Operas and Hospitals

“Curmudge, you once told me that a hospital had many things in common with an opera. I would appreciate it if you could refresh my memory; I don’t hear much singing around here, just hammers and saws from our remodeling.”

“Of course, Jaded Julie. Consider the vast array of people who make up an opera’s cast—both seen and unseen. The stars who sing the solo arias, the singers in the secondary roles, the chorus and orchestra, the supernumeraries, and the technical crew. Supernumeraries are the on-stage non-singers (‘spear carriers’) who are seen but not heard, and the tech and production crew are neither seen nor heard.”

“You’ve told me, Curmudge, that each one of these people is absolutely essential for a good performance. I know I’d be especially grateful for the guy who projects the supertitles (translations of the dialogue) on the screen above the stage.”

“The audience acknowledges the stars with solo bows and the secondary singers and chorus after the final curtain; the orchestra stands and receives applause before the final act. But at the end of the performance the ‘supers’ and tech crew are on their way home while the audience is still clapping. Their ‘applause’ must be their feeling of satisfaction from having done a good job.”

“I still don’t hear any music, Maestro. So what’s the connection between an opera and a hospital?”

“Pretty simple, Julie. The physicians, nurses, and technologists who bring personalized care to our patients are known and acknowledged, just like those who fill the performing roles in an opera. Patients are grateful—and they often say so—after their heart has been repaired, or their baby has been delivered, or even after they have experienced a colonoscopy or bone marrow biopsy with minimal discomfort.”

“And I guess you are about to say that those folks in a hospital who do not deal directly with patients are like the supernumeraries and techs in an opera.”

“That’s it. In a hospital they are the folks who keep the building and instruments functioning, who cook and serve in the cafeteria, who keep every inch of every room clean, who deliver mail and packages, and who push carts around piled high with plastic bags filled with who-knows-what. Like the supers in an opera, their ‘applause’ is their satisfaction from doing an essential job well.”

“I’ve got it, Curmudge. It’s like The Perfection of Our Ordinary Actions that we discussed on March 25. They are ‘performing extraordinarily well the ordinary exercises of every day.’ And in addition, I strongly suspect that they have good leadership. But shouldn’t there be a way to reinforce, on a regular basis, our appreciation for their good work?”

“There certainly is. To many people walking through the hospital, our nonclinical staff are invisible; they are there but not acknowledged. We must make sure that they don’t feel invisible. Learn the names of those you see often and greet them by name. They will reflect your smile. Thank them for their good work. When a housekeeper empties your wastebasket, don’t let her leave without being thanked.”

“Now I understand, Curmudge, why you feel that the hospital is the friendliest place you ever worked. But I feel a bit sorry for the supers and stagehands at the opera who don’t even get a smile of appreciation.”

“Don’t feel bad, Julie. I pay big bucks to go to the opera, but those folks get to hear that great music for free. Good music is its own reward.”

Affinity’s Kaizen Curmudgeon