The title of this piece is a quote from Winston Churchill, one of my favorite historical figures. Great Britain was fortunate to have Churchill as its' leader during World War II (as we were fortunate to have Roosevelt). Churchill's advice probably served him well most of the time, but his political career had its' ups and downs, so it is probably an approach that should be used with some discretion.
When Vermont State Hospital was flooded by Tropical Storm Irene and forced to close, we were all faced with a huge problem (actually multiple huge problems). We had two basic choices: deal with it or quit and walk away. The day after the flood, when the hospital was evacuated, and staff went with the patients to multiple locations throughout the state. People stepped up because it was an emergency and it was the right thing to do. As days, weeks, and months passed, though, the "emergency" became chronic. Some people left to go elsewhere to provide some stability in their lives, other left because a political decision left them without a job.
The last year has taught us to be creative, to be frustrated, to be hopeful, to be disappointed, to feel appreciated and respected, to feel discarded, to feel tired, to name a few. Not every day has been bad, but not everyone wants to follow Winston and keep going (nor should they). We are not the organization we once were. Vermont State Hospital is gone for good, although some of the people remain to start over in a new adventure. For those who don't want to continue, I respect the decision; it is a personal choice that people are free to make, especially since we are not in a crisis at the moment.
During the flood, Winston's advice was the right thing to do. Now that time has passed, and decisions have been made (some we thin are OK, others not so much), people can and do choose not to "keep going".
Regardless of the path we choose, many of had the opportunity to share an experience that will stay with us forever, and that we kept going when we needed to.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Lord Falkland's Rule
I learned a very important management lesson from this long-dead gentleman. Lord Falkland was at the height of his power in England in the 1740's, and the islands in the South Atlantic are named after him. While he was a powerful man, he learned the importance of using discretion in the exercise of his power.
What later became known as Lord Falkland's Rule: "When no decision needs to be made, it is important that no decision is made." Simple but, when one thinks about it, damned good advice. How many of us have been in situations where things were chugging along smoothly when someone higher up the chain thinks they can "tweak" things and make them even better, but turns the situation into a quagmire? For me, there are too many to count and I do my best to forget them. Power should never be used simply because one can, but we have all met so many who never learned this.
A recent example of this involves a co-worker who was asked to prepare a report involving data from a project she was working on. The deadline to complete the report was a couple of hours, and she worked feverishly to put it together. The individual who wanted the report went to the meeting without contacting her to get the report to take along; an obvious example of a decision that didn't need to be made.
While this is a simple, harmless example (annoying, maybe, but harmless), other examples are out there that are more dramatic. President Bush's decision to invade Iraq over the non-existent Weapons of Mass Destruction is a prime example of a decision that was made that didn't need to be. The decision by the FBI to storm the Branch Davidian Compound in Waco, Texas is another one. You can probably give a dozen other examples.
If people in positions of authority knew and practiced Lord Falkland's rule, life would probably be a lot better in many respects for most of us. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of control over this, so being prepared for some occasional chaos is not a bad idea. On the bright side, it helps keep us from being complacent.
What later became known as Lord Falkland's Rule: "When no decision needs to be made, it is important that no decision is made." Simple but, when one thinks about it, damned good advice. How many of us have been in situations where things were chugging along smoothly when someone higher up the chain thinks they can "tweak" things and make them even better, but turns the situation into a quagmire? For me, there are too many to count and I do my best to forget them. Power should never be used simply because one can, but we have all met so many who never learned this.
A recent example of this involves a co-worker who was asked to prepare a report involving data from a project she was working on. The deadline to complete the report was a couple of hours, and she worked feverishly to put it together. The individual who wanted the report went to the meeting without contacting her to get the report to take along; an obvious example of a decision that didn't need to be made.
While this is a simple, harmless example (annoying, maybe, but harmless), other examples are out there that are more dramatic. President Bush's decision to invade Iraq over the non-existent Weapons of Mass Destruction is a prime example of a decision that was made that didn't need to be. The decision by the FBI to storm the Branch Davidian Compound in Waco, Texas is another one. You can probably give a dozen other examples.
If people in positions of authority knew and practiced Lord Falkland's rule, life would probably be a lot better in many respects for most of us. Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of control over this, so being prepared for some occasional chaos is not a bad idea. On the bright side, it helps keep us from being complacent.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Always sniff the carcass before you say "yes".
Did you ever learn an important lesson from someone that has stayed with you for the rest of your life? I first met Farhad Sholevar in 1990. I had started working at Lehigh Valley Hospital after nearby Easton Hospital decided to close their psychiatric unit, putting me out of a job. LVH offered me a position as an Assistant Nurse Manager on their psychiatric unit.
Dr. Sholevar was one of the attending psychiatrists that I met when I started working there. He was born in Iran and had served in the Shah's army before finishing medical school and emigrating to the United States. He had completed a psychiatric residency and had moved to Allentown to open a practice.
LVH had three distinct psychiatric units (two adult and one adolescent) with a Medical Director for each who was salaried as a part-time employee. The attending psychiatrists were not employees, rather, they had "privileges" meaning they could admit and treat patients, and they made their money by billing the patients they treated. One of the attendings, who is still there, was famous for admitting and "treating" up to 40 patients between the 3 units (we had a total of 54 beds). You can imagine how much quality time he spent with each patient, but they loved him and he managed to rent an apartment in Paris every summer for a month to vacation with his family, and had over 2000 patients in his outpatient practice.
The attendings took turns being "on call" at night. They did not get paid to do so, but it was a requirement for them to take call as part of being credentialed to be on staff. The mental health statute in Pennsylvania was modified in the late 1980's to require that anyone involuntarily committed had to be admitted to a community hospital, rather than a State Hospital. This meant that hospitals having someone sitting in their Emergency Department who required psychiatric admission would need to do a creative job of "selling" the patient to another hospital's psychiatric unit. If a particularly challenging patient was sitting in our own ED, they oftentimes came to us because no one else would take them. It was not unknown for some especially undesirable patients to sit in EDs for several days before some hospital (sometimes quite far away) could be convinced to take them.
The title of this piece comes from a conversation I had with Dr. Sholevar when he was sharing with me his philosophy about screening referrals for admission when he was on call. I'm sure it had it's origins in Iran from his earlier days, but the idea behind it makes eminent sense. When one is faced with an important decision, it is always a good idea to ask questions, to "sniff the carcass" in case things just don't smell right. Sometimes you had to take the patient regardless, but you also sometimes could avoid a train wreck.
So, the next time you are contemplating buying a house or car, moving, taking a new job, getting married, or anything else that's important, don't forget to sniff the carcass first.
Dr. Sholevar was one of the attending psychiatrists that I met when I started working there. He was born in Iran and had served in the Shah's army before finishing medical school and emigrating to the United States. He had completed a psychiatric residency and had moved to Allentown to open a practice.
LVH had three distinct psychiatric units (two adult and one adolescent) with a Medical Director for each who was salaried as a part-time employee. The attending psychiatrists were not employees, rather, they had "privileges" meaning they could admit and treat patients, and they made their money by billing the patients they treated. One of the attendings, who is still there, was famous for admitting and "treating" up to 40 patients between the 3 units (we had a total of 54 beds). You can imagine how much quality time he spent with each patient, but they loved him and he managed to rent an apartment in Paris every summer for a month to vacation with his family, and had over 2000 patients in his outpatient practice.
The attendings took turns being "on call" at night. They did not get paid to do so, but it was a requirement for them to take call as part of being credentialed to be on staff. The mental health statute in Pennsylvania was modified in the late 1980's to require that anyone involuntarily committed had to be admitted to a community hospital, rather than a State Hospital. This meant that hospitals having someone sitting in their Emergency Department who required psychiatric admission would need to do a creative job of "selling" the patient to another hospital's psychiatric unit. If a particularly challenging patient was sitting in our own ED, they oftentimes came to us because no one else would take them. It was not unknown for some especially undesirable patients to sit in EDs for several days before some hospital (sometimes quite far away) could be convinced to take them.
