Human rights, death sentencing, freedom of the press - it's all linked.

I am unequivocally opposed to capital punishment. I don't care what the crime is or what the situation is. State sanctioned murder diminishes the humanity of us all.

The two Australian men currently on death row in Indonesia, part of the so-called Bali Nine, will apparently be murdered before the end of the month. The state will take a series of steps which amount to premeditation and will result in Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran being shot by a firing squad.

I also believe that crime is bad and criminals should be punished. They should also be rehabilitated. In the event that their sentence will see them re-entering society, I want them to have the best chance to have options other than crime for their survival outside prison.

I want to be assured that inmates are treated as human beings while they are imprisoned. Poor treatment, institutionalisation and dehumanisation does not help criminals develop empathy for their victims or reduce the risk of recidivism.

This is my moral philosophy and I'm happy to declare it.

Last night's episode of 4 Corners took us inside the campaign to save the lives of Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran. It struck me that these two men are getting on with their lives and are valuable members of their community within the prison. It's clear that they view their own actions of almost ten years ago as wrong and mistaken and that they are reformed. Their families and wider community outside prison have rallied around and would hold them accountable for future behaviour.

We saw inside Kerobokan Prison last night. We heard that even the head of the prison had pleaded for mercy on behalf of the two men. They're not asking to be released, just to be allowed to live.

I started to think about the Australian Government's representations and what support they may be offering to these men and their families. I wondered about the credibility of a Government arguing against the death penalty when they are running concentration camps, where they incarcerate innocent asylum seekers indefinitely.

Then it struck me that we have seen more of the "notorious" Kerobokan Prison than we have of our own immigration detention centres on Manus Island and Nauru. As critical as we can be of a country that carries out the death penalty, Indonesia seems to at least be committed to the concept of freedom of speech and the role of the media as the fourth estate.

I don't understand how the Abbott Government seems to have no central moral philosophy. On one hand they can advocate for a free press in the case of the unjust imprisonment in Egypt of journalist Peter Greste. At the same time, they can be denying the media access to immigration detention centres. UN investigators aren't likely to gain access either. This is all happening against a backdrop of the royal commission investigating institutional abuse where the themes of transparency and independent advocacy to ensure accountability are being shouted daily. They can plead for mercy from the imposition of the death penalty, yet can rob all hope from asylum seekers and leave them in ignorant despair. The stealing of hope is also a kind of death sentence.

It's all so complicated, yet it's also really clear. We either advocate for human rights and all the mechanisms that ensure they are upheld, or we don't. It's not something we can pick and choose about.

I really hope that Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukamaran are spared. They seem like they have turned into excellent young men and learned from the stupid, serious mistakes of youth.

#IStandForMercy

What do you think?

Considering "Utopia" and Australia's history

A friend told me that I had to watch "Utopia", John Pilger's film about black Australia. (I was about to write that it was a film about the current situation in black Australia. I feel like the current situation has existed for a while.)

While I was emotionally engaged by "Utopia", I had a niggling question throughout and that was about balance, objectivity and notions of "truth" in journalism. I'm not sure what I think about that. I am well-read on the history of Australia, black and white, and struggle to understand the intentions behind government policies, both in the past and now. I've concluded that this film is not objective and is a construction meant to tell a particular story. Is it propaganda? I don't know - probably because I sympathise with the view presented - but I think it's certainly a pretty important piece of activism.

I remember believing in the ideals of balance, objectivity and truth. There was a moment of youthful naivety when I actually thought I could achieve it. I no longer believe those things are possible. The best thing that we can do is sample widely and seek out as many viewpoints as we can.

Despite having these misgivings, "Utopia" is worth watching as part of the search for viewpoints.

Vox pop interviews on Sydney streets on Australia Day confounded me. How can any adult truly believe that Aboriginal people like to live in extreme poverty and deprivation? That actually they choose it?

CCTV footage of the mistreatment of an Aboriginal man in police custody, shows the rough handling by police dealing with a sleepy drunk man who inconveniently leaves his blood on the floor after he is thrown to the ground by police. We then see him left alone in a cell as he dies. The film reports that he had been taken into "protective" police custody and his life could have been saved. He basically died from neglect.

