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The Practice of Experience: A Relentless Pursuit of the Truth

Posted By Tifffany Christensen, Wednesday, September 5, 2018

As a CF/lung transplant patient turned Patient/Family Advisor (PFA), I have been on the frontlines of the evolution of Patient Experience strategies since 2005. I fell in love with PFACs and have been thrilled to see the ways in which we partner with patients and families grow more sophisticated over time. Today, we have patients and families working directly in clinical quality improvement, sitting at the board level and rounding on patients actively receiving care. It’s both inspiring to see the changes and frustrating to see how far we have to go to achieve genuine partnerships across the continuum of care.

After working as a patient advocate, I became a specialist in Patient and Family Engagement (PFE) “best practices.” Working with healthcare organizations to improve bedside engagement and community engagement proved challenging for multiple reasons. I hunkered down on the best practices, sought out additional strategies and remained steadfast in the belief that the right strategy would improve engagement and, ultimately, experience.

One day, I was on an oncology unit trying to determine how well the clinicians communicated with their patients.  I was rounding from room to room, asking patients questions. To me, the questions were both simple and very important to my understanding of the patient experience:

  • “When your doctor came in this morning, did you understand everything he told you?”
  • "After morning rounds, were you left with any questions that didn’t get answered?”
  • “When you call for a nurse, how quickly do they typically come to your room?” 

These were simple questions directed at what we care about in improving experience: clear/respectful communication and a timely response to needs. I thought I was doing a great job with my questions but the answers I kept getting were not what I expected, wanted or needed. Instead of telling me about the communication and timeliness of responding to call bells, patients were telling me about the pain in their side that was worrisome. Spouses told me long stories about getting the patient to the ED before being admitted. Universally, my questions were not being answered at all, no matter how many times I asked them or how I was able to rephrase. I wasn’t getting what I came for, but I was seeing what I had become.

In healthcare, there is a need to focus on improvement and standardization. I began to wonder, “Is it possible that I have ‘systematized’ my work in Experience to such a degree that it has become a series of strategies rather than an exploration of the ACTUAL experience?” The answer, for me, was ‘yes.’ My next question; “Am I working on strategies without a clear understanding of what matters most to those living the actual experience?” Again, the answer, for me, was ‘yes.’ I had become so deeply invested in “moving the needle” around improving the patient experience that I was no longer looking at the experience at all. Or, at the very least, I was only allowing myself to see a small sliver of it. It was an embarrassing and deeply important realization. This was a reminder that patients are living the experience of illness and injury—not the operationalizing of PFE best practices—and this internal focus is immediate and unrelenting. For me, this was the beginning of a new way of seeing “the experience of Experience.”

Today, I use Human-Centered Design and Experience Based Co-Design strategies to ensure I am able to uncover the “lived experience” of those providing and receiving medical care. In doing so, I am humbled to have the chance to witness the pain points caused by systems, cultures and perceptions. I am able to quiet my own agenda so those living in the ACTUAL experience have the opportunity to reveal what matters most. I have learned that change happens when an experience can be seen with the 360 degree view: patient, family, professional AND objective observer. Working in this way means I am no longer trying to “push the river,” but, rather, riding its natural flow long enough to gain true insights, understand the priorities and identify the Experience Aim. 

“Ethnographic research” or, what we often call “shadowing,” is not revolutionary in itself. What was revolutionary for me was what shadowing taught me about how much I had lost sight of caring about and capturing actual experiences. As this work evolves, so too does our toolbox of ways to improve. What I know now is that, in the face of so many exciting tactics, we must not allow ourselves to forget about the value of eyes and ears on the frontlines of care. The only way to true partnership (and sustainable improvement) is through a relentless pursuit of the truth using a variety of strategies.

Experience is not only an outcome.

Experience is a practice of returning over and over again to the source (patient, families, clinicians and staff) in order to understand how healthcare is being received and delivered.

Only then can we design meaningful improvements.

 

Tiffany Christensen
Vice President, Experience Innovation
The Beryl Institute

 

Tags:  design  improvement  partnership  staff  strategy  transplant 

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Opposing Natures: Honoring the Properties of Water

Posted By Tiffany Christensen, Wednesday, April 4, 2018
Updated: Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Patient activation is a behavioral concept… It is defined as 'an individual's knowledge, skill, and confidence for managing their health and health care'.
(Hibbard et al 2005).

We know from all of the literature on patient activation that there is a way to both understand and measure a patients’ readiness to manage their health and their healthcare. We also know that there are techniques, such as motivational interviewing, that can assist in moving a patient from lower activation to a higher activation. In so doing, patients and families gain knowledge skills and confidence. As a person working in the field of patient experience, I find activation work to be both inspiring and essential in operationalizing engagement. As a patient, I have experienced activation is a moving target.

Recently, I was reacquainted with my personal activation scale when I found myself feeling puny shortly before a big trip to Thailand. I had never been to Thailand, I was meeting my best friend there and I was using all of my airline miles to have the trip of a lifetime. It goes without saying that I really wanted to go so when I began feeling sick my first thought was “Noooooo! I can’t let this stop me from going!” Like a good CF/Lung Transplant patient, I called my team and set up an appointment to be seen with the hope that I would get the “ok” from my team to go on my big trip. I arrived with my personal SBAR form all filled out, questions at the ready and feeling very high on the activation scale.