The title of this piece comes from a conversation I had with Dr. Sholevar when he was sharing with me his philosophy about screening referrals for admission when he was on call. I'm sure it had it's origins in Iran from his earlier days, but the idea behind it makes eminent sense. When one is faced with an important decision, it is always a good idea to ask questions, to "sniff the carcass" in case things just don't smell right. Sometimes you had to take the patient regardless, but you also sometimes could avoid a train wreck.
So, the next time you are contemplating buying a house or car, moving, taking a new job, getting married, or anything else that's important, don't forget to sniff the carcass first.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Turd Polishing
The title of this piece comes from one of my fellow Psych nurses in New Zealand who was labeling something that was a waste of time. My management training called it "non-value added"; my former attorney called it "mental masturbation." Regardless of what you choose to call it, we have all experienced it.
One of my favorite fictional examples of this is a Monty Python skit entitled "Cheese Shop". In the skit, a man enters a cheese shop and asks the clerk for a particular kind of cheese. The clerk responds that they are out of that kind, and what follows is a back and forth of requests for other types of cheese (Stilton, Colby, Venezuelan Beaver Cheese, etc.) answered by a litany of excuses as to why there isn't any (the van broke down, it gets delivered on Tuesdays, the cat ate it, etc.). Exasperated, the customer finally asks if there is any cheese at all in the shop and is told there is "not a scrap; we're deliberately wasting your time."
All of us have probably been involved in situations where we are in the virtual Cheese Shop having our time wasted (at least from our perspective). That being said, one of the life lessons I learned the hard way is that, if some Vice President has an idea, it's a good idea, no matter how silly you may think it is. If you have worked in a large organization, and you are far from the top of the feeding chain, you have probably experieinced some of these "Cheese Shop" moments, although it was probably not safe to point out your views on the situation.
An example of this from one hopital where I worked was the "Leader Greeter" program. The Chief Operating Officer came up with the idea (it was, of course, a good idea) to have managers and administrators "volunteer" to spend a half hour at the entrance to greet people when they entered from the parking garage. For something like this, you would hope that there would be some measurable outcome or other reason for doing it. Even when my cat licks himself between his legs, he has a reason (because he can). For this one, though, I couldn't see any value. If I was one of the people coming in from the parking garage, I would be thinking "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" Interestingly, after the COO got fired, Leader Greeter apparently died a quiet death.
Unfortunately for you, unless you are near the top of the ladder in your organization, Turd Polishing is likely to be a normal part of your existance. You may not like it, you may not be able to avoid it, but at least you can reconize it for what it is and value it accordingly.
One of my favorite fictional examples of this is a Monty Python skit entitled "Cheese Shop". In the skit, a man enters a cheese shop and asks the clerk for a particular kind of cheese. The clerk responds that they are out of that kind, and what follows is a back and forth of requests for other types of cheese (Stilton, Colby, Venezuelan Beaver Cheese, etc.) answered by a litany of excuses as to why there isn't any (the van broke down, it gets delivered on Tuesdays, the cat ate it, etc.). Exasperated, the customer finally asks if there is any cheese at all in the shop and is told there is "not a scrap; we're deliberately wasting your time."
All of us have probably been involved in situations where we are in the virtual Cheese Shop having our time wasted (at least from our perspective). That being said, one of the life lessons I learned the hard way is that, if some Vice President has an idea, it's a good idea, no matter how silly you may think it is. If you have worked in a large organization, and you are far from the top of the feeding chain, you have probably experieinced some of these "Cheese Shop" moments, although it was probably not safe to point out your views on the situation.
An example of this from one hopital where I worked was the "Leader Greeter" program. The Chief Operating Officer came up with the idea (it was, of course, a good idea) to have managers and administrators "volunteer" to spend a half hour at the entrance to greet people when they entered from the parking garage. For something like this, you would hope that there would be some measurable outcome or other reason for doing it. Even when my cat licks himself between his legs, he has a reason (because he can). For this one, though, I couldn't see any value. If I was one of the people coming in from the parking garage, I would be thinking "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" Interestingly, after the COO got fired, Leader Greeter apparently died a quiet death.
Unfortunately for you, unless you are near the top of the ladder in your organization, Turd Polishing is likely to be a normal part of your existance. You may not like it, you may not be able to avoid it, but at least you can reconize it for what it is and value it accordingly.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Lying Pig-Dog Weasels
Mom and Dad taught me not to lie to people. Even though it has limited my career, my integrity is more important to me. While I will never get to be Vice President of anything, knowing that people can and do trust me is much more important.
I remember being told in one of my management training classes long ago that sociopaths or people with sociopathic tendencies often became very successful leaders of profitable corporations. I guess to sometimes be successful, one has to make decisions that sometimes do not favor the individual employee. Many people may remember the CEO of Fletcher Allen Health Care, who was convicted of lying to regulators and was sentenced to a year in prison. I have worked for others who were equally, if not more sleazy; they just didn't get caught.
What these people fail to realize (or don't care about) is that, if they lie to us and we figure it out, we aren't likely to believe anything they say going forward. As a manager of 25+ years, this was an important lesson for me. If I were to lie to my staff, I would have no credibility, and this was something that was unacceptable to me. Think about it. Who would you rather trust: someone who you knew to be honest, or deal with someone who you wouldn't trust if they told you the sky was blue?
Oftentimes, managers may be placed in a position where the actual situation should not or cannot be disclosed for some reason. Face it; we are not always free to speak about everything. Some managers I know have gone the route of shading the truth. My approach has either been to tell you I am not free to speak about the situation, or to tell you "This is what I know as of today." You may not have gotten the true story, but you also weren't lied to.
Many politicians would seem to fall into the category of Those Who Frequently Tell Whoppers. I moved to Vermont from Pennsylvania. While I was in PA, I was amazed at how corrupt a political system could be. When I go back to visit relatives, and read the local newspaper, it is a rare occasion when I don't read about a State Legislator or staffer either being arrested, on trial, or going to jail for corruption. Politics seems to be less about public service and more about how one gets re-elected. Congress has an abysmally low approval rating for a reason: they earned it. I have never voted in my life, and I can't imagine ever doing so. To me, the system is broken, and, even though I can't fix it, I can choose not to participate in enabling it to continue on it's dysfunctional path. My wife tells me I have no right to complain because I don't vote. I feel I have every right to complain because I didn't do anything to make the system continue as it is.
Even though I am destined to go no further in my career than being a middle manager, looking at some of the negative role models in my life, I don't consider that to be a bad thing. Mom and Dad: Thanks for raising me the way you did.
I remember being told in one of my management training classes long ago that sociopaths or people with sociopathic tendencies often became very successful leaders of profitable corporations. I guess to sometimes be successful, one has to make decisions that sometimes do not favor the individual employee. Many people may remember the CEO of Fletcher Allen Health Care, who was convicted of lying to regulators and was sentenced to a year in prison. I have worked for others who were equally, if not more sleazy; they just didn't get caught.
What these people fail to realize (or don't care about) is that, if they lie to us and we figure it out, we aren't likely to believe anything they say going forward. As a manager of 25+ years, this was an important lesson for me. If I were to lie to my staff, I would have no credibility, and this was something that was unacceptable to me. Think about it. Who would you rather trust: someone who you knew to be honest, or deal with someone who you wouldn't trust if they told you the sky was blue?
Oftentimes, managers may be placed in a position where the actual situation should not or cannot be disclosed for some reason. Face it; we are not always free to speak about everything. Some managers I know have gone the route of shading the truth. My approach has either been to tell you I am not free to speak about the situation, or to tell you "This is what I know as of today." You may not have gotten the true story, but you also weren't lied to.