We then hear about the death of an Aboriginal man in the back of a jail transport in Western Australia. He died in the metal mobile cell after temperatures reached over 50 degrees Celsius. The coroner said he had basically been cooked to death. The Corrective Services Minister at the time seemed to be sorry for what had happened and that she had considered resigning. She said she hadn't resigned because she wanted to do something. She organised cultural sensitivity training.

What does cultural sensitivity training have to do with a failure to respect another human being? It seemed to me that this Aboriginal man in custody was viewed as so different from us, that he must not have been viewed as human.

Over to Rottnest Island and we discover that the resort rooms were once the cells of an Aboriginal concentration camp. The tourist leaflet about "historic" Rottnest Island does not mention the prison history, the hangings that took place and the mass grave nearby.

A man at the Australian War Memorial is asked why wars fought on foreign soils are commemorated, but the "frontier wars" where Aborigines fought to defend their homelands from colonial takeover are ignored, as if they never happened. It's a good question.

Stories of the Wave Hill strike where Aboriginal workers and their families went on strike for over 7 years in an effort to be paid and fed properly, made my own struggles for fairness as a union official seem inconsequential. Another tale of exploitation of Aboriginal workers is told about cotton chippers at Wee Waa in northern New South Wales. One of the activists talks about the planes spraying pesticides flying over and spraying while he and his fellow workers were working in the fields. Not even human, kept going through my mind as I watched.

I don't know how this happens. How can we regard other human beings as less than ourselves? How can empathy fail us so completely? And of course, I write this as a relatively privileged white woman who has access to what I need - more than  I need, actually. Is it comprehensive brainwashing? That the so-called history wars have been successful in separating white Australians from our awful history?

I spent three years of my primary schooling at Moree Public School. Moree is a town in northern New South Wales with a large Aboriginal population. I remember being terrified at the prospect of going to school with blackfellas. Fresh from Canberra Grammar, I had met one Aboriginal boy. He was the adopted son of the minister at our Anglican Church. I wonder now where he came from. Had he been stolen? Of course, pretty soon, we were all just kids together and colour didn't  matter so much in the classroom.

Corporal punishment was used liberally and certain teachers had a fearsome reputation as wielders of the cane. I was in grade 4, Miss Hoolihan was taking an art class. Eddie Pitt flicked paint at me. It was friendly play. I painted his arm. We were warned. We didn't listen. Both of us were reprimanded and told to go to see Mr O'Connor. Mr O'Connor was known to have broken several canes on the hands of badly behaved children and I was terrified. For this minor transgression, play really, we were to be caned by Mr O'Connor!

Eddie Pitt taught me something about courage as he led the way. I really didn't want to go. We arrived at Mr O'Connor's classroom to discover that he wasn't there. Eddie Pitt comforted me and said not to worry about it. He was probably used to being regularly physically punished by the ripe old age of about 8. My mother was furious and advocated strongly for me telling me that I was not to receive the cane. Ever.

Eddie Pitt's mother might have advocated strongly for him too. Or she might have wished she could, but didn't know how. Or she might have been so subjugated by the white men that she accepted that her son would be beaten regularly at school as part of all they could expect from their lives.

I know that Eddie Pitt is probably dead. Statistically, it's likely that many of my Aboriginal classmates, especially the boys, are not longer with us.

I found myself ashamed to agree with one person interviewed in the film who said he thought that foreign aid was probably required to help us all. I don't know what the answer is, but I suspect that educating all of us and facing our history is part of it.

What do you think? Have you seen the film?

I was able to watch "Utopia" on SBS on demand TV. It expires in 5 days.

What are you afraid of? - leadership action

Don't be afraid of what will happen if you act. Be afraid of what will happen if you don't act.

I've found myself having this conversation a lot lately. Leaders tell me that they haven't tackled something they know they should, because they're scared or worried about a reaction. I ask them about what that reaction is likely to be and they describe another person's bad or immature behaviour. They'd rather battle on - and force their team to battle on -  than address a problem.

When I ask what will happen if they do nothing, eye contact is broken, they get a guilty look and then they tell me they know they should do something, but they are gripped by fear.

I ask again - what will happen if you don't act? - and keep asking until they face themselves. Eventually they realise that doing nothing about a problem is worse for everyone.

Sometimes they tell me stories about how they've inherited a problem and that a person has been allowed to get away with certain things for a long time. They tell me these stories, manifesting frustration and blaming the others who came before them and did nothing.

