“How are we doing?”
“Fine. Busy, but fine.”
I know that answer. I have given it.
Sometimes I mean it. Sometimes I mean: I haven’t got the energy to start this conversation unless we’re actually going to have it.
Picture a ward round of a different kind. A senior leader visiting, stopping at the nurses’ station, asking how things are. Pleasant and interested, and already slightly late for the next ward.
There are patients waiting in the corridor. A gap in the rota everyone has got used to working around. The sister has plenty she could say.
“Fine,” someone says.
And on we go.
I’m interested in what happens when the person asking does want to know.
Because that happens too. The leader who doesn’t listen is the easier story.
They ask. We give them almost nothing. They thank us for our hard work.
Everyone leaves with their existing view more or less intact.
I know what a proper answer involves
If I say we’re struggling, there will be questions.
Which bit? How often? Have we escalated it? What have we tried?
Fair questions, mostly. But now I need to remember the details, explain the background and work out how much I can say in front of everyone.
There may be a meeting afterwards. Possibly an action with my name beside it.
Meanwhile, the work I was doing is still waiting.
So yes, I make a calculation. Usually without noticing.
Have I got time for this? Have they? Is anything likely to happen?
And sometimes I say “fine”.
I don’t particularly like admitting that. I’m a consultant. I have more freedom to speak than many of the people standing beside me.
If I’m editing my answer, what might they be leaving out?
This is part of what I mean by Cognitive Oxygen® (COx). Having enough room to think includes having enough room to work out what is wrong and find the words for it. On a difficult day, even that can feel like another job.
Then someone has to write the report
I can imagine how the wording changes.
“Busy, but fine” becomes “under pressure, but managing”.
Further up, perhaps it becomes “mitigations in place”.
There may genuinely be mitigations. People have rearranged shifts, stayed late, found somewhere else for a patient to wait.
But I want to know what “managing” involves.
Who is staying late, and what keeps getting postponed? How long can we keep doing this?
Those details are awkward to fit into a summary. They are also the details I would want someone making decisions to see.
I’ve written summaries myself. You can’t include everything.
Still, I wonder how often we remove the bit that would have made someone pause.
Give me somewhere to start
“What has been difficult today?” gives me somewhere to start.
So does: “Is there something we keep asking you to manage that needs a decision from us?”
Neither guarantees an honest answer. If I have raised something three times and heard nothing back, I’m unlikely to become enthusiastic because the question has improved.
I’ll be watching what happens afterwards.
Do you remember what I said?
Do you come back to me?
Can you tell me that something won’t be fixed, and why, without making me feel foolish for mentioning it?
I think we sometimes underestimate that last one. I can cope with an answer I don’t like. Being invited to speak and then hearing nothing is harder.
In a team discussion, I also find it useful to let people write down their thoughts before we start talking. We call it Think-Write-Share™ in Red Team Thinking®.
It gives everyone a few minutes before the most confident person supplies the explanation we all end up discussing.
A thought gets a chance to appear before someone talks over it. The risk of speaking stays, especially in a small team, where everyone can probably guess who wrote what.
And my part?
I could try giving a slightly fuller answer.
“We’re getting through today. I’m worried about how often we’re relying on people staying late.”
Or even:
“There is something, but I need more than a minute. When can we talk?”
This is harder than it sounds. Sometimes I’ll still say “fine” because I want to get back to the patient in front of me.
But I’d like to notice when I do it.
And when I’m the one asking, I’d like to stop long enough for someone to decide whether to give me the longer answer.
That may mean hearing something I can’t fix.
I need to be willing to stay for that part too.