Many politicians would seem to fall into the category of Those Who Frequently Tell Whoppers. I moved to Vermont from Pennsylvania. While I was in PA, I was amazed at how corrupt a political system could be. When I go back to visit relatives, and read the local newspaper, it is a rare occasion when I don't read about a State Legislator or staffer either being arrested, on trial, or going to jail for corruption. Politics seems to be less about public service and more about how one gets re-elected. Congress has an abysmally low approval rating for a reason: they earned it. I have never voted in my life, and I can't imagine ever doing so. To me, the system is broken, and, even though I can't fix it, I can choose not to participate in enabling it to continue on it's dysfunctional path. My wife tells me I have no right to complain because I don't vote. I feel I have every right to complain because I didn't do anything to make the system continue as it is.
Even though I am destined to go no further in my career than being a middle manager, looking at some of the negative role models in my life, I don't consider that to be a bad thing. Mom and Dad: Thanks for raising me the way you did.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
If you want to keep your six-pack cold, put it next to my ex-wife's heart
We all probably have gotten into relationships that, if we had the chance to do over again, would have handled them differently, or perhaps not gotten into them in the first place. The title of this piece is the title of a Country music song which, when I see it, reminds me of my first wife (I have been married twice so far).
My first wife is one who wants things to be her way, and who does not seem to tolerate disagreement gracefully. I don't recall this being an issue before the wedding, but it definitely became an issue after the wedding, and I eventually left, which she also did not handle well. She is, quite simply, a very angry person.
We had a daughter during the relationship. She is now 30 years old, married, happy and successful, and I am very proud of her.
At the rehearsal for my daughter's wedding, I thought it would be polite and appropriate to be civil with my ex-wife. When I said "hello" to her, and she ignored me, I knew that the passage of time had done nothing to change her attitude. When our daughter was growing up, and we were dealing with visitation, I found that my ex-wife would only talk to me if she wanted something. It appears that this continues today; she has not spoken to me since our daughter was in college about 10 years ago.
To give you an idea of how prickly she can be, my ex-wife has a twin sister. Sometime before my daughter's wedding, the two of them had a disagreement over something. My ex-wife stopped talking to her twin sister, and, as far as I know, has not spoken to her since then (it has been about 5 years). My daughter has ended up being the intermediary between them.
Unfortunately, one can only compromise with someone who is willing to compromise. If he or she is not, your only options are to give in (and be miserable), leave, or get into a fight which will have unpleasant results. I have no interest in doing 25-to-life, so leaving (and having her be angry with me for 30 years) was the best choice.
There are a multitude of coping mechanisms, and I have chosen repression as the primary one I use to deal with my first marriage. If you were to ask me when I got married, what was the church, who was the best man or maid of honor, or how long I was married before the divorce, I couldn't answer any of those questions and am not the least bit distressed that I can't. I also don't have any photos from the wedding. It may or may not be the healthiest way to deal with the situation, but it works for me.
I am not angry with my ex-wife, but I choose not to be like her or to be with someone like her. I have been married for 25 years to a wonderful person, so my life has definitely gone in a better direction.
Of the two of us, I have learned to make better and healthier choices, I am definitely the luckier one.
My first wife is one who wants things to be her way, and who does not seem to tolerate disagreement gracefully. I don't recall this being an issue before the wedding, but it definitely became an issue after the wedding, and I eventually left, which she also did not handle well. She is, quite simply, a very angry person.
We had a daughter during the relationship. She is now 30 years old, married, happy and successful, and I am very proud of her.
At the rehearsal for my daughter's wedding, I thought it would be polite and appropriate to be civil with my ex-wife. When I said "hello" to her, and she ignored me, I knew that the passage of time had done nothing to change her attitude. When our daughter was growing up, and we were dealing with visitation, I found that my ex-wife would only talk to me if she wanted something. It appears that this continues today; she has not spoken to me since our daughter was in college about 10 years ago.
To give you an idea of how prickly she can be, my ex-wife has a twin sister. Sometime before my daughter's wedding, the two of them had a disagreement over something. My ex-wife stopped talking to her twin sister, and, as far as I know, has not spoken to her since then (it has been about 5 years). My daughter has ended up being the intermediary between them.
Unfortunately, one can only compromise with someone who is willing to compromise. If he or she is not, your only options are to give in (and be miserable), leave, or get into a fight which will have unpleasant results. I have no interest in doing 25-to-life, so leaving (and having her be angry with me for 30 years) was the best choice.
There are a multitude of coping mechanisms, and I have chosen repression as the primary one I use to deal with my first marriage. If you were to ask me when I got married, what was the church, who was the best man or maid of honor, or how long I was married before the divorce, I couldn't answer any of those questions and am not the least bit distressed that I can't. I also don't have any photos from the wedding. It may or may not be the healthiest way to deal with the situation, but it works for me.
I am not angry with my ex-wife, but I choose not to be like her or to be with someone like her. I have been married for 25 years to a wonderful person, so my life has definitely gone in a better direction.
Of the two of us, I have learned to make better and healthier choices, I am definitely the luckier one.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
We may not know where we're going, but we're making good time.
The title is a quote from one of my favorites, Yogi Berra. When I think of this, I often think about the myriad of programs and projects that I have seen over the years that seemed to suffer from a staggering lack of cohesion, thought, or planning, or follow through. I have worked in health care for almost 40 years (I started when I was 16), so I have had plenty of opportunities, some of which will stay with me forever.
One hospital where I worked decided to adopt TQM (Total Quality Management). It is a system developed by a gent named Deming, and revolves around the concept of "Do it right the first time". The idea is that, if you can plan to be efficient and not have to re-do tasks, you can save money in a variety of ways (materials and labor). I took the class,along with throngs of other managers, was given a "Q" pin (which I never took out of the little plastic bag) and we were off. This was back in 1991 and, at that time, the hospital spent $3 million on the training. About a year and a half later, the entire program was quietly dropped. Why? There was no "champion" in leadership, no follow through, no real effort to organize the necessary effort. We basically learned that we couldn't do it right in the first place to save our lives.
Another program (at the same hospital) solicited ideas from employees on how to save money. Each idea was evaluated (you got a flashlight as a thank-you just for submitting an idea) and, if the idea was adopted, the employee who submitted the idea got a check for a percentage of the amount the hospital saved. The program was very popular with the employees, and hundreds of ideas were generated, some of them excellent. Many programs like this one, though, suffer from the Law of Diminishing Returns, where the longer you continue, the less effective it is. Programs such as this probably should have run over a defined period of time and then been discontinued. The hospital leadership, though, when the ideas petered out, decided to make submitting ideas a requirement for managers, and it was reflected on our annual evaluations and tied to any salary increase. Needless to say, my boss was not pleased when I pointed out that creativity is probably better when encouraged rather than mandated, and I learned an important lesson about shutting up.
A final example from this hospital was the famous Employee Satisfaction Survey. The administration decided to do a hospital-wide survey, and launched a huge campaign to communicate it and promote participation. They survey (allegedly anonymous) came to each employee in an individually addressed envelope. Each survey had a number on it (checking with others, I found the numbers were different on each survey, so the idea that it was anonymous began to be suspect). My suspicions were confirmed because, when I did not return the survey, I got an email from my boss right before the deadline reminding me to complete the survey. I realized I needed to return the survey to be politically correct, but I was not inclined to be helpful. Out of 100 questions, I answered 15 or 20, so they would got a returned survey from me, but not one that was statistically valid.
When the results were tallied, the administration withheld them because the feedback was so extremely negative, and they were totally unprepared to address the concerns in a meaningful way. Almost a year later, the results were released quietly, and managers were told to create action plans, few of which they had any authority to carry out. Overall, the survey was a huge flop. A lesson that administration hopefully learned was that, if you really don't want to know what's going on, and you don't intend to fix it, don't go there in the first place.
While not every idea is bad (I have been fortunate to have been involved in many good ones) there are some that should just be killed, but not all are. You have no doubt experienced many yourself from places you have worked, business you have patronized, screwball relatives, etc. The world is full of good judgement and bad and, while you want to escape the bad, sometimes it just isn't going to happen. Let's just hope the good outnumbers the bad. Some days, that's as good as it gets.