I then ask whether they are about to be the next person who does nothing or will they be the person to make the choice to act?

Some people make the decision to act at that point, others need another nudge, so I tap into their empathy.

"Imagine if you were that person, acting and believing you're doing okay, but actually there are major problems that everyone else knows about, but no one has ever respected you enough to talk to you about it."

It's easy to make excuses when the path of action is challenging. It's easier to do almost everything else when you've made an effort to address problems that need fixing.

I've realised this week while working with another group of leaders that I've brought my activist mindset with me. To me, the business of leading is about acting in a way that sets your people free to do their best work. The key is that leadership is an action, not a noun. It's not a title or a name on a business card. It's action framed by mindset. In any setting.

Are you taking action? What are you avoiding? What are you afraid of?

"Sorry" - pondering the art of the apology

Lately I've been thinking about apologies. I think this is partly because the evening news is filled with stories of the day's proceedings at the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse.

The personal stories are harrowing and I find it difficult to comprehend that what now seems like an epidemic was hidden for so long. The stories are also littered with brave souls deciding to speak up and then being further victimised in the way the institutions responded to the complaint. Often one of the things being sought was an apology. Frequently, the institution receiving the complaint was a faith based organisation. I can imagine these organisations are proud of values like compassion, respect, justice and empathy. Money was usually offered and usually rejected as the apology remained missing in action.

Australia's most senior Roman Catholic, Cardinal George Pell, recently apologised to abuse victim John Ellis. As I watched, I didn't notice what was said because I was so overwhelmed by the fact that he wasn't looking at the person to whom he was apologising. It just looked like a person going through the expected steps, rather than demonstrating any heart connection. (I can't judge intention, but am reflecting on what was being transmitted on the visual communication channel.)

Tonight I also heard that two years ago, the British Prime Minister, David Cameron, apologised to the families of people killed at the Hillsborough soccer stadium twenty-five years ago.

Apologies are so often sought. I wonder at the satisfaction when they are received. What is the essential quality that causes the apology to be received in a way that it goes some way to repair damage and hurt?

Australia has its own long record of grappling with the question of saying sorry to our indigenous people. I could always embrace the idea that one should be offered because it just seemed like the decent thing to do. In February I was listening to the radio in the car, while I drove across town. The show was being broadcast from a concert to mark the anniversary of the apology which was eventually delivered by Prime Minister Kevin Rudd. Kutcha Edwards talked about the wound that indigenous Australians have as a result of the removal of children (the stolen generations). He talked about that when you're wounded you have less capacity to deal with further pain; while ever that wound is left unattended it will fester and ache and ooze and weep. The wound needs to be tended to, so that it can begin to heal.

I listened and the tears rolled. It was the most humble and sensible description I had ever heard.

We know the power of words - to heal or inflict pain - so why is it so hard to say sorry with truth and sincerity? Perhaps it' s the surrender of the ego as wrongdoing is admitted. In order to reach this point, empathy needs to be felt and demonstrated.

Kutcha Edwards also made me rethink my working definition of empathy when the broadcaster raised the family metaphor of "walking in another's shoes". Mr Edwards pounced and said that this was not enough; the understanding needs to be deepened so there is appreciation for why a person is in a particular pair of shoes.

Yes!

I was in Federation Square in Melbourne, as the community gathered together to hear the Prime Minister apologise on behalf of white Australians. I cried. I stood amongst others who were also moved.

Prime Minister Julia Gillard also apologised to mothers and their children who were separated at birth through policies of enforced adoption. It was overshadowed by the internal political shenanigans of the Labor Party at the time, but I remember being just as moved.

It seems we have a lot to say sorry for as a country and probably as individuals too. Have you apologised lately? Perhaps you've received an apology - what made it work? or fail? 

Power dynamics and patient feedback

This morning I was working with one of the health sciences schools at a Melbourne university. I happened to be working with the same student I had a couple of weeks ago when my character was one day post-operative. I remembered the student, but I think he became confused as he wondered whether he was supposed to remember me (even though I was playing the same character). Sometimes what happens within a simulation takes on a life of its own.

The student who was working with me was professionally polite, but a little cold and formal. He needed to relax a little to build better rapport with my character who was gung-ho and very motivated to get on with her rehabilitation. In the feedback afterwards, I gave him a quick refresher on rapport building and he looked like he'd heard it all before.

