I once had a patient with terminal cancer who was required to visit the parole officer weekly to give a urine sample. These visits, which included a commute from his home in the rural outskirts, were exhausting for him. Seeing his exhaustion was stressful for his wife who took him.
First, I tried calling.
I called this parole office to request that he be let off the hook. I followed one path in the phone tree that led me to voicemail. After leaving a message, I called again. This time I was able to speak with someone who told me that the someone I would have to talk to was not available and I should leave a voicemail message.
When calling doesn’t work, go there!
Almost a week passed and I didn’t get a response. I offered to meet the patient at the parole office, and he and his wife agreed. At the office, the receptionist told me that I wouldn’t be able to speak with anyone that day, but that I should call to make an appointment. I asked her for the number, and she gave it to me. Without stepping away from the half-door that allowed conversation while keeping people out, I pulled out my cell and called the number. Her phone rang. She picked it up, glaring at me, and then spoke into the phone as if I were somewhere else.
“Blah, blah, blah parole office, can I help you,” she said.
“I’d like to speak with someone about allowing a parolee to skip visits because he’s terminally ill,” I said.
“You’re going to need to speak with blah blah blah, and he’s not available right now,” she said.
When they seem to want you to leave, you gently stay 🙂
“I understand you have a difficult job,” I said. “My job is to advocate for the comfort of terminally ill patients. It’s important enough to me that I can wait.”
“I understand that,” she said. “Please hold on.”
She put me on hold (even though I was standing a few feet away), and ducked around the corner.
If one person isn’t being helpful, talk to someone else.
Moments later, a man walked into the lobby from outside. He look at my ID hanging from around my neck, and asked if I was being helped.
I told him my purpose.
“We can see some patients at their homes instead of making them come in,” he said. “For that, he’s going to have to get on a special caseload for terminally ill patients.”
He started to walk away, as if our business had concluded.
“That’s great, thank you,” I said before he could get away. “How do we get him on that caseload?”
“You’ll need to bring in documentation about his condition and prognosis.”
I handed him a letter from the doctor. As he looked at it, I told him that if he needed anything else, I could get my company to fax something to them right now.
“No, this is good,” he said. “Hold on just a minute.”
Then the receptionist returned from around the corner and told the man, “this gentleman needs to speak with someone about a parolee who is too sick to make visits.”
“We just met,” responded the man. “We’ll get this sorted out in just a minute.”
And they did. Instead of having to make weekly visits, now the patient could stay home, in bed or on his couch, and the parole officer visited him every other week.
A different take on not taking no for an answer.
This organization told me “no” 5 times before saying, “of course.” I graciously accepted their “no,” but did what I could to stay connected. I pretended not to recognize their social cues that asked me to go away. They clearly didn’t wholeheartedly want to help, but I played innocently dumb, and acted as if they were just about to help me. I didn’t take the easy way out and just drop it because I wasn’t getting anywhere, because my patient was uncomfortable.
And it led to yes.