Customer service...the good, the bad, and the ugly

I think I may have found my writing niche - customer service in health care. Or perhaps the lack thereof. I don't know about you, but it seems to me that it might not be so awful to go to doctors if perhaps they were a bit nicer to you.

Let me contextualize. I have chronic sinusitis, and I'm absolutely positive it's worse than it actually sounds. Have you ever had a sinus infection? You know that feeling when your head is all stuffy, your face hurts, and you've got a sore throat from all the post-nasal dripping? You know how sometimes it makes you dizzy and a little bit nauseous, maybe tired and achy? Welcome to my world. Chronic sinusitis is like that ALL THE TIME. I suppose it's got its benefits - after awhile you get so used to constant pain, pressure, and dizziness that the flu feels like nothing at all. So it toughens you up, even if you don't want to BE toughened up.

Anyway, I've been on the lookout for a good Ear, Nose, & Throat doc for some time and one day, I stumbled upon an ad in a local publication touting this one particular doctor and her state-of-the-art method for ridding patients of sinus pain and pressure. Of course I thought to myself, "I got to have me some of that!" so I called her office, made an appointment five weeks away, and waited.

Finally, the day of my appointment came. I was so excited at the prospect of getting rid of the sludge in my face, I couldn't wait to meet her! I showed up early because I knew there'd be tons of paperwork to fill out, so I did all of it, took it proudly to the window, and sat down to wait. And wait. And wait.

An hour and a half past my appointment time, to be precise. An hour. And a half.

To say that I was frustrated would be an understatement. This doctor came with a great reputation and obviously her office was buzzing with people who also couldn't wait to see her. But an hour and a half? That's a bit extreme, don't you think? When she finally came into the exam room, there was no apology, no acknowledgment even that I had been waiting way longer than expected. In fact, I didn't even get a smile. After we were finished, I left with another appointment set for this week. I was irked because I had missed another important appointment while waiting to see this doctor, but I was so glad to have the prospect of sinus surgery on my horizon that I waited anyway. I thought it would be worth it.

My follow-up appointment was originally scheduled for this past Tuesday, so I took another day off of work (having already missed more than my sick days because of constant illness over the last three weeks). A half an hour before my appointment, the receptionist calls and says the doctor has to cancel. I missed another day of work for this, but okay...So I rescheduled for today.

So guess what? I took another day off of work to go to my appointment today. I was cheerful and tried not to be too put off by the poor customer service so far. I went in a bit early and waited. Do you see where I'm going here? I waited another 45 minutes past my appointment time when I FINALLY got the chutzpah to leave. I calmly walked out to the receptionist desk and told the woman there that I couldn't wait any longer. I made it clear that I knew it wasn't her fault, but I was upset because of all the waiting I'd already had to do for this doctor. I didn't want to seem like a nasty or constantly angry patient, but come on!!!! I explained to her that I'd missed three days of work (and other appointments) because this doctor either didn't consider her patients' time to be as valuable as hers OR because she couldn't actually accommodate new patients, as I had been led to believe.

So was I being unreasonable?

No, I don't think I was. I even let her keep my co-pay (which she was going to keep anyway). I left there so angry I could have cried - in fact, I did tear up a bit (sometimes I let my frustration get the best of me). I had wasted so much time and hope on a doctor who just didn't seem all that interested in her patients. Maybe it's because I was new. Maybe it's because she was too busy. Maybe she just happened to be having a bad couple of weeks.

If it had been an isolated incident, I would have gotten over it and continued to go back. But it wasn't isolated - it seems to be this woman's M.O. and that's just a shame. By my calculations, I wasted three sick days; about six hours just waiting, filling out paperwork, and driving to the office (she's about 45 minutes away from my house); at least one tank of fuel driving back and forth; and an unmeasurable amount of emotional energy. All for nothing. I know, I could have just sat and waited some more - then, at least the trip wouldn't have been for nothing, right? But here's the way I see it - you shouldn't do things because you feel cornered into them. I got tired of feeling like I was just a couple of dollar signs to this woman - her receptionist clearly didn't care that I was leaving (and she basically told me so). You know why? Because I'm sure there's five more patients waiting in line behind me who will gladly take my spot. And that's fine with me - I'll find another doctor. I know good ones exist - my family doctor is a great example of how to feel respected and heard as a patient.