The main thing I talked to him about though, was quite personal and is an example of why feedback from simulated patients is so powerful. The student had a cold and was sniffling and fighting nasal congestion throughout our consultation. On several occasions he apologised for his cold, which I noted as a sign that he was aware of what I might be noticing. Great. What wasn't so great was when he wiped his nose with his hand and then moved in to touch me as part of my treatment. I considered saying something during the consultation, but it didn't really fit with my character, so I suffered through the hand-to-nose-to-knee sequence several times, silently giving thanks that he wasn't my dentist.

When I gave the feedback he looked shocked and was very apologetic. He told me he wasn't aware that he'd been doing that. I know that hand hygiene receives heavy attention throughout health education and continues into the workplace, so I was surprised to see this behaviour. I suppose it highlights why there are signs everywhere with instructions about how to wash your hands or use hand sanitiser properly. (Don't forget to do the back of the hands too!)

I know that it would be rare for a real patient to tell their allied health professional to wash their hands after they wiped their nose. This is because of the power dynamics and powerful protocols in play, as we align to playing our designated roles.

How's your hand hygiene? Would you stop someone from treating you if they had wiped their nose just before touching you? 

Rural health care - or the mysterious tale of the spider bite

Last week I experienced what it's like to go to a GP in a rural town. A large red swelling had appeared on my right leg On New Year's Day. It was hot and had a hard centre. It was painful to walk and seemed to be growing larger by the hour. I tried a few remedies over the course of the day but when I awoke the next day to a bigger, redder, angrier swelling, I decided that I needed to see a doctor.

Firstly, I discovered that one must call in the morning to make an appointment for that day. It is not possible to book ahead. Therefore, making an appointment is like trying to win a competition on a radio station - you just have to keep hitting redial until you succeed in getting through. By the time we spoke to one of the receptionists, only late afternoon appointments were available. In the time taken to give my first name, the slot we thought we were booking for had been snapped up and I was in to see a different doctor at 3:45pm.

I arrived a few minutes early to complete paperwork. It was very hot, so I asked the receptionist where I could refill my water bottle.

She looked at me, puzzled.

"Where can I refill my water bottle?" I repeated.

"We don't do that here," came her mean reply.

"Wow. Really?" was the best that I could do.

I took a seat in the expansive waiting room. I took in the meagre pile of sticky magazines, children's toys spread all over the floor, the blaring television and the miserable looking people and imagined the difference a supply of cool water would make.

Before long a very large man came and sat right beside me. There were so many seats and available places to sit, but he sat right beside me and proceeded to sneeze and cough. I moved. I didn't want to leave the doctor sicker than when I went in!

I  was called in to see the doctor only ten minutes after my appointed time. He took me through and immediately took a past medical history. He didn't say hello and he didn't introduce himself. He asked a lot of questions about my past medical history that had nothing to do with my current problem. It was probably about ten minutes before he stopped typing on the computer, turned to face me and asked what my problem was today! I was appalled. (I know that all my work teaching doctors about empathy and communication probably makes me a tough audience, but really, this was sub-standard.)

I showed him my leg. The expression on his face changed (shock? distaste? fascination?) and he donned some gloves. He pressed and touched and then declared that I had been bitten by a spider. He asked me if I wanted some antibiotics to treat the secondary infection that had resulted and suggested that I take some antihistamines. I reminded him that I take antihistamines daily.

Seconds later I was out the door with a prescription for an antibiotic in my hand and a bill for $70.

By contrast, when I collected my prescription from the pharmacy, the pharmacist wanted to confirm that the tablets were for a skin infection. I showed her the bite. She nodded vigourously and said that she'd seen about five others just like this.

I've been sleeping with an icepack to take the heat out and the antibiotics have reduced the swelling and the red ring of poison. I now have a hard, dark, sore lump on my leg.

It's unlikely to be a Red Back Spider that bit me (I'd be really sick). The consensus is that it's probably a White Tail spider that feasted on me. Avoid this if you can!

Have you ever been bitten by a spider? What's the worst thing you've ever been bitten by? Did you bite it back?

Being a patient - for real this time.

