The factor that seems to sway opinion most is the final outcome of an index patient; if he was brought in moribund and finally walk out, then all the dirty linen, the “paan” stained corridors, the constant drone of mosquitoes and the rude words from nurses are often forgiven, and the hospital assumes the symbol of a new life.
If the end goes awry, as often it does in a referral hospital where critically ill patients are shunted to, the hospital becomes blotched in the minds of relatives and friends across generations.
But how do first timers, who have often come in for a consultation or procedure react to a new hospital? The initial impressions often prove crucial. Was the entrance clean and welcoming, the process of registration short and sweet, the signange clear, and the waiting hall comfortable and relaxed?
It is the non-medical staff forming the point of initial contact, which often makes or mars opinions. Were they in uniform? Were they receptive and helpful? What often puts people off is to find a group of clumsily clad employess seated behind the counter desk, chewing tobacco and chatting amongst themselves, while anxious relatives wait in crowded lines to have their concerns addressed, quite like the “enquiry counter” in a railway station.
Why a hospital finds it hard to please everyone however is the MWYP or “My WOW your PUH” factor. I see this happen every day in our wards and endoscopy suites. Patients coming from poor backgrounds who have slept on dirty floors of other hospitals or their homes are often “wowed” by the tiled floors, the concealed bright lighting, the laundered bedsheets and a large bed for each patient in our hospital.
What catch the attention of patients coming from middle and upper class homes however are quite the opposite: smelly wet toilets, stained bedsheets, reused mouth guards and a shabbily-clad orderly squeezing his arm while a frowning nurse, without wearing gloves, digs a needle in his forearm to draw a blood sample!
For many patients, the long wait in the waiting-hall becomes a horrid unforgettable experience: congested and stuffy, no vacant seats, no digital display to know if your turn has come (or will ever come), no announcements, no magazines, no TV.... a long and painful wait laden with expectations that their final meeting with a specialist will end in a solution to their problem and transform their lives!
Thronging attendance is no vindication of a government hospital’s efficiency as the poor and desperate have no other place to go. Taking aim to reduce “Puhs” will increase the “Wows” and enhance the quality of our care.
As published in HT City (Hindustan Times) dated 26 February, 2012.
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