor but it should have been with a nurse. And all the doctors are booked up. And the two nurses who do diabetic checks aren't in today. So could I come back in ten days' time at 9.30am?
They were perfectly pleasant, just not particularly apologetic: very matter-of-fact about it and accepting that these mix-ups happen, one of those things, there's nothing that can be done about it.
They were a bit taken aback when I burst into tears, and so was I. However, they retained their matter-of-fact approach, wrote the new appointment down for me, and off I went.
I was really surprised by how upset I was. And this made me think. What about people whose major operations are cancelled, sometimes several times. How do they feel? Why on earth do we as a society seem to believe that this is acceptable?
The National Patient Safety Agency is in the middle of a campaign to persuade medics to say a big, heartfelt SORRY when things have gone wrong - in the USA they found that this approach not only made patients and their relatives feel much better, but cut down the amount of litigation considerably.
A bit more SORRY, and a bit more effort to sort something out today for me, would have been good this afternoon.
But I have to have an annual diabetic check at the doctor's, and mine was due in January.
Well, I kept trying to book it but the dates and times they kept offering me kept clashing with some freelance work that I was already booked for (and was this work, by ironic coincidence, helping to train medical practitioners of various kinds in communication skills? Yes, it was, since you ask).
So finally, by booking about three weeks ago, I managed to get an appointment for this afternoon. And it was very busy in our office and I didn't feel like going because I had too much to do but nevertheless off I went to the doctor's, arrived a few minutes early, and checked myself in using the automatic screen where you tell them what gender you are and when your birthday is and it rewards you by telling you that you are checked in for your appointment at 3pm.
I was only a tiny bit concerned that I'd be told that the diet isn't enough and I'll have to go on to tablets, but not really worried.
Doctors came and collected patients: nurses came and collected patients: nobody came and collected me. At 3.30pm, when I was still waiting, I went and asked the receptionist what was happening.
She looked very puzzled for a while and then called one of the nurses. They peered at the computer screen for a bit and then said that ah, well, what had happened was that someone had booked me in with a doctor but it should have been with a nurse. And all the doctors are booked up. And the two nurses who do diabetic checks aren't in today. So could I come back in ten days' time at 9.30am?
They were perfectly pleasant, just not particularly apologetic: very matter-of-fact about it and accepting that these mix-ups happen, one of those things, there's nothing that can be done about it.
They were a bit taken aback when I burst into tears, and so was I. However, they retained their matter-of-fact approach, wrote the new appointment down for me, and off I went.
I was really surprised by how upset I was. And this made me think. What about people whose major operations are cancelled, sometimes several times. How do they feel? Why on earth do we as a society seem to believe that this is acceptable?
The National Patient Safety Agency is in the middle of a campaign to persuade medics to say a big, heartfelt SORRY when things have gone wrong - in the USA they found that this approach not only made patients and their relatives feel much better, but cut down the amount of litigation considerably.
A bit more SORRY, and a bit more effort to sort something out today for me, would have been good this afternoon.
posted by Daphne at 6:46 pm
2 Comments:
Take it from me, they feel heartbroken and guilty and furiously angry and usually they feel in terrible terrible pain, too. Hmph.
Yes, I'm sure that's an accurate description, Ailbhe. And since people's psychological state is so crucial to their recovery I think there must be more that could be done to prevent such things happening.
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