This time last week I was recovering from general anaesthetic. Hence my absence from writing. Beforehand I was a little anxious and just didn't have the headspace to write.  Afterwards, I was recovering, sleeping and thinking and just needed space.

Thanks for bearing with me.  Thanks also for the love and support sent my way at this time.

While I'm very experienced in being a patient interacting with the health care system, I'm not usually sick. Everything feels completely different when you're confronting surgery. From the moment of walking in the front door of the hospital (if you're lucky enough to be able to walk in), doing paperwork and making payments, to following instructions and having observations taken, the power relationship shifts. Suddenly I went from being an independent woman who acts on my own behalf and decides whether or not to follow rules and obey instructions, to being completely passive and following all instructions without question or comment.

Luckily I had a solid and trusted person with me who helped me keep perspective and stop me from worrying myself into a puddle on the floor.

Waking from a general anaesthetic is surreal.  One minute you're listening to the friendly and soothing chat from the anaesthetist as whatever marvellous stuff he has given you starts to loosen your hold on consciousness; you're noticing a mask being placed over your face.  Next thing you're hearing your name, you're somewhere else and you're in pain.

Pain was attended to swiftly and with gentle concern. Even as I shook uncontrollably for what seemed like ages, I was aware of the care and attention I was receiving. When the shaking didn't stop, I started to become distressed and tears started to flow. It seemed like a biological reaction which I was observing from afar. Unpleasant. It took a long time to make it out of the first stage of recovery. I kept falling asleep and my oxygen saturation was low. An alarm kept sounding and I was being reminded to breathe. I would and the alarm would stop.

I was relieved to be moved to another area and see my friend arrive. God knows what we talked about. I can't really remember. I hope I wasn't rude and didn't reveal any secrets.  A different nurse took over. She  didn't introduce herself and I felt she was very matter of fact and not very empathetic. My friend said she was doing a fine job from his perspective and I should appreciate that. I did. I've spent so much time thinking about and teaching empathy to health care professionals that I really notice when it's not there.

We arrived home after 8pm and my friends changed shift. My friend who stayed the night had a quiet night of it. The next morning I thanked her for staying and apologised for there being no middle-of-the-night emergency. We both have an appreciation for drama and she said she was a little bit let down she hadn't been required to play the scene requiring her to drive me somewhere, in my car. The kicker is that it would have been her first driving practice in about 20 years.

We both understood that we were joking.

On Friday, I had a half day of simulated patient work. I was back in a hospital gown and lying on a trolley. While the case was very different from my own circumstances, I felt that my recent surgical experience was adding to my authenticity in the role. Several students checked to see whether I would be okay as they finished their exam station. (Now that's empathy!)

Monday, I was back in shapeless blue piece of material, hopefully (ironically?) referred to as a "gown" as I went to have an MRI on my knee. (This is the one I fell on back in August.) The procedure was straightforward and painless and required me to follow one simple instruction: lie perfectly still.  Suddenly, this was an impossible task. My right arm was at a funny angle. Could I move it? Only it? Surely if I just shifted it a little, it wouldn't move my right knee?  Would it? I can't breathe! Oh, yes I can, but am I moving too much when I breathe? Or maybe I'm not breathing enough? Is that why my left big toe is suddenly incredibly ITCHY? I've got pins and needles in my left hand! Just lie still! Just lie still! Only 17 more minutes to go. I hear the machine go quiet. The technician reads my mind and just as I think I can move, her voice instructs me through the headphones to "keep lying still...only five more minutes to go...you're doing really well!" Look how much my chest moves when I breathe! How deeply can I breathe without moving my whole body? Wow, suddenly I'm aware of my earlobes...

And so it went for the whole 20 minutes.

I was told I'd been very still and given a well done as I carried my basket of clothes back to a cubicle to extricate myself from what I hope will be the last gown I'll wear for real for a while.

Oh no - where's my CV?

Currently I'm working with a group of workers who have been subject to a restructure by their employer.  The employer is offering a series of workshops to assist them to get their resumes in order, reflect on their career plan and prepare for interview.

The typical profile of these people is that they have been with the one organisation long term - anywhere from twelve to thirty years; sometimes in the one role or part of the business.  People attending the workshops are experiencing a variety of emotions - some are angry, others feel betrayed, but most are quietly nervous and fearful.  They know they need to dust off their CV but don't really know how to do it.  They've been in the one place for so long they can't imagine themselves anywhere else.