One hospital where I worked decided to adopt TQM (Total Quality Management). It is a system developed by a gent named Deming, and revolves around the concept of "Do it right the first time". The idea is that, if you can plan to be efficient and not have to re-do tasks, you can save money in a variety of ways (materials and labor). I took the class,along with throngs of other managers, was given a "Q" pin (which I never took out of the little plastic bag) and we were off. This was back in 1991 and, at that time, the hospital spent $3 million on the training. About a year and a half later, the entire program was quietly dropped. Why? There was no "champion" in leadership, no follow through, no real effort to organize the necessary effort. We basically learned that we couldn't do it right in the first place to save our lives.
Another program (at the same hospital) solicited ideas from employees on how to save money. Each idea was evaluated (you got a flashlight as a thank-you just for submitting an idea) and, if the idea was adopted, the employee who submitted the idea got a check for a percentage of the amount the hospital saved. The program was very popular with the employees, and hundreds of ideas were generated, some of them excellent. Many programs like this one, though, suffer from the Law of Diminishing Returns, where the longer you continue, the less effective it is. Programs such as this probably should have run over a defined period of time and then been discontinued. The hospital leadership, though, when the ideas petered out, decided to make submitting ideas a requirement for managers, and it was reflected on our annual evaluations and tied to any salary increase. Needless to say, my boss was not pleased when I pointed out that creativity is probably better when encouraged rather than mandated, and I learned an important lesson about shutting up.
A final example from this hospital was the famous Employee Satisfaction Survey. The administration decided to do a hospital-wide survey, and launched a huge campaign to communicate it and promote participation. They survey (allegedly anonymous) came to each employee in an individually addressed envelope. Each survey had a number on it (checking with others, I found the numbers were different on each survey, so the idea that it was anonymous began to be suspect). My suspicions were confirmed because, when I did not return the survey, I got an email from my boss right before the deadline reminding me to complete the survey. I realized I needed to return the survey to be politically correct, but I was not inclined to be helpful. Out of 100 questions, I answered 15 or 20, so they would got a returned survey from me, but not one that was statistically valid.
When the results were tallied, the administration withheld them because the feedback was so extremely negative, and they were totally unprepared to address the concerns in a meaningful way. Almost a year later, the results were released quietly, and managers were told to create action plans, few of which they had any authority to carry out. Overall, the survey was a huge flop. A lesson that administration hopefully learned was that, if you really don't want to know what's going on, and you don't intend to fix it, don't go there in the first place.
While not every idea is bad (I have been fortunate to have been involved in many good ones) there are some that should just be killed, but not all are. You have no doubt experienced many yourself from places you have worked, business you have patronized, screwball relatives, etc. The world is full of good judgement and bad and, while you want to escape the bad, sometimes it just isn't going to happen. Let's just hope the good outnumbers the bad. Some days, that's as good as it gets.
Friday, May 11, 2012
He looks dead to me.
I started working in health care when I was in the tenth grade, working as an orderly in the small hospital in the town where I lived in Pennsylvania. I worked after school and weekends and later, when I went to college, it was close enough that I could come home to work every weekend.
I had the opportunity to work with some very colorful people at that hospital, but the most memorable was a surgeon named Dr. Erskine. Although he was in his 60's at the time, one got the impression he was somewhere in his 80's. He had white hair and moved at a pace that reminded one of a turtle who was not in a hurry. Even though he looked like he could have operated on Moses, his mind was razor sharp and he had a great sense of humor. He also was having an ongoing affair with the hospital administrator, who started her career there passing out meal trays to patients and never went to college (but that's a story for another time). Here are two incidents that illustrate what a character he was.
My father and I were both volunteers on the local ambulance. We got called out one night to go to a house in town where the husband had died. Back then, the procedure was to transport the person to the hospital to be pronounced dead by a physician and then take the body to the morgue until the funeral home sent someone to pick up the body.
My father and I lifted the body onto the stretcher, put it on the ambulance, and we drove to the hospital.
I went into the Emergency Department to notify the nurse, who called Dr. Erskine in the On-Call Room. My father and I sat on a bench outside of the Emergency Department to wait. Awhile later, Dr. Erskine shuffled out wearing a lab coat over his green scrubs with his white hair sticking up in all directions and his glasses perched on the end of his nose. My father helped him up into the back of the ambulance where he took a seat on the bench opposite the stretcher.
Usually, when physicians pronounce someone dead, they will check for pulse and respirations, sometimes using a stethoscope or checking for a pulse with their fingers. Dr. Erskine apparently felt no need for any of this. He contemplated the gent on the stretcher for a few moments and announced, "He looks dead to me" after which he got up, walked back into the hospital, and went back to bed.
Another incident was related to me involving Dr. Erskine at the scene of a car accident. Dr. Erskine had been instrumental in developing the training program for Emergency Medical Technicians in Pennsylvania, and one day came upon a car accident on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. There were two cars involved, with at least one person injured. He got out of his car and walked up to the accident to help. As he arrived at one of the cars containing an injured person, he was shoved out of the way by a middle-aged woman who loudly announced, "I studied First Aid, I'll help him." Dr. Erskine stepped back for a few seconds, then quietly approaced the woman, leaned down, and tapped her on the shoulder. "When you get to the part of your book where it says 'call the doctor', I'm right here."
Dr Erskine passed away while I was in college (he died when he was on-call at the hospital). Even though this was over 30 years ago, these are treasured memories for me, and I thank you for letting me share them with you.
I had the opportunity to work with some very colorful people at that hospital, but the most memorable was a surgeon named Dr. Erskine. Although he was in his 60's at the time, one got the impression he was somewhere in his 80's. He had white hair and moved at a pace that reminded one of a turtle who was not in a hurry. Even though he looked like he could have operated on Moses, his mind was razor sharp and he had a great sense of humor. He also was having an ongoing affair with the hospital administrator, who started her career there passing out meal trays to patients and never went to college (but that's a story for another time). Here are two incidents that illustrate what a character he was.
My father and I were both volunteers on the local ambulance. We got called out one night to go to a house in town where the husband had died. Back then, the procedure was to transport the person to the hospital to be pronounced dead by a physician and then take the body to the morgue until the funeral home sent someone to pick up the body.
My father and I lifted the body onto the stretcher, put it on the ambulance, and we drove to the hospital.
I went into the Emergency Department to notify the nurse, who called Dr. Erskine in the On-Call Room. My father and I sat on a bench outside of the Emergency Department to wait. Awhile later, Dr. Erskine shuffled out wearing a lab coat over his green scrubs with his white hair sticking up in all directions and his glasses perched on the end of his nose. My father helped him up into the back of the ambulance where he took a seat on the bench opposite the stretcher.
Usually, when physicians pronounce someone dead, they will check for pulse and respirations, sometimes using a stethoscope or checking for a pulse with their fingers. Dr. Erskine apparently felt no need for any of this. He contemplated the gent on the stretcher for a few moments and announced, "He looks dead to me" after which he got up, walked back into the hospital, and went back to bed.
Another incident was related to me involving Dr. Erskine at the scene of a car accident. Dr. Erskine had been instrumental in developing the training program for Emergency Medical Technicians in Pennsylvania, and one day came upon a car accident on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. There were two cars involved, with at least one person injured. He got out of his car and walked up to the accident to help. As he arrived at one of the cars containing an injured person, he was shoved out of the way by a middle-aged woman who loudly announced, "I studied First Aid, I'll help him." Dr. Erskine stepped back for a few seconds, then quietly approaced the woman, leaned down, and tapped her on the shoulder. "When you get to the part of your book where it says 'call the doctor', I'm right here."
Dr Erskine passed away while I was in college (he died when he was on-call at the hospital). Even though this was over 30 years ago, these are treasured memories for me, and I thank you for letting me share them with you.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Never eat anything you can't lift.
