If you are a manager, or an administrator, or any one of the hidden army of people who don’t actually stand at a bedside…
… but you make sure:
… a bed is available; the space is clean; the person in the bed has all the machines that go beep, calibrated and ready; has their special diet; clean linen…
… theatres ready when they are; their pills and potions arrive; their visitors can find somewhere to park; the signs direct them where to go; the lights are on and the place is safe… even though, in some parts, the roof is falling in…
… right now, the NHS is a rotten place to work.
Geoff knows all about it.
In the twenty-eight years since serving in Kosovo with the Royal Logistics Corps, he had worked in the NHS.
Procurement, logistics, organising. His army background served him well. They’d paid for and put him through his MBA. Later, the NHS Graduate Management Scheme had given him a whole new perspective on life.
He had served the Army and the NHS well. His talent and character were rewarded with training and promotion.
It had been a tough day.
Everyone was working in the shadow of redundancy. No one’s heart was really in it.
Three of his key people had bailed out. One was working their notice and another was wavering. Why not? Young, talented people won’t hang around for the arrogant invisibles at the centre to screw up their lives.
Geoff joked he was adding ‘organising leaving-dos’ to his CV.
The army was a tough life, but he was a lot younger and didn’t have a wife, two youngsters at uni and a mortgage.
The NHS is brutal. The unheralded, unplanned-for, disorganised announcement that half the staff would have to go by Christmas had caused catastrophic damage.
Demolished morale. The rumour mill was grinding. Sick days were coinciding with Fridays and Mondays. People leaving early. Cliques emerging.
He’d found a page of a CV, accidentally left in the Xerox, and decided to quietly bin it.
He got his people together and was brutally honest. No, he had no idea who was for the chop and who wasn’t.
‘Be honest’, he said… ‘if you want to go, tip me off. It won’t go any further, but it’ll help me keep the show on the road…’
Geoff had no idea if he was going to be around to keep ‘the show on the road’. Like everyone, he was working with his new best friend, Damocles.
It was tricky for him. Not quite old enough to retire. Still with commitments and bills to pay. He could see his department being crunched with a couple of others.
Maybe, sell the house and downsize? Cancel the holiday plans while he could still get a refund. Dump his car and share one with June, his wife.
She worked in the Trust as a Band 7 but had been down-banded to 6. Either that or try and find another job.
It was late. It had been a long day. He looked across the open-plan office. A screensaver glowed in the dark. It was quiet and still. He liked this part of the day… gave him time to think.
Geoff reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a small box of cards. He wrote a message and sealed the envelope. On the way out, he dropped it on a desk, in the corner, by the door.
He was soon across the car park, keyed the ignition and decided he’d hang on to his car if he could… he was home in twenty minutes.
The next morning, Aisha was first in… at her desk in the corner, by the door…
… she was always the early bird. Dropping two kids off at her mum’s on the way. Like everyone else, she was worried sick about her job. She’d sent her CV to an estate agent. Their ad was in the local paper.
She saw her name on the envelope, opened it and read the confident sweeps of handwriting;
‘I know this is a worrying time for you but I just wanted to say I think you are doing a fabulous job and I appreciate it… thank you.’
It was signed, simply, Geoff.
Her eyes welled and a crystal tear ran down her cheek.
She didn’t ever want to be an estate agent.
… never forget the power of the handwritten note.
News and Comment from Roy Lilley
Contact Roy – please use this e-address roy.lilley@nhsmanagers.net
Reproduced at thetrainingnet.com by kind permission of Roy Lilley.
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