Waiter, waiter, there’s a fly in my soup!

It’s the little things that matter. Every Friday, I take the five black shirts I have worn during the week to be cleaned and pressed at my local Timpson’s (there are other cleaners available). I started doing this a couple of years ago, when I got fed up with our washing machine adding lots of fluff to every shirt each time they were washed. Now I simply take them to Timpson’s. They are cleaned, pressed, hung on hangers and smell wonderful. Jo, the new Timpson’s manager, always greets me by name, writes out the ticket, including my telephone number, which she knows off by heart, exchanges a few words about how the world is treating her and takes the shirts. Sunday, I get a text to say they are ready to be picked up. I must be one of many customers, but Jo always makes me feel special. It is the type of personal service that comes complete with a smile and immaculately laundered shirts.

Receiving good service is something I’m very keen on and it doesn’t matter in what context the service is being provided. Dylan, our little dog, has his coat cut once every six weeks. Where we lived before, I had to drag Dylan through the groomer’s door. He hated going there and I strongly suspect he was ill-treated while he was there. These days we have a different groomer. When we go, he jumps out of my car, runs to the door and once let in, gives Donna the groomer a big cuddle. He loves it there and even though the price of his hair cut has gone up, I wouldn’t change groomers at all. It’s service with a smile and a rather smart looking dog.

In my mind, good service trumps all. If I don’t get decent service, I refuse to try for a second go (much to the chagrin of J, my more tolerant wife). The restaurant, shop, garage, or pub is simply crossed off my list of places where I might choose to spend my money. In some circumstances, that can be a big loss. I change my car every three years, and if I don’t feel the service is good, I won’t return to the salesroom and will probably choose a different make of car to buy. 

It is not just how people treat you that is important. For example, if I order a hot meal, I like it to arrive at my table hot, not warm. These days if the meal arrives warm and not hot, I no longer ask for it to be exchanged, I simply don’t eat it and let the waiter know at the end of the meal. I have complained in the past and I have received replacement meals. However, as a long-time vegetarian, I’m not always confident that the replacement meal won’t have been contaminated in some way as a form of chef’s revenge. Service with a snarl and soup with a fly in it.

Of course, all these are examples of situations where I have a choice. I choose a different make of car, a new restaurant and so on. There are some situations where we have little, or no choice. Unless you have private healthcare insurance or are super rich, most of us rely on the NHS to treat and care for us when we are ill, or have had some kind of accident. Despite all the well-known challenges to the service - lack of money, lack of staff, poor environments, and long waiting times - for much of the time it is a very good service. Sometimes it’s not.  Last year, the NHS received 229,458 reported written complaints. This was an increase on the year before of nearly 4,000 complaints.

There were lots of complaints about delays in receiving treatment and access to care, but by far the greatest number of complaints were concerned with communication. This included not being told something, often a tricky area for families of a loved one to navigate; delays in receiving information, test results, doctors’ letters and so on; and how people were communicated with as well. Poor attitude, rudeness, bluntness, and a lack of compassion were all cited as poor interpersonal communication behaviours that patients and families found unacceptable.

It is not just verbal communication that is at play here. The way we sometimes write to patients and families can be just as damaging. Last week, I was looking at some of the responses we have made in the past to patients’ complaints. The language we use is always going to be important, and I thought we might have sometimes been a little kinder and clearer in the choice of words used. For example, I saw a lot of ‘I’m sorry that you feel…’  being used. It is a phrase that perhaps conveys that an individual’s perception of an event or an experience is not relevant. I have long held the view that perceptions can often be just as important as facts and need responding to with equal care. In saying this, I am in no way casting aspersions on my Customer Care colleagues. They do a fantastic job. Laying blame at their door would be the same as me blaming the poor service I get on the waiter, or salesman. Totally inappropriate.

There will always be something we can learn from every complaint and how these are responded to. However, I also know that, judging by the number of emails I get, where folk are concerned about their care or a loved one’s care, finding the time to step off the complaint investigation and responding processes to reflect, learn and grow can be challenging.

Perhaps where and when things don’t live up to expectations, we might try harder to find a way of putting things right earlier and before frustrations escalate to the written complaint stage. In any event, even if it is difficult to do that, all NHS colleagues are bound by a Duty of Candour. This is such an important responsibility and one we should cherish and not be afraid to draw upon when required. Of course, getting things right first time would be better still. Like the weekly laundering of my shirts, we can all aspire to experiencing and/or providing services that are timely, appropriate, and successful.