The title of this piece is a quote from Miss Piggy of the Muppets. It came to mind after I made a trip to Costco this past weekend with my wife and daughter. Going through the food section, I continue to be amazed by the size of many of the items that are for sale. Six pounds of ground beef, three pounds of coffee, a gallon of salsa, two hundred garbage bags, seventy-two batteries, thirty dinner rolls in a bag, two pounds of trail mix, five pounds of hot dogs, and the list goes on. I was thinking that if I lived alone, a lot of this stuff would go bad before I finished it. For large families or smaller families with a lot of storage space, it can be economical to buy in bulk, but I also think that we often end up buying much more than we need.
Before I go shopping, I make a list of the things I need so I make sure I don't forget anything. Making a list before you go to Costco is a futile gesture, though, especially if you are accompanied by my wife and daughter. My daughter is home from college for a week and will be returning to Pennsylvania this weekend to do a 3-month internship, living in a rented cottage. As my wife and daughter went through the aisles, they amazingly found so many items that "would be nice to have at the cottage". Soon my original list of 12 items grew to 40+, and the cart was overflowing. While we defintely got some useful items, some of it was definitely "Impulse Shopping". I don't have to file for bankruptcy, but I definitely spent more than I intended. As I told the clerk at the checkout counter, coming in here was like being offered crack. It's a good thing I only go there 2 or 3 times/year.
I love my wife and daughter, and don't begrudge them for the things they picked out, but I'm also sure we would not have bought nearly as much if we had shopped anywhere else. Costco has a great business plan, though, with free samples everywhere, lots of fresh products, and a huge variety. They definitely know how to weaken ones' defenses, but I have no one but myself to blame.
Fortunately, it will be a long time before there will be any need to go back, so I have plenty of time to prepare myself and, when I walk through the door, to remember Miss Piggy's sage advice.
Before I go shopping, I make a list of the things I need so I make sure I don't forget anything. Making a list before you go to Costco is a futile gesture, though, especially if you are accompanied by my wife and daughter. My daughter is home from college for a week and will be returning to Pennsylvania this weekend to do a 3-month internship, living in a rented cottage. As my wife and daughter went through the aisles, they amazingly found so many items that "would be nice to have at the cottage". Soon my original list of 12 items grew to 40+, and the cart was overflowing. While we defintely got some useful items, some of it was definitely "Impulse Shopping". I don't have to file for bankruptcy, but I definitely spent more than I intended. As I told the clerk at the checkout counter, coming in here was like being offered crack. It's a good thing I only go there 2 or 3 times/year.
I love my wife and daughter, and don't begrudge them for the things they picked out, but I'm also sure we would not have bought nearly as much if we had shopped anywhere else. Costco has a great business plan, though, with free samples everywhere, lots of fresh products, and a huge variety. They definitely know how to weaken ones' defenses, but I have no one but myself to blame.
Fortunately, it will be a long time before there will be any need to go back, so I have plenty of time to prepare myself and, when I walk through the door, to remember Miss Piggy's sage advice.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
A Safe Place
Feeling safe is something all of us want, regardless of where we are or with whom we may be interacting. When I think of whether or not I feel safe, I often associate it with my place of work. Over the years, while they have been mostly in health care, places I have worked have varied in size from less than a dozen to ten thousand employees. In some places, you felt like part of a family, in others (the larger ones), you felt that not being noticed was preferable, especially when you saw what happened to some people around you.
Recently, I found some notes from a discussion I had with some colleagues who were talking about safe vs. unsafe places. In a safe place, one would see:
- Basic needs are met
- Love is freely given and received.
- The opportunity is given to grow to maturity.
- Trust abounds.
- People are free to serve one another.
- Emotions are expressed freely.
- Relationships are strong and healthy.
When I think of these things, I think of my family and friends, as well as places I have worked where I felt valued and respected. It can equally apply to countries, churches, schools, clubs, or social groups.
I think we all have places we view as safe and tend to try to be there when we can.
Here is what the group thought were the hallmarks of an unsafe place:
- Dictatorial leaders are not accountable to anyone.
- Abuse (emotional, spiritual, physical, sexual, or verbal) remains unrecognized, unchallenged, or
undefeated.
- People are in pain.
- People are routinely made to feel blame or shame.
- An "us" vs. "them" mentality exists; both insiders and outsiders are negatively labeled.
- People are punished in a way that seems out of proportion to their typical, human mistakes.
- Manipulation of people is common.
- Major secrets are kept from those who are not in leadership positions; information is purposefully
withheld that could be beneficial.
- Everyone walks on eggshells in fear of becoming an object of abuse.
When I think of unsafe places in my experience, one of the places where I have worked readily comes to mind. Lying and deceit were common traits among some of the leadership, and I was impressed with the skill of some people to mistreat others while appearing to be "Good" leaders. One of my colleagues shared with me an example of the leadership culture in this place where the Senior VP of Nursing ordered her to lie to the Chairman of her department, and the Chairman ordered her to lie to the Senior VP of Nursing (my colleague eventually ended up leaving and going to work someplace else). I also ended up leaving because I felt it was an unsafe place and not likely to change anytime soon.
While there are plenty of problems in the world and more than a few unpleasant people, hopefully all of us have identified someone one or some place that helps us to feel safe, and which helps us to tolerate all of the things out there that we may not like but also can't avoid or change. I know I have.
Recently, I found some notes from a discussion I had with some colleagues who were talking about safe vs. unsafe places. In a safe place, one would see:
- Basic needs are met
- Love is freely given and received.
- The opportunity is given to grow to maturity.
- Trust abounds.
- People are free to serve one another.
- Emotions are expressed freely.
- Relationships are strong and healthy.
When I think of these things, I think of my family and friends, as well as places I have worked where I felt valued and respected. It can equally apply to countries, churches, schools, clubs, or social groups.
I think we all have places we view as safe and tend to try to be there when we can.
Here is what the group thought were the hallmarks of an unsafe place:
- Dictatorial leaders are not accountable to anyone.
- Abuse (emotional, spiritual, physical, sexual, or verbal) remains unrecognized, unchallenged, or
undefeated.
- People are in pain.
- People are routinely made to feel blame or shame.
- An "us" vs. "them" mentality exists; both insiders and outsiders are negatively labeled.
- People are punished in a way that seems out of proportion to their typical, human mistakes.
- Manipulation of people is common.
- Major secrets are kept from those who are not in leadership positions; information is purposefully
withheld that could be beneficial.
- Everyone walks on eggshells in fear of becoming an object of abuse.
When I think of unsafe places in my experience, one of the places where I have worked readily comes to mind. Lying and deceit were common traits among some of the leadership, and I was impressed with the skill of some people to mistreat others while appearing to be "Good" leaders. One of my colleagues shared with me an example of the leadership culture in this place where the Senior VP of Nursing ordered her to lie to the Chairman of her department, and the Chairman ordered her to lie to the Senior VP of Nursing (my colleague eventually ended up leaving and going to work someplace else). I also ended up leaving because I felt it was an unsafe place and not likely to change anytime soon.
While there are plenty of problems in the world and more than a few unpleasant people, hopefully all of us have identified someone one or some place that helps us to feel safe, and which helps us to tolerate all of the things out there that we may not like but also can't avoid or change. I know I have.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Non Illegitimi Carborundum
The title of this piece is the personal slogan of the late General Joseph "Vinegar Joe" Stilwell. Roughly translated: "Don't let the bastards grind you down." We face many stressors in everyday life: long commutes, family conflicts, financial stressors, imperfect health, bad weather, to name some. For many who I know, loss of a job is a recent stressor. Whatever you want to call it: reduction in force, work redesign, or re-engineering; I have lost my job three times over the years to this, and it is never easy nor pleasant.
