Over the years people who’ve liked me have referred to me as a real visionary, but, in all fairness, the people who thought that I was an incompetent also called me a visionary. One group called me that as a compliment. The other group used the description as a put down. Considering that my physician discontinued my prescription of Atromid S medication back in the late 70’s because he said the it caused early cataracts, I’m not all that sure about my actual vision.

As a kid it was fair to say that my approach to any problem that came my way was, well, it was just different. In fact, I’d spend hours trying to come up with unique solutions to problems that otherwise might have only taken a few minutes to solve the normal way. It was my thing.

In fact, my problem solving skills could only be described as journeys down the “Road Less Traveled.” Kind of the McGyver approach. What can I do to meet this challenge by using a Zippo, some thread, a chewing gum wrapper, and piano wire? Of course there were sometimes periodic episodes of near tragedy from this approach, you know, like the time I watched the front right wheel on my wagon roll past me as my journey took me down the 80% grade that my parents called the backyard. Thank God the axle dug in just enough to stop me before the approaching cliff. (The bobby pin didn’t hold.) Between Evelyn Wood’s Speed Reading course and Cliff Notes, I read Moby Dick in about 13 minutes.

By the time college rolled around, it was clear that my addiction had spread from alternative methodologies of problem solving to a pure and simple love affair with anything that was new, cutting edge, leading (or even bleeding) edge or avant garde. “Contemporary” was the catch word all those years ago. From art films to modern music, there was no end to my attraction to new and novel things.

Well, Inside Healthcare ran an article by Clay Sherman that was entitled Think Global and Act Local that contained some great tips for survival in healthcare. Mr. Sherman talked about the Joint Commission the way that most hosptial CEO’s would like to, but do not have the guts to do so. He described the Joint’s role as one of minimalism, and that was where his description stopped. His suggestion was to drop the Joint and to engage some larger, more aggressive organizations like NCOA or Leapfrog. His words of wisdom here were, “Either embrace a rigorous standards process, or watch your successor do it.”

Mr. Sherman went on to suggest the need for us to embrace best practices methodologies, new standardization techniques, online communities for patients with similar diseases, and he closed by saying “Stay centered focused in building human assets — its their brains that are going to get you there.” Hmmm? Sounds a little like last week’s blog.

Make sure you know the question before you give the answer.

My kids taught me a lot about this job. At age seven, my son said, "Dad, where did I come from?" I knew that question was coming, but I had not expected it that soon. "Son," I said, "Let me explain about life" As I began my meticulously rehearsed tale of the birds and the bees, I slowly explained the nuances of life, love and more bees.

I was perspiring profusely as I stumbled over these sensitive descriptions. After about ten minutes of squirming, stuttering and stammering I said, "Do you understand, son?" To which he turned to me and said, "Heck, Dad, I knew all that stuff. I just wanted to know what hospital I came from, Mercy or Windber?"

Learn to share.

Hospitals deal every day in life and death issues. They are extremely complex and multifarious places. Emotions can run very high as well as we deal with the challenges and mysteries of life. Helping people to share has been a very large part of my life. Helping them to share resources, time, space and all aspects of life is a very important contributor to our success as both care givers and human beings. When I was eight, my Aunt Mildred gave me three pieces of bubble gum. As I was walking home with all three pieces stuffed into my jaw, a group of kids jumped me, pinned me down, took my gum right out of my mouth and divided it up between them. It would have been a lot easier on me if I had just kept a few pieces out to share.

Finally, don’t repeat it if you don’t understand it.

In any organization there always seems to be someone who takes great pleasure in telling the story when they aren't really sure of its meaning. After standing near Jack, a 15 year old sixth grader at school one day, my vocabulary expanded exponentially. He talked about mysterious things that made no sense to me, but he was big and I was small. In my world, that meant that Jack knew all. That night when my mom told me, the little third grader, to get ready for bed, I looked up at her standing beside my grandmother, aunt and dad and said, "I don’t have to go to bed, you @$#%&*$@!"

My limp cleared up right before I had to walk across the stage to pick up my college diploma thirteen years later.

Learn from your mistakes.