Healthcare, the Mastermind of Developing Empathy for Itself

I think we've been sold a bill of goods regarding healthcare.

For decades, the healthcare system has done a remarkably good job of manufacturing empathy from the people who rely on it.

Think about how often you hear:

“Doctors are overwhelmed.”

“Nurses are exhausted.”

“Hospitals are under tremendous strain.”

“Primary care offices are seeing too many people.”

Sound familiar?

Cue the Sarah McLachlan sad-dog-eyes commercial.🥺

Healthcare has become extraordinarily good at telling us to feel sorry for it.

And here's the thing:

A lot of what we're being told is true.

Doctors are overwhelmed.

Nurses are exhausted.

Hospitals are under strain.

Primary care practices are dealing with enormous demand.

I'm not arguing otherwise.

What I'm questioning is what happens when we hear those messages over and over and over again.

Because eventually, I think something shifts.

We stop simply understanding the problem and start excusing the experience.

And I think that's worth paying attention to.

We're Not Just Customers. We're Customers Who Need the Product.

Think about a normal consumer relationship.

McDonald's doesn't send out a press release saying, “We're sorry your drive-through took 25 minutes, but our employees are really overwhelmed right now.”

Target doesn't say, “We apologize that the store is a mess, but good housekeepers are really hard to find.”

Amazon doesn't ask you to understand that the warehouse is under tremendous pressure before it promises to deliver your package.

Businesses certainly have staffing problems. Supply-chain problems. Operational problems. Financial problems.

But generally speaking, those problems are the company's problems to solve.

That's part of running a business.

And if the company doesn't solve them, eventually customers leave.

That's one of the mechanisms that creates pressure to improve.

Healthcare is different.

You can't return your appendix.

You can't decide you're going to shop around for a new hospital in the middle of a heart attack.

You may have one primary care provider within 50 miles who is accepting new people.

You may have waited six months for the specialist you finally got an appointment with.

You may have an insurance plan that gives you a very short list of choices.

You may live in a community where the nearest hospital is the only hospital.

Healthcare isn't just something most of us want.

For most people, at some point, it's something we need.

And that changes the relationship.

What Happens When the Customer Can't Easily Leave?

This is where I think things get really interesting.

Imagine having millions of people who depend on your services, who often can't easily take their business elsewhere.

Now imagine those same people are repeatedly reminded how difficult it is to provide the service they're asking for.

They're told the workforce is exhausted.

They're told there aren't enough providers.

They're told hospitals are losing money.

They're told insurance is complicated.

They're told the system is overwhelmed.

They're told everyone is doing the best they can.

And what happens?

The customer starts doing some of the emotional work for the organization.

Well, I know they're busy.

I know they're short-staffed.

I know the nurse has 6 other people.

I don't want to be difficult.

I know it's not really their fault.

I guess I'll just wait.

And now we've arrived somewhere I find really uncomfortable.

Because maybe healthcare doesn't have to convince us to accept less.

Maybe we've learned to lower our expectations before anyone even asks us to.

That's what I mean by conditioning.

When a Problem Becomes Something We All Just Live With

In most businesses, when a problem is identified, the goal is to solve it.

If customers are consistently unhappy with a product, the company wants to know why.

If employees are miserable and it's affecting the product, leadership has a problem to fix.

If a process is creating errors, someone redesigns the process.

If customers can't get what they need, the business risks losing them.

The problem can't simply sit there forever.

Healthcare, seems to have developed a different strategy...

Market the problem.

Not enough nurses?

There's a nursing shortage.

Long wait times?

There aren't enough providers.

People can't get appointments?

Primary care is overwhelmed.

Staff are burned out?

Healthcare is a difficult environment.

Again: these problems are real.

Buuttt....

what happens when we become so accustomed to them explaining the problem that we stop expecting the problem to be fixed?

Because there's a difference between acknowledging a constraint and accepting it as the permanent operating environment.

And sometimes I think healthcare has gotten very, very, very comfortable with that distinction.

“We're Not a Hotel.”

I've heard nurses say it.

“We're not a hotel. We're a hospital.”

The sentiment was usually directed at people who were asking for something perceived as unnecessary, inconvenient, or demanding.

And I understand where it came from.

Healthcare isn't hospitality.

The work is serious. People are sick. Nurses aren't there to provide room service.

But I've also come to wonder what that phrase reveals.

Because sometimes “we're not a hotel” seemed to mean something closer to:

You don't really have another option, so you're going to have to take what we give you.

And that is a very different message.

I'm not saying nurses don't deserve empathy.

They do.

I'm not saying doctors don't deserve empathy.

They do.

I'm not saying healthcare workers aren't working incredibly hard.

Many are.

But here's the part I think we've gotten confused about:

Empathy for the people working inside the system does not have to mean lower expectations for the people moving through it.

Those things can, and should, exist at the same time.

I can believe that your nurse is exhausted and expect her employer to provide enough staffing to care for people safely.

I can understand that my doctor's office is overwhelmed and expect someone to communicate with me.

I can understand that a hospital is dealing with enormous operational challenges and still expect to be treated with dignity.

Those aren't unreasonable expectations.

They're basic ones.

So Who Gets to Course-Correct?

Here's where I think the answer gets uncomfortable.

You might say the healthcare system should fix itself.

Sure.

Organizations should absolutely improve.

Executives should make better decisions.

Leaders should listen to their workforce.

Organizations should invest in quality, safety, staffing, communication, access and experience.

Of course they should.

But I don't think we can sit around waiting for the system to suddenly decide to change. (Hello, ex-boyfriend...I see you.)

I think some of the pressure has to come from us.

And no, I don't mean you personally are responsible for fixing healthcare.

You are not.

You didn't create this problem and you shouldn't have to become an expert in healthcare administration just to get through your doctor's office visit.

But you do have something the system needs:

Your expectations.

So maybe it's time to turn off the Sarah McLachlan commercial.

Scroll right past those puppy-dog eyes.

Your new reality is:

I expect to be treated well.

Period.

I expect to be respected.

I expect to be spoken to with respect and dignity.

I expect healthcare professionals to communicate with one another—and with me.

I expect organizations that make substantial amounts of money from healthcare to invest in the people doing the work and the people receiving it.

I expect healthcare workers to have the resources they need to do their jobs well.

I expect them to care whether I feel safe.

I expect organizations to look at problems and ask:

How do we fix this?

Not:

How do we explain why this is happening?

And yes, for a moment, I'm asking you to put on your diva hat.💅

You know the one.

The five-star hotel version.

The nice cotton sheets.

The person who actually remembers your name.

The expectation that when something isn't right, somebody gives a damn and fixes it.

Take those expectations and drag them straight into healthcare.

Not because you're entitled to luxury.

Because you're human.

And maybe if enough of us start expecting something different, the conversation changes.

Maybe the healthcare organization starts hearing something other than:

“I know you're overwhelmed.”

Maybe it starts hearing:

“I understand you're overwhelmed. What are you going to do about it?”

(and that second part is really important...just sayin'.)

That's a very different conversation.

And when enough people start having that conversation, eventually the people who make the rules have to hear it, too.

Because here's what I keep coming back to:

Healthcare has become very good at asking us to understand what it's going through.

Maybe it's time we ask whether it's equally interested in understanding what we are going through.

So, good or bad, I think some of this really does start with us.

Not because we're responsible for fixing the system.

Not because we should have to fight harder.

But because we have spent a very long time being told to understand.

Maybe it's time to remember that we matter, too.

Not because we are good customers.

Not because we are compliant.

Not because we know how to advocate.

Not because we understand how hard healthcare is.

We matter because we are.