The amazing thing is that as participants go beyond thinking about their skills and think about what they really value in life, there have been some big breakthroughs.  Chins start to wobble, lips thin and eyes start to fill with tears as realisations about how they don't really fit the place they've been in for the last decade or two.

I didn't know how much I was suppressing part of myself  while I worked for one organisation.  I was exercising one part of myself, but the other part lay dormant and actually had to be put away every day.  I'd put the armour on to the enter daily combat.  I didn't know it at the time; it was only after I left that I gained this perspective.  Friends told me that I was nicer to be around and it was great to see me be more like myself more of the time.

I find this experience is profound for me as well as I listen to them describe how they have to suppress their natural inclinations five days a week in order to fulfill the requirements of the job.  Worse, at the beginning of the workshops they tell me that they're wanting to apply for one of the new roles in the new structure.  By the end of the workshops they have the skills to do that but they're feeling uneasy because they know they should look outside.  I wonder whether they will?  Will they hold their resolve to be happy at work or will they succumb to the economic realities of a well-paying position and fight to hang on to something they don't really want?

I hope they hang on to their resolve, but I know that most won't and it will take the universe giving them a kick up the backside to make them act in their own true interests.  There is pain ahead, but at least they're equipped.

Are you in the right job?  What do you truly value?  Are your values and the values of the organisation for which you work aligned? If they're not, what do you need to do?

Ouch! When the "care" is missing from healthcare

This year I've been focussing on communication and empathy in health care.  Working with undergraduate students in a range of health care professions, I was heartened and optimistic about their views towards patients/clients and thrilled that they seemed to want to work with patients and their families in an empathetic way.  It was hard to reconcile their attitudes with the studies done by Monash University that show empathy declines during the course of study and falls off a cliff in the first year of work in most health professions.

This week, I've been face to face with the health system in New South Wales and I am completely disheartened and appalled.

My Dad required emergency treatment for a potentially life threatening condition.  He lives in rural NSW near a large regional city and another smaller country town.  He was admitted to hospital in the large regional city, but required a surgical procedure which could only be done at the nearest "tertiary hospital" which is the John Hunter Hospital in Newcastle.  After four days he was transported by air ambulance to Newcastle.  He was treated yesterday and seems to be on the road to recovery.

He's also on the road to nowhere.

We needed to get him back home after his treatment, about four hours or so away by road.  All family members who live nearby are unable to drive and the rest of us live in different states at opposite ends of the country.  We would need assistance to get him home, but were being told by the Doctor he could not travel by bus or train and then by a very cranky nurse that the Doctor didn't know what she was talking about and that of course he'd be fine to travel on the train.  Who should I listen to - the cardiologist or the nurse?

I swung into action, calling my contacts in ambulance and health to find out how to solve this problem.  All the advice I was receiving was that he should be transported home in the non-emergency patient transport provided by the ambulance service.  As a paid up member of the ambulance there would be no cost to him and there would be no cost to the hospital, but a Doctor needed to authorise the booking.

Hospitals are impenetrable.  They are lumbering institutions that require insider knowledge to get what you need and find who you need.  I took a deep breath and called the one number listed on the website.  I was put through to information.  Information put me through to a lovely Doctor who was in the intensive care unit and had not met Dad and knew nothing about his case.  Dad wasn't in the ICU.  I explained the situation to the Doctor and he agreed that suitable transport should be arranged.

No one called me back, so I called again and was put through to the Registered Nurse on Dad's ward. This nurse had the tone and attitude of someone who has forgotten what their job is all about.  She spoke to me like a naughty child, talked over the top of me, was impatient when I asked her to listen to me and dismissive of my concerns for my father.  She said she would talk to the social worker and hung up the phone while I was in the middle of explaining the family situation, including the fact that Dad had no clothes with him, only his pyjamas.

After 20 minutes, I called again.  I asked her why she had hung up on me.  Her response was that she told me she was going to speak to the social worker and she already knew what I was going to say.  Again, her tone was horrible.  I told her that I wanted to have a conversation with someone about my father's situation to get a better resolution than putting him on the train to a town he doesn't live in.  She then argued the point with me about where my father's home is, interrupting me again to confirm with my father where he lives.  As if I don't know where my father resides! I asked her to change her tone and speak to me with some respect and empathy for the situation and she told me that wasn't possible.  Apparently I had offended her when I said she was wrong about where Dad lives.  I asked to speak to someone who was interested in helping us, she said that wasn't possible either.

