MAYBE MY APPENDIX WASN’T ENTIRELY USELESS. The unexpectedly urgent (and unwelcome) need to have it removed earlier this week knocked me off my feet, but the experience offered some good reminders for communicators:

ONE.  When you’re talking to people in distress, it’s not about you. Overall, I received great care from a lot of terrific health care professionals, but a tip for nurse X: As I clutch my stomach in pain, try to pretend someone’s not sticking a sharp object into the back of my hand, and contemplate my first surgery since a childhood tonsillectomy, I’m really not interested in your problems. Yes, the doctor rushed you, and you may think my questions are high maintenance, but complaining about him, telling me about your own seven-plus surgeries, and bemoaning with a sigh that now you “have to make copies of all of these forms” does nothing to take me to my happy place. I’m normally pretty compassionate, but I think if there’s one place you’re allowed unequivocally to say “It really IS all about me” it’s when you’re on your way from the ER to the OR.

Lesson: Announcing layoffs? Letting someone go? Communicating about a crisis? Delivering bad news for your customers? Remember, no one cares about the hardships it’s causing you or your company. Right now, it’s not about you. It’s about them.

TWO.  Even small promises not kept are disappointments remembered. Periodically throughout my roughly 72 hours in the hospital I was surprised at little bits of unfinished business. A nurse took down a list of routine medications I take so he could get them from the hospital pharmacy. They never appeared. I was asked if I wanted my billfold put in a secure place during my stay. I said yes, and was told someone would be in to take care of it. Instead it lay next to me on my side table like a loyal and consoling pet the entire time I was there. No big deal, but really, why even offer? Later I completed my lunch order (I figured the bread pudding might be the best part of my day, so I wielded that stubby little pencil with eagerness) and an aid of some sort dutifully took it away. A few hours later, tray in hand, my nurse tells me “Well, you didn’t tell them what you wanted so you got what they gave you.” Really? (I think I actually said “Did so!”) How did that happen? Everything I’d ordered was there except the bread pudding. They gave me ice cream instead, which ended up being fine, of course, but I couldn’t help wondering if the person who was supposed to be looking after my billfold was also eating my bread pudding.

Lesson: Not everything a company, brand or organization does is of make-or-break proportions, and consumers are typically pretty forgiving on the little things, but they do remember and too many promises unkept can chip away at otherwise good reputations.

THREE.  Jargon is literally a foreign language. For the most part, the doctors and nurses explained things to me in laymen’s terms, but occasionally they lapsed into med-school speak. Great for them. Incoherent for me. I simply stopped them and said “I don’t understand what that means.” They always backed up and gave me the plain English version, but in those moments I thought “What makes them think I speak that language?”

Lesson: The reminder to avoid jargon in communicating with your various stakeholders is an old one, but it’s also a tactical one that’s part of a more strategic imperative: Our goal as communicators isn’t to share information as much as it is to convey meaning. There’s a big difference. Information is simply data. Meaning requires establishing context, relevance, and a common point of reference. Unlike sharing information, which is essentially a one-way act, conveying meaning puts the burden on us to seek feedback, to confirm that what we intended to send was indeed what was received.

FOUR.  Nonverbal communication makes a real difference. Three things set my best nurses apart from the others: eye contact, smiles, reassuring touch.

Lesson: I’m not suggesting you go around patting your consumers on the shoulder, but the very basics of human interaction are too important to ignore. Good interpersonal communication is good public communication. Be engaged, be focused, be attentive, be sensitive to your audience’s needs. Try to establish a personal connection.

FIVE.  If your message is important, be explicit about it. My surgery wasn’t considered an emergency, but it was urgent. Still, it was disconcerting during prep when the nurse kept telling people we had to hurry because the OR would be upset if we weren’t there right at 10 p.m. “What happens if we’re late?” I asked. “Oh, they just get upset.” Well, as much as I typically want everyone to like me, I wasn’t ready to rush through histories and consent forms to satisfy clock-watchers. I was rather surprised to hear myself say “Hey, everybody, stop what you’re doing and look at me.” Whoa. The three or four people working on me did. “Look, this may be old hat to you, but it’s new to me and you’re making me uncomfortable rushing through things. Unless we’re in a medical hurry, tell the OR the patient takes full responsibility for being late and just take the time to do what you need to do correctly.” So they did.

Lesson: Don’t be hesitant or coy in critical messaging. Consumers process more messages on a daily basis than ever before in history. They’re in a hurry too. Think about internal comms announcements and how easy they are to blow off. Sometimes to get people to listen you have to literally tell them to stop and pay attention. The key is to not overdo it. If everything is important, nothing is important. I think I was effective in catching the ER team’s attention because up until that moment I’d been an accommodating, unquestioning patient.

 *****

Despite the handful of minor annoyances or frustrations mentioned here to illustrate my points, I want to thank all the staff members and care-givers at Sutter Medical Center in Sacramento. Overall, my care was excellent. I want to especially thank Dr. Jason Park, my surgeon, who is a jazz fan and, as I found out later, put Dave Brubeck on the OR stereo system during my surgery in honor of my being a musician and our mutual appreciation for the piano master and his drummers.
 

© 2009 John Armato