Many of my co-workers are now facing this trial in a process that, to many, does not seem to follow any rational stream of logic. Regardless of why it is being done the way it is being done, the people who are effected are faced with the choice of trying to do what they can to stay on or walking away. I have spoken to several who are on the "RIF List" and the vast majority are angry and feel devalued. One day, they are working hard to contribute to the success of the organization, they next day they are told they can (and are) being replaced by nothing. Even if asked to come back, many have said they would never do so because of how they felt they were treated. It is doubly sad because many of these people have the skills, knowledge, experience, and compassion that is so desperately needed to rebuild what has been lost.
Although the idea of being out of a job is daunting, opportunities exist. You may take a job that pays less but that does not involve a long commute. You may take a job you don't really like, but it pays the bills while you continue to look for a job you might like more. Work doesn't have to be pleasant, it just needs to be tolerable; and there is more to life than just work.
Keep in mind that the people making the decisions about who has a job and who doesn't probably don't know most of us as individuals and probably don't care. Making decisions like this can be difficult for some, but thinking that we are just a number is easier to believe from our perspective.
Those who are choosing to walk away and take a different path have my respect for their willingness to take a risk and try something different. Vinegar Joe would approve.
Many of my co-workers are now facing this trial in a process that, to many, does not seem to follow any rational stream of logic. Regardless of why it is being done the way it is being done, the people who are effected are faced with the choice of trying to do what they can to stay on or walking away. I have spoken to several who are on the "RIF List" and the vast majority are angry and feel devalued. One day, they are working hard to contribute to the success of the organization, they next day they are told they can (and are) being replaced by nothing. Even if asked to come back, many have said they would never do so because of how they felt they were treated. It is doubly sad because many of these people have the skills, knowledge, experience, and compassion that is so desperately needed to rebuild what has been lost.
Although the idea of being out of a job is daunting, opportunities exist. You may take a job that pays less but that does not involve a long commute. You may take a job you don't really like, but it pays the bills while you continue to look for a job you might like more. Work doesn't have to be pleasant, it just needs to be tolerable; and there is more to life than just work.
Keep in mind that the people making the decisions about who has a job and who doesn't probably don't know most of us as individuals and probably don't care. Making decisions like this can be difficult for some, but thinking that we are just a number is easier to believe from our perspective.
Those who are choosing to walk away and take a different path have my respect for their willingness to take a risk and try something different. Vinegar Joe would approve.
Monday, March 12, 2012
I always pass on good advice; it's the only thing one can do with it.
The title of this piece is a quote from Oscar Wilde, although it could well have been said by our Governor in reference to the advice he has been given by knowledgable mental health experts in reference to the future of Vermont State Hospital.
Although I realize he is under no obligation to act in accordance to this advice (which he hasn't so far), one would think that, if one was relatively ignorant about a particular subject (he does not portray himself as a mental health expert), it would be wise to listen to those who happen to know a great deal about it and who make a living in that field. If you knew that individuals knew what they were talking about, wouldn't you follow advice from your mechanic about car repairs, your plumber about your hot water heater, or your butcher about a steak?
Many knowledgable experts in the field of mental health have weighed in and advised the Governor that his plan for the replacement State Hospital is not big enough or in the right location to best serve the population, but he has so far chosen to discount the advice (or pass it on as Oscar suggests). It must be nice to think you are right no matter what, and to then focus you energy on convincing the Legislature that you are right and the experts don't know what they are talking about.
Having spent 30 years in the mental health field, I tend to place more faith in the position of the mental health experts, rather than the Governor, on this particular subject, but that's just my opinion.
Even though history has taught us that the experts are not always right, when you look at the two sides in this discussion, that's they way to bet.
Although I realize he is under no obligation to act in accordance to this advice (which he hasn't so far), one would think that, if one was relatively ignorant about a particular subject (he does not portray himself as a mental health expert), it would be wise to listen to those who happen to know a great deal about it and who make a living in that field. If you knew that individuals knew what they were talking about, wouldn't you follow advice from your mechanic about car repairs, your plumber about your hot water heater, or your butcher about a steak?
Many knowledgable experts in the field of mental health have weighed in and advised the Governor that his plan for the replacement State Hospital is not big enough or in the right location to best serve the population, but he has so far chosen to discount the advice (or pass it on as Oscar suggests). It must be nice to think you are right no matter what, and to then focus you energy on convincing the Legislature that you are right and the experts don't know what they are talking about.
Having spent 30 years in the mental health field, I tend to place more faith in the position of the mental health experts, rather than the Governor, on this particular subject, but that's just my opinion.
Even though history has taught us that the experts are not always right, when you look at the two sides in this discussion, that's they way to bet.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
What Do Grizzly Bears Want?
We all want things in life: a new car, a different job (or just a job in the first place), win the lottery, buy the latest electronic gadget, and a host of other things you can name. Why do we want them? Because we tell ourselves that, if we have it, we'll be happy. That may be true, but how often do we wish for something that we simply aren't going to get? We can all dream, but most of the time it would be like us winning the Publishers Clearinghouse sweepstakes; it's just not likely to happen.
Many of us may dream, but we are hopefully pragmatic and tend to dial back our expectations a bit. I hope my daughter does will in her classes in college, that my wife has a good day at work (I may not have a good evening if she doesn't), that no major appliance breaks down.
While I want to do well at work, be a good spouse and a good parent, I also want to take care of myself and to have some time to myself. You may enjoy gardening, exercising, or some other hobby. I'm glad this works for you but for me, I prefer (during my "me time") to follow the philosophy of the grizzly bears. What is that, you ask?
It is said that there are three things in life that a grizzly bear wants:
- to feel full
- to not itch and,
- to be left alone.
Give it a try; it works.
Many of us may dream, but we are hopefully pragmatic and tend to dial back our expectations a bit. I hope my daughter does will in her classes in college, that my wife has a good day at work (I may not have a good evening if she doesn't), that no major appliance breaks down.
While I want to do well at work, be a good spouse and a good parent, I also want to take care of myself and to have some time to myself. You may enjoy gardening, exercising, or some other hobby. I'm glad this works for you but for me, I prefer (during my "me time") to follow the philosophy of the grizzly bears. What is that, you ask?
It is said that there are three things in life that a grizzly bear wants:
- to feel full
- to not itch and,
- to be left alone.
Give it a try; it works.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Little Bastard
My daughter has a cat named Bagheera. He is pure black (hence the choice of name). However, there are times when his mercurial temperament makes his nickname ("The Little Bastard") much more fitting. If he was human, one might wonder if he was a little sociopath with a fur coat.
When we had two cats (the other one passed away ten months ago), Bagheera was very much the Alpha Male, dominating (and sometimes abusing) the other cat, who happened to have a very sweet and friendly disposition. For the three humans in the house, trying to be friendly with Bagheera was often a walk on the wild side. He could be extremely friendly and affectionate, but might then suddenly bite or scratch you without warning. He also would become almost psychotic if another cat was outside. He would howl and attack our other cat or one of us if we were nearby; an apparent attempt to defend his territory.
Bagheera is also well-know at the River Cove Animal Hospital, where we take him for his health care. Dr. Lincoln has ended up bleeding on more than one occasion, and now an assistant dons heavy leather gloves to get him out of the pet carrier and hold him for the exam, which is usually extremely brief.
Since Bagheera has been the only cat in the house, I have to admit he has mellowed a bit. He can now sit at a window and watch other animals outside without going berserk. If one of us is sitting on a sofa, he will often jump up next to the person and cuddle against their leg. At night, he generally sleeps on one of the beds with us, and will often crawl under the covers.
Even though he is pretty nice most of the time, the "attack cat" in him is not totally extinct. A few weeks ago, he was sitting next to my wife on the sofa; she was petting him and he seemed to be enjoying the attention when he suddenly bit her in the hand, jumped down, and walked away. The week before, she was sitting on the futon in the family room talking to my daughter on the phone when he walked up to her, bit her on the ankle, and walked away.