She then proceeded to shrilly tell me that I shouldn't be concerned.  He'd had his procedure and lots of people have the same procedure and he's fine! What's the big deal?  She said - in the most condescending tone possible - that Dad was sick when he came in and that's why he needed an ambulance.  The hospital had made him better, so he wasn't sick anymore and now he just had to go home.

Here was a blinding lack of empathy for me to confront.  I heard myself echoing something I said in the empathy workshops I facilitated during the year:  "This might be routine for you, but this is the most serious health concern my father has ever had.  It's the first time we've dealt with something like this and it is not routine for us.  I'm a long way away and trying to be supportive and organise everything on the phone from Melbourne, I need your help!"

She then advised me that normally the family would collect a patient.  Just what I needed - judgement.  I'd had no impact at all.  She had become institutionalised and part of a system that obviously sees the people who are meant to be served as an annoying inconvenience.

I asked to speak to the social worker.  "That's not possible," came the reply.

"Why not?"

"She's gone home for the day."

"What's the social worker's name?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I don't know her name."

"How many social workers are there?"

"One."

"And you don't know her name."

"No."

"Not even her first name?"

"No."

If this nurse had been empathetic to our situation she would have just told me that the social worker had gone home for the day and that she wasn't sure of her name but would leave a message for her to call me in the morning.  It didn't need to be that hard.

Even when I explicitly said I wasn't looking for a fight, she expressed frustration that she had become the meat in the sandwich.

"Why? What's the sandwich? Aren't we all working for the same thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"To look after my Dad and make sure he travels home safely."

She had no answer.  She was clearly viewing us as a battle to be fought and won.

It appears that the clinical care has been great.  Hopefully the procedure will make a big difference to Dad's health and well being.  Clinical care is not the whole picture though and I'm surprised at just how lacking the broader care has been.  In regional Australia, in this hospital, it must be common for people to be admitted to a hospital far from home and need to get back to where they came from after they've been treated.  I hate to think of all the other people facing the same dilemmas.  To be a patient subject to the a nurse who is a bully is a significant power imbalance - all at the time when you're trying to recover from surgery.  How can you advocate for yourself in this situation?

I've been researching about the hospital.  Like most big organisations these days they have a statement of rights and responsibilities for patients, including values.  Sadly, there is a big gap between the big statements of values and the lived reality for one patient and his family.

I really hope the awareness of the need for an empathetic approach to care will make a difference in the future.

Now, I'm off to research the complaints process.

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You might like to read this earlier post about empathy.

Public embarrassment - staging an underwear show

Mortification doesn't begin to cover the feeling I had when I walked back into the room where I had been working all day with a colleague.

I had just returned from a visit to the lavatory and walked back into the room saying that I wouldn't mind working in the space again.  The room was just the right size with a wall of big windows.  It was conducive to thinking, writing and being creative.

I pulled the chair out to sit down, smoothed my dress at the back in readiness for sitting and it was then that the moritifcation occurred.  My dress was tucked up into my stockings and knickers at the back!  I had walked the length of a corridor in this state!  I immediately blushed, then cringed, then looked accusingly at my colleague - had he seen?  how much had he seen?  why hadn't he said anything?  Oh god!

He was looking at me, clearly registering that there was something wrong.  So I told him: "My dress is tucked into my knickers! How long has it been like that?  Did I go to lunch like that?" (I'd been to the lavatory just before lunch too.)

Smirking turned into a wide grin as he shook his head.

"No it wasn't like that at lunch."  He went into a reverie.  "I do remember the time I was following a woman who had toilet paper trailing out the back of her pants."  He laughed.

"Did you tell her?"

"No.  I didn't."

He didn't!  How could I trust him in this situation?  Surely after all these weeks of working and travelling together our relationship was such that he would have said something.  Surely.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of nervous paranoia, compulsively smoothing the back of my dress and adjusting my underwear.

The first thing I did when I arrived home was tuck my dress into my knickers to see how bad it would have looked.  I wanted to know what others had seen as I walked the length of that (very long) corridor.  With black stockings, black knickers and a black dress, it didn't look too bad.  Perhaps that's why no one said anything.