The flu swab was negative, WBC was normal, chest X-Ray looked good and I was not spiking fevers. After a great conversation with my transplant medicine doctor, we decided it would be okay to go on the trip as long as my symptoms did not get worse over the next few days. That was the news I hoped to hear!

A few days later, I was on my way to Thailand via a very long series of stops: Raleigh to JFK to Moscow to China to Thailand. Confident I had a simple virus, I boarded my first plane feeling very comfortable with traveling the long distance. By the time I got to JFK, things began to change and by the time I was ready to board the plane to Moscow, I knew I was too sick to travel. After making the tough decision to turn around and getting my flight home arranged, I began my descent into illness.

In the interest of the reader, I want to begin by saying I was fine and I am fine. Eventually, it was determined through a bronchoscopy that I did have the flu. Just the flu. Especially this season, few people seemed to be able to avoid this virus and, just by how common it is, it seems silly to say that it brought me to my knees; especially in light of my past medical history. But it did.

Fever, fatigue, coughing…the normal flu stuff. At some point in the illness process I lost my voice entirely which was far more debilitating than I would have imagined it to be. As a CF/ Lung Transplant patient, I was hyper-focused on my symptoms and my internal life was one of balancing logic (“this is just the flu”) with diligence (“you can’t let this get away from you”). I had faith in my team and hoped each day that I would feel better but, day after day, I felt worse and worse. Worry began to creep in and clouded my mind. My once clear, organized approach to dealing with this illness challenge began to slip away. My level of activation seemed to be melting away along with my sense of well-being.

It was approximately one week after my initial symptoms that I had a night of restless sleep peppered with visions of ventilators. It was as if I could feel the life draining out of my body and I thought to myself, “Oh, I can see how people die from the flu.” I couldn’t help but wonder if I was experiencing anxiety or a premonition. My canceled trip to Thailand was no longer something I gave a second thought—my goal had shifted from wanting to go on that trip to wanting to make it through this alive.

The following morning, I carried the weight of my ventilator dreams with me as I went to have a bronchoscopy. At the hospital, I felt what has become a very common dichotomy for me: my very personal (often unspoken) illness experience butting up against the day-to-day work of those caring for me.

Because of my history working in a hospital, I both recognize and respect the “why and how” of daily operations. During the years I worked as a patient advocate in an academic medical center, my days were dictated by structure. The structure of the CMS policies I was required to follow, the structure of prioritizing the calls, letters and pages I received each day and the structure of daily work flow for the clinical providers surrounding me. Checklists, protocols and routines were everywhere. Assuming the role of sick patient, however, I was reminded that the experience of being a patient is often the antithesis of a structured, day-to-day norm. In fact, showing up for healthcare is quite opposite from a “normal” day. Likewise, being activated wasn’t something I had achieved and could check off of a to-list; it was something that I had to work to maintain.

The walk from the car to the front door was difficult; I was too weak to walk without holding on to my friend. After checking in, I had to get labs, CT and go to clinic. All of these were in very different parts of the hospital and the walk to each area seemed to be miles and miles. In each waiting room, I longed to lie down but there were only hard, upright chairs. I wore a mask and, since I lost my voice, nobody could hear me or see my mouth move. Person after person seemed both surprised and shocked to discover I was unable to communicate verbally. To all of the people I presented to, my case was not remarkable nor was it dire. Objectively, they were correct. That didn’t change the fact that I was still weighed down by my night of ICU visions and getting from “A” to “B” seemed to take all of the strength I could muster. It seems strange to me now that all of those emotional twists and turns had gone largely undetected by those around me; both my medical team and my family.

After the bronchoscopy, I was given strong antibiotics and slowly began to recover. My healing was as palpable as my descent into illness. I could feel my body changing every day and, some days, I was filled with a sense of euphoria because of my improving health. The tides had shifted and my internal life was one of hope and gratitude. Increasing physical strength buoyed my ability manage my life again. My challenging internal journey was winding down and I was returning to my “activated” self.  My sites were now set on going back to work and rescheduling that trip to Thailand.

If we want to "engage" patients, we must never lose sight of the fact that we are functioning in two different worlds: one that demands predictable outcomes and one that, by its own nature, can never be truly be made submissive to our will. As many times as I have lived through illness and healing, I am always amazed at how quickly I forget the reality of what it is to experience it. To try and operationalize the patient experience is like trying to contain water. It can be done, certainly, but to dishonor the unpredictable nature of illness/healing is like trying to deny the properties of water.

As we continue to hammer out ways to be better partners in the road of illness and healing, it’s natural for people on both sides of the bed to feel frustration. It’s also imperative that we keep in mind that this frustration does not result from one person being right or one person being wrong. Both are simply behaving exactly as the nature of their respective experiences dictate: the healthcare professional is functioning from logic, structure and science and the patient is immersed in the ever-changing tides of an illness/healing dynamic.

Activation levels are not a constant, no matter who the patient happens to be or how extensive their medical history. Knowledge, skills and confidence rise and fall like water lapping against the shore. If we begin all of our interactions with that awareness, we can put aside some intrinsic, (often) unconscious frustrations that derail us from partnership and effective communication. It is then we can truly meet people where they are and come together as a team.

 

Tiffany Christensen
Vice President, Experience Innovation
The Beryl Institute

Tags:  communication  flu  healthcare team  partnership  patient engagement  personal experience  recovery  story  team  together  transplant 

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