Based on how he treated the other cat, Bagheera is destined to be an "only child" for the remainder of his days. While we are all glad that the attacks are now pretty rare, and he overall is quite decent, bringing another animal into the house would no doubt provoke him, and we would all pay for it. For now, we will enjoy the good behavior and hope that his mood stays fairly pleasant and that "The Little Bastard" makes only an occasional appearance.
When we had two cats (the other one passed away ten months ago), Bagheera was very much the Alpha Male, dominating (and sometimes abusing) the other cat, who happened to have a very sweet and friendly disposition. For the three humans in the house, trying to be friendly with Bagheera was often a walk on the wild side. He could be extremely friendly and affectionate, but might then suddenly bite or scratch you without warning. He also would become almost psychotic if another cat was outside. He would howl and attack our other cat or one of us if we were nearby; an apparent attempt to defend his territory.
Bagheera is also well-know at the River Cove Animal Hospital, where we take him for his health care. Dr. Lincoln has ended up bleeding on more than one occasion, and now an assistant dons heavy leather gloves to get him out of the pet carrier and hold him for the exam, which is usually extremely brief.
Since Bagheera has been the only cat in the house, I have to admit he has mellowed a bit. He can now sit at a window and watch other animals outside without going berserk. If one of us is sitting on a sofa, he will often jump up next to the person and cuddle against their leg. At night, he generally sleeps on one of the beds with us, and will often crawl under the covers.
Even though he is pretty nice most of the time, the "attack cat" in him is not totally extinct. A few weeks ago, he was sitting next to my wife on the sofa; she was petting him and he seemed to be enjoying the attention when he suddenly bit her in the hand, jumped down, and walked away. The week before, she was sitting on the futon in the family room talking to my daughter on the phone when he walked up to her, bit her on the ankle, and walked away.
Based on how he treated the other cat, Bagheera is destined to be an "only child" for the remainder of his days. While we are all glad that the attacks are now pretty rare, and he overall is quite decent, bringing another animal into the house would no doubt provoke him, and we would all pay for it. For now, we will enjoy the good behavior and hope that his mood stays fairly pleasant and that "The Little Bastard" makes only an occasional appearance.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Don't worry, the patients will tell you what to do
When I graduated from school, my first job was in the Nursing Float Pool in Easton Hospital in Pennsylvania. Float nurses were oriented to work in all of the areas of the hospital with the exception of the operating room. Since I had to be prepared to work a wide variety of units, such as ICU, Med Surg, Pediatrics, ED, Labor and Delivery, and a host of others, my orientation was quite lengthy. I was not as highly skilled as the staff who regularly worked on a unit, but I could go there when there was a need and work alongside the "regulars" and help get through the shift without doing any harm and hopefully being helpful.
On my first day that I was to go to orient on the Psych Unit, there was a huge snowstorm. As often happens, many staff were unable to get to work, so the supervisors did the best they could with the people that were able to make it into work.
When I arrived at the entrance to the unit, it was locked. I knocked and Rick, the night shift Nurses Aide, let me in. Rick wore glasses with thick lenses which made his eyes look larger and two hearing aids and spoke in a high-pitched voice. I remember from studying Psych Nursing the importance of being observant, but Rick just didn't present the appearance of one in whom this was a strength.
Maggie, the night nurse, was the most senior nurse in the entire hospital. She was short, built like a bowling ball, had her gray-streaked hair in a tight bun and wore glasses with frames I believed they referred to as "cat's eyes". Maggie and Rick had apparently worked together for years, and they seemed to know what the other was thinking or wanted without much in the way of conversation.
Maggie informed me that I would be working with Cindy, one of the regular day shift nurses, but that she was having trouble getting here because of the weather and it would be at least an hour or two until she arrived.
While Maggie was finishing up some of her paperwork, Rick gave me a quick tour of the unit, and then I met with Maggie for report on the patients. There were 12 patients on the unit, all voluntary admissions. Maggie gave me a quick summary on each.
Realizing that I was going to be alone until Cindy arrived, I was quite anxious. I did not know any of the unit policies and procedures (I was there to learn them), I had no training on how to deal with Psych emergencies, or how to get help if I needed it or had a question. These were the days before the individually packaged unit-dose medications. The top drawer of the med cart was filled with stock bottles of pills, so I would have to go through all of them to find the right medications when the time came.
I would have appreciated it if Maggie would have volunteered to stay until Cindy arrived, but, when she reached for her coat, I knew it was not to be. Maggie buttoned her coat, dropped the unit keys into my hand, and headed toward the door. As she opened the door, she paused, turned to me and said, "Don't worry; the patients will tell you what to do." With that, she walked out and the door slammed shut behind her.
I obviously survived the experience, eventually transferred to the unit to work there full-time, and eventually became the Nurse Manager. I even found the tough, no-nonsense Maggie to bee quite nice, once we got to know each other.
Even though this was 30 years ago, I have never forgotten it, and it helped to make me more sensitive to others who were trying to learn how to work on a Psych Unit. For that, I thank Maggie and will always remember her parting words as she walked out the door.
On my first day that I was to go to orient on the Psych Unit, there was a huge snowstorm. As often happens, many staff were unable to get to work, so the supervisors did the best they could with the people that were able to make it into work.
When I arrived at the entrance to the unit, it was locked. I knocked and Rick, the night shift Nurses Aide, let me in. Rick wore glasses with thick lenses which made his eyes look larger and two hearing aids and spoke in a high-pitched voice. I remember from studying Psych Nursing the importance of being observant, but Rick just didn't present the appearance of one in whom this was a strength.
Maggie, the night nurse, was the most senior nurse in the entire hospital. She was short, built like a bowling ball, had her gray-streaked hair in a tight bun and wore glasses with frames I believed they referred to as "cat's eyes". Maggie and Rick had apparently worked together for years, and they seemed to know what the other was thinking or wanted without much in the way of conversation.
Maggie informed me that I would be working with Cindy, one of the regular day shift nurses, but that she was having trouble getting here because of the weather and it would be at least an hour or two until she arrived.
While Maggie was finishing up some of her paperwork, Rick gave me a quick tour of the unit, and then I met with Maggie for report on the patients. There were 12 patients on the unit, all voluntary admissions. Maggie gave me a quick summary on each.
Realizing that I was going to be alone until Cindy arrived, I was quite anxious. I did not know any of the unit policies and procedures (I was there to learn them), I had no training on how to deal with Psych emergencies, or how to get help if I needed it or had a question. These were the days before the individually packaged unit-dose medications. The top drawer of the med cart was filled with stock bottles of pills, so I would have to go through all of them to find the right medications when the time came.
I would have appreciated it if Maggie would have volunteered to stay until Cindy arrived, but, when she reached for her coat, I knew it was not to be. Maggie buttoned her coat, dropped the unit keys into my hand, and headed toward the door. As she opened the door, she paused, turned to me and said, "Don't worry; the patients will tell you what to do." With that, she walked out and the door slammed shut behind her.
I obviously survived the experience, eventually transferred to the unit to work there full-time, and eventually became the Nurse Manager. I even found the tough, no-nonsense Maggie to bee quite nice, once we got to know each other.
Even though this was 30 years ago, I have never forgotten it, and it helped to make me more sensitive to others who were trying to learn how to work on a Psych Unit. For that, I thank Maggie and will always remember her parting words as she walked out the door.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Hot Ass Pond
When some people choose names for towns and places, one might wonder what they are thinking (or smoking) at the time. To give you an idea, here are some examples:
- Bastardstown (Ireland)
- Beaverlick (Kentucky)
- Clap Hill (UK)
- Assloss (Scotland)
- Bangs Beach (Maine)
- Titless (Switzerland)
- Sexmoan (Phillipines)
- Pecker's Point (Newfoundland)
- Maggie's Nipples (Wyoming)
- Middlefart (Denmark)
Another one to add to the list is Hot Ass Pond, allegedly in the North Woods of Maine. It may be just an urban legend, but there is an amusing story behind how the pond got its' name.