I would always let someone know if their dress was tucked up or their fly was undone or they had toilet paper trailing.  I once told my boss her dress was on inside out when she arrived at work.  That's one of those random acts of kindness I reckon.  It's about having and showing empathy.

Tomorrow I'll find the whole thing hilarious and see how I can exploit the story for entertainment.  Until then, I'm off to look at my rear view in the mirror.  Again.

Do you tell strangers embarrassing things they need to know?  Or do you let them walk around in blissful oblivion? What would you prefer?

In tune and in synch.

Today has been a day of feeling the universe was tuned into me.  Or perhaps I was tuned into the universe.  Whichever way I look at it, there were many moments where I felt tingly as everything was perfectly synched.  As I write this, there are ten minutes left in the day and I wonder will this feeling continue tomorrow.

Today I facilitated a test run of a workshop which I've co-devised for Monash University as part of a project looking at empathy amongst multi-disciplinary health care teams.  Travelling on the train to the other side of Melbourne, I took the time to think about empathy and also about the day ahead.  It felt so good to be in a position where I would have the opportunity to put a new workshop "on its feet" to test the design and material before "going live".  Too often this step is not factored in and facilitators are left to find a way to make poorly designed things work.  

The day was a success.  While I was waiting for my colleague to finalise some work I opened my email.  After I'd checked that, I picked up the book I'm reading at the moment.  In rapid succession there were three moments that felt a little bit "spooky" - little bit like being in my very own Truman Show.

Firstly, there was today's edition of The Get More Goer, sent weekly by the Get More Guy, Warwick Merry, whom you met in this Question Time post.  Whenever I read Warwick's provocative few sentences, I often feel like he has a sixth sense and writes precisely what I need in my life at that moment. 

Today the message was all about assessing if you are truly listening to the needs of your clients.  His final statement resonated - deeply.  "Most of the time our existing clients tell us what they want. Why wouldn't you deliver that?"  

Probably because we can spend too much time thinking about life from our own perspective and forget to be empathetic.  

Secondly, I saw my weekly quote from Tom Peters:  "Effective communicating REQUIRES "wasting" lots of upfront time to establish rapport.  ("Getting right to the point" is usually disastrous.)  

Again, it hit me right between the eyes.  I'd just been having a conversation with a paramedic educator about the particular challenges paramedics face when they walk into someone's home wearing a uniform when there are also time restraints and "efficiencies" which they are required by the system to meet.  I tried to imagine what it would be like to work in a job that has human interaction as its focus, but where spending time to establish rapport, can sometimes be seen as taking too long.  Obviously in a life threatening emergency situation, I don't really care about rapport - I'll want my clinical needs addressed swiftly.  However, I also think about the power of an interaction where both things happen - my life is saved and the health care professionals work in a way that inspires a relaxed confidence that my life is going to be okay in their hands and more than that, my human dignity will remain intact because they understand what I'm worried about.

The third example is a little more whimsical.  If you've visited my "What I'm Reading" page lately, you will have noticed I'm reading about Stanley Milgram's obedience tests, conducted in the late 1960's at Yale University.  I opened up to a new chapter, only to read about a staff member with the same surname as my colleague at Monash University and that he had been a paramedic, the same as my colleague.  On the back of the two mass emails which appeared to be specifically written for me, it was a little bit freaky.

I wonder if I was noticing these "coincidences", moments of synchronicity, particularly because I was in a hyper-aware observant state of mind.  

Looking back at this question I see that it contains the answer!  To fall into synch, to feel more in rhythm, cultivate observance and make the connections is truly inspiring!  And come to think of it, it's a great way to develop empathy.

You can find out more about the work on empathy here. 

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IT'S MY BIRTHDAY & YOU GET THE GIFTS!
As I contemplate renewing my commitment to divacultura for another year, I feel excitement and affection.  Thank you for sharing some of your time with me. As a thank you gift - and so I can gain a better sense of who's out there - I'll be giving away a pair of my hand knitted socks to two very lucky readers, where ever you are in the world (ie two readers will receive a pair of socks each).  To be in the running, leave a comment on this post by Friday 17 August 2012, stating why you like reading divacultura. My favourite responses will receive the prize (my decision is final).  Why not take the opportunity to sign up and follow too!