I was so angry about the whole situation. I thought about writing a letter to the editor or driving back to the office to tell her what poor customer service skills she had. But to what end? Like Alex pointed out, she still got my copay and she'll probably still bill the insurance company for a visit that never happened. So I opted for focusing on the GOOD customer service I experienced today.

For example, I had to take my car to get fixed at a collision shop (I hit a deer a few months back and tore the grill off the front of my car). Not only did Bogg's Collision in Woodbury treat me well, they actually charged me LESS than the quote and had it done sooner than expected. They were communicative, very nice to speak to, and reasonable. THAT was superior customer service.

And I went to Family Dollar today to get Rosie some more of her tennis sticks (they're made out of the same stuff tennis balls are, but they're sticks so they're easier to pry from her grip). They only had one left, so I asked the cashier if they would get anymore in, and she very cheerfully told me that yes, they would be getting more in. And when I asked her to help me get some tomato cages unstuck from each other so I could buy four instead of the entire box, she gladly assisted. THAT was excellent service, too.

So customer service matters. It even (maybe especially) matters in health care. People don't go to doctors to talk about how well they are, do they? No, they typically go because they're miserable, in pain, sick, whatever. So shouldn't doctors be kind and appreciative of their business? Because just like there's five more people to take the spot of one disgruntled ex-patient, there's about 100 doctors to replace every one I decide doesn't fit the bill.

t.

Procrastination be damned!

My name is Tara and I am a bonafide, dyed-in-the-wool procrastinator. In fact, I'm probably procrastinating right now, although off the top of my head I can't think of anything else I should be doing. Which may be the problem.

I was just scanning my email when I came across this very interesting (and timely) article about procrastinators. It's certainly not the first time I've read something about procrastination, but it IS the first time I've read anything about procrastination potentially being a psychological disorder. And hey, why not?

See, in this article two experts talk about how procrastination is really just symptomatic of a chronic misjudgment of time, inability to make decisions, and failure to take responsibility for one's life. I can't really argue with any of that (although I think it's a stretch to call it a disorder in and of itself). Although I'm rarely late for things, I do have a tendency to misjudge how much time I have to complete a task or how much time it will actually take me to do that task. I'm one of those dreadful people who keeps all of her clocks ten minutes ahead of time so that I feel like I'm running late just so there's enough pressure for me to light a fire under my own ass. Anyone who knows me also knows I'm TERRIBLE at making decisions - I mean positively paralytic when it comes to deciding on Special K or Fruity Pebbles (because I always WANT Fruity Pebbles but I know they're worse for me than Special K, so there's always this internal battle going on in the cereal aisle).

I'm definitely a chronic procrastinator. So what's a girl to do?

Well, when that girl is getting ready to start working for herself (i.e., depending entirely on her own ability to drum up jobs and meet actual deadlines), that girl panics.

She thinks, "OMG, self, what the hell were you thinking?"

And then she goes into self-preservation mode and starts blogging instead of addressing the actual problem.

I will say that I've been much more proactive than I typically am when I decided that working for myself was the way to go - I've gotten linked up with a bunch of freelance organizations, I've already gotten a few side jobs to help pay the bills, and I've EVEN saved a little cash as a failure-cushion. But I have a feeling there's still much ground to travel before I REALLY and truly except the fact that I'm screwed if I don't get a little dose of self-discipline.

I'm pretty sure procrastination is showing up in other areas of my life, too. In fact, I'm positive of it. You know that six-figure student loan debt I've wracked up? Well, I have found many ways over the year to defer payment to my debtors (legitimately, of course), but really all that means is that I'll be paying off my education well into my 70s.

And I managed to put off serving jury duty for ten years and in three different counties until I just didn't have any good excuses anymore and you know where I ended up? Camden. I guess that's what happens when you put things off unnecessarily.