According to the story, one winter many years ago, when the pond was frozen over, an Indian squaw was walking across the ice. As she was walking, she came across a silver dollar on the ice. She bent down to pick it up, but is was stuck to the ice. The squaw wanted the silver dollar, but she had to get it loose from the ice. Not having any tools but being creative, she lifted her skirt and sat on it and, as we say, the rest is history.
- Bastardstown (Ireland)
- Beaverlick (Kentucky)
- Clap Hill (UK)
- Assloss (Scotland)
- Bangs Beach (Maine)
- Titless (Switzerland)
- Sexmoan (Phillipines)
- Pecker's Point (Newfoundland)
- Maggie's Nipples (Wyoming)
- Middlefart (Denmark)
Another one to add to the list is Hot Ass Pond, allegedly in the North Woods of Maine. It may be just an urban legend, but there is an amusing story behind how the pond got its' name.
According to the story, one winter many years ago, when the pond was frozen over, an Indian squaw was walking across the ice. As she was walking, she came across a silver dollar on the ice. She bent down to pick it up, but is was stuck to the ice. The squaw wanted the silver dollar, but she had to get it loose from the ice. Not having any tools but being creative, she lifted her skirt and sat on it and, as we say, the rest is history.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Goin' Buryin' on Little Cranberry Island
My father was a UCC minister. When I was a child, we lived in Maine on Mount Desert Island, where he was the minister of two small churches, one on each side of the harbor. Back then, the denomination was known as Congregational, which later became the United Church of Christ.
My father has a unique distinction, among ministers, of having helped to dig the grave for a funeral he officiated. Here's the story.
About 50 years ago, my father got a call asking him to do a funeral on Little Cranberry Island. The deceased had been from there, had moved away years ago, and had just passed away. The family were all buried on the island, so the funeral was planned for there.
Little Cranberry Island is about a mile long and lies just off Mount Desert Island. There are about 50 year around residents, living in the town of Isleford.
My father related meeting the hearse and one of the relatives at the town dock in Southwest Harbor. Another relative was there with his lobster boat to transport the casket to Little Cranberry (the bait had been swept up to make the boat more presentable). The grave digger joined them, dropping his tools into the boat.
After the short trip, the boat arrived at the Isleford Town Dock. The casket was loaded into the back of a pickup truck, which drove away. No one was left to direct my father, so he started walking around the tiny community, looking for the cemetery. Little Cranberry has several small cemeteries, with some graves dating back to the 1700's. My father spotted the pickup truck down the street, and joined the grave digger and one of the relatives.
Apparently, the grave digger was also the town drunk, and had a bottle with him, so progress on digging the grave was a bit slow. In the meantime, other relatives joined the group. One of them reported that a huge storm was approaching (the sky was already changing) and the seas were going to be extremely rough. One of the old salts offered the opinion that, if the visitors didn't get off the island within an hour or two, they might be marooned on the island for a couple of days.
The relative who had come over with my father took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work with the grave digger. My father said he looked at the sky, and decided to join them. The grave was quickly finished, and the relatives gathered for one of the shorter funerals in recent memory. The deceased was reportedly "planted good and proper", and my father and the others were able to return on the lobster boat to Southwest Harbor in time.
My father has a unique distinction, among ministers, of having helped to dig the grave for a funeral he officiated. Here's the story.
About 50 years ago, my father got a call asking him to do a funeral on Little Cranberry Island. The deceased had been from there, had moved away years ago, and had just passed away. The family were all buried on the island, so the funeral was planned for there.
Little Cranberry Island is about a mile long and lies just off Mount Desert Island. There are about 50 year around residents, living in the town of Isleford.
My father related meeting the hearse and one of the relatives at the town dock in Southwest Harbor. Another relative was there with his lobster boat to transport the casket to Little Cranberry (the bait had been swept up to make the boat more presentable). The grave digger joined them, dropping his tools into the boat.
After the short trip, the boat arrived at the Isleford Town Dock. The casket was loaded into the back of a pickup truck, which drove away. No one was left to direct my father, so he started walking around the tiny community, looking for the cemetery. Little Cranberry has several small cemeteries, with some graves dating back to the 1700's. My father spotted the pickup truck down the street, and joined the grave digger and one of the relatives.
Apparently, the grave digger was also the town drunk, and had a bottle with him, so progress on digging the grave was a bit slow. In the meantime, other relatives joined the group. One of them reported that a huge storm was approaching (the sky was already changing) and the seas were going to be extremely rough. One of the old salts offered the opinion that, if the visitors didn't get off the island within an hour or two, they might be marooned on the island for a couple of days.
The relative who had come over with my father took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work with the grave digger. My father said he looked at the sky, and decided to join them. The grave was quickly finished, and the relatives gathered for one of the shorter funerals in recent memory. The deceased was reportedly "planted good and proper", and my father and the others were able to return on the lobster boat to Southwest Harbor in time.
Monday, January 2, 2012
I Don't Care
Looking at the title of this post, one might be led to believe that I don't care about anything. That's not quite true. While there are many things that are important to me, I find that there are many things in the world that, while they may be important to you, I don't give a damn about them.
Among the things that are important to me:
- family, friends, co-workers
- my job (and doing it well)
- humor
- being organized
- books
- paying my bills on time
- being on time for everything
- having a reputation for honesty and integrity
- naps
- good food
- making time for me
There are other things, but you get the idea.
On the other side of the coin, there are many things in the world that people find to be fascinating, important, in some way worthy of their attention. Examples of these things that I don't care about include:
- what the Real Housewives of New York (or anywhere else) are arguing about this week
- who designed someone's outfit for the Oscars
- who Jennifer Aniston is sleeping with this week
- what Paris Hilton is up to
- politics and politicians
- iPhones
- people who have opinions about everything
- Twitter
- living to be 100
- First Night
- the latest fashion
- commercials
- playing games (saying "I won" doesn't mean much to me)
- any form of exercise
- commemorative plates, coins, etc.
- "think tanks"
- what Fox News thinks about anything
- American Idol
- Survivor
- telephone surveys
- professional basketball
- PETA
- Starbucks
- the Stock Market
- golf (especially on television)
- banks that are too big to fail (let them)
- consultants
- bowl games (there are way too many of them to mean anything)
- NASCAR
There are many other things I don't lose sleep over, but this is a fair sample. You may think I lead a terribly boring and unfulfilled life, but please be assured I'm OK and not unhappy or suicidal. As for all of the things I don't care about, you are more than welcome to be as fanatical as you want to be about any of them; I don't care about that, either.
Among the things that are important to me:
- family, friends, co-workers
- my job (and doing it well)
- humor
- being organized
- books
- paying my bills on time
- being on time for everything
- having a reputation for honesty and integrity
- naps
- good food
- making time for me
There are other things, but you get the idea.
On the other side of the coin, there are many things in the world that people find to be fascinating, important, in some way worthy of their attention. Examples of these things that I don't care about include:
- what the Real Housewives of New York (or anywhere else) are arguing about this week
- who designed someone's outfit for the Oscars
- who Jennifer Aniston is sleeping with this week
- what Paris Hilton is up to
- politics and politicians
- iPhones
- people who have opinions about everything
- living to be 100
- First Night
- the latest fashion
- commercials
- playing games (saying "I won" doesn't mean much to me)
- any form of exercise
- commemorative plates, coins, etc.
- "think tanks"
- what Fox News thinks about anything
- American Idol
- Survivor
- telephone surveys
- professional basketball
- PETA
- Starbucks
- the Stock Market
- golf (especially on television)
- banks that are too big to fail (let them)
- consultants
- bowl games (there are way too many of them to mean anything)
- NASCAR
There are many other things I don't lose sleep over, but this is a fair sample. You may think I lead a terribly boring and unfulfilled life, but please be assured I'm OK and not unhappy or suicidal. As for all of the things I don't care about, you are more than welcome to be as fanatical as you want to be about any of them; I don't care about that, either.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)