So that brings me to question what else I'm putting off. What else am I not acknowledging because I don't have the strength-of-character to deal with it? Good question. I think I'll think about it tomorrow.

t.

Ash Wednesday...and all that

Today is Ash Wednesday. Know how I know? Because there's a priest in the hallway outside my office drawing on people's faces. Know how else I know? Because all day today, I've been looking at people who evidently didn't think ahead and got their faces drawn on early this morning, only to find that ashes pretty much liquify and run down your face after you've been sweating all day. What can I say? I know some pretty sweaty people.

So here's what happened.

I was getting that oh-so-familiar hunger for chocolate delighfulness around 3:30, so I felt up my pockets to see if I could dig up change for some peanutty M&Ms. Lucky for me, I had a couple of bucks so I ambled on out into the hallway to haunt the vending machine (which happens to haunt me just about eight hours a day). I saw the priest talking to some sorority girls and commending them for organizing some religious hullabaloo in honor of Ash Wednesday (my guess is they were repenting mightily for whatever they did on Fat Tuesday). I didn't think much of it...until my second trip out to the vending machine for another bag of M&Ms (it's been a rough day). As I was trying to slip by the priest unnoticed, I suddenly felt his eyes on me - you might say it felt as though the very eyes of God were drilling into my ravenous, chocolate-hungry soul. For a moment, I wondered if he had noticed my first trip to the machine and if so, was he judging me for what was obviously a bad case of gluttony? I mean, gluttony is a sin, right? I think those big stone blocks had something to say about it.

Now listen, I'm not a religious person. I believe in God, though, so when I pass a nun or a priest, you better believe I put on my "I'm behaving" look and walk on by just as sweetly as I can. But I will tell you that priests (more so than nuns) make me feel a little slimy - I don't know if it's all the scandal that surrounds them or if it's all the scandal that surrounds my aberrant chocolate-eating behaviors, but whenever I pass a priest, I feel like I should go take a shower. I feel like I'm being JUDGED.

So it got me thinking, this whole middle-of-the-hallway judgment thing that was happening to me - why is it that the priest is staring ME down as I walk innocently by, as if to ask me why I haven't been saved from my hedonistic ways? Why is it that when an Orthodox Jew or Muslim walks by, he just politely smiles and nods at them? I've got a theory...

There is a certain degree of political correctness in a priest acting respectfully towards someone who is CLEARLY of a religion that is diametrically opposed to Catholicism. I'm one of those people who thinks the basic tenets of all religions are essentially the same - there is certainly something beautifully fascinating in the details of each, but altogether, everyone just wants the world to be a shiny, happy place, right? (Except for the nutjobs, of course.) But there is absolutely NO political correctness in letting someone who is clearly a heathen pass un-accosted by the Catholic church's holy recruiters. I think there are two things at work here:

1. The priest basically has no hope of saving the Orthodox Jew or Muslim and he knows it. They're going to hell and he knows that, too. Still, he can be nice in his pity for their damned souls because he knows his chance of recruiting them is slim to none. And why would he want to anyway? The Jews killed Jesus (and apparently ate babies) and the Muslims are all violent, American-hating freaks.

2. The priest does know, however, when he's looking at a potentially Christian sinner. I'm conspicuous in my lack of religious attire. In fact, I might as well be a hooker as far as he's concerned. "Look at that skirt, so far above her calves!" he's thinking, all the while calculating his approach and how he can successfully use the least amount of energy in making me feel the greatest amount of guilt. Well, this is what I imagine is happening anyway.

So basically, because I choose not to wear my deity on my sleeve (which is an interesting analogy, given my sudden interest in getting the great, fat Buddha tattooed down my entire arm), I am fair game. And all of a sudden, I am drowning in the judgment of the Catholic Campus Ministry priest's stare. I can feel it on my back, and if I'm not mistaken, he was checking out my ass, too.

Does God hate me because I'm speaking so disrespectfully of a priest? Nah, probably not. I'm pretty sure he doesn't like most of them, either.

t.