If you had met Oscar when he first came into the adult day care center, you would have seen a very tall man, in his early 70’s, who slumped his shoulders, kept his eyes focused on the floor, and gripped his wife Mary’s hand as she urged him into the building.
His diagnosis was Alzheimer’s disease.
You would have seen that the receptionist of the day center would come out from behind her desk, every morning, and give Oscar a hug – even though his arms would stay by his side and his eyes never strayed from the floor.
You would have noticed that as Oscar got seated, that every single day the kitchen workers would serve him coffee just the way Mary said he liked to drink it, even though he never acknowledged them and barely sipped at the coffee.
You would have seen personal care assistants and volunteers greeting him, smiling at him, hugging him daily – and you would have see that Oscar barely seemed to notice.
You would have heard the activity director invite him to participate in activities – although he not only did he not participate, but he never even responded to her.
After lunch, you would have seen the LPN (the center nurse) escort Oscar into her office, just to keep him company and chat with him while everyone else was involved in the center fun – although he never chatted back with her.
Although Oscar didn’t respond – day after day, week after week, month after month the staff at the adult center showered him with love until slowly Oscar did begin to open up. A word here. Eye contact there. A shadow of a smile.
And as he continued to open up, the nurse and others began to notice that his symptoms were not in line with those of people who have Alzheimer’s disease. Oscar was re-evaluated by his doctor, and it was found that he indeed did NOT have Alzheimer’s disease. He was suffering from clinical depression – the symptoms of which can sometimes look like AD.
His doctor changed Oscar’s medication and began treating his depression, and then Oscar really opened up. He smiled more. He laughed easily. He participated in center activities. And became more of the man his wife Mary had known and loved. Soon it became evident that he really didn’t need to be a participant in an adult day care center.
So the staff at the day center held a graduation ceremony for him – complete with a cap and gown, speeches, pomp and circumstance, and a diploma. Oscar graduated from center participant to center volunteer.
Every Thursday morning he would volunteer to lead the trivia session at the center, and on Thursday afternoons he would accompany me (the activity director at that point) and a few center participants to the fifth grade classroom of a local elementary school. I was amazed as I watched these kids sit mesmerized as he led the other elders in teaching the children what it was like when they were in fifth grade.
As you can imagine, Oscar became a local celebrity. His story was in the paper and on television. He was in local parades. He won volunteer of the year and several other awards. And he was having a ball.
The center began to get calls from people asking if we could “cure their loved one of Alzheimer’s disease as well.” Would that we could have.
About two years went by and then one Saturday afternoon I came home to a voice message from his wife Mary telling me that Oscar had suddenly and quietly passed away.
I will never forget going to that funeral and sobbing in Mary’s arms – and her pulling away from me and telling me “Stop. He had two wonderful vibrant years of his life that he wouldn’t have had without all of you at that day center. And for that I will be forever grateful.”
I watched as the fifth graders piled into the funeral home with pictures they had drawn, and lay them one by one in Oscar’s coffin. I thought to myself, “he is teaching them even now.”
And I have to wonder, if that receptionist had stopped hugging Oscar daily because he never hugged her back, if the day center staff and volunteers stopped giving him coffee and daily greetings, and if the activities director had stopped inviting him to join because he never did anyway, and if that nurse had never brought him into her office – if the story would have turned out the same.
Probably not.
You may not work in healthcare. Perhaps in your profession you do not get to see this kind of visible impact when you interact with your customers, as the day care center staff saw with Oscar.
But make no mistake, with every interaction you have with customers, co-workers, and others you meet in your daily lives – you have an impact. With the very next person in front of you - you have a choice in the kind of difference you will make in that person’s day. You have that choice regardless of how they are behaving.
You can choose to be surly, and make them feel worse about themselves. You can choose to be disengaged, and make them feel as though they aren’t worth your attention. Or…you can choose to smile, look them in the eye, call them by name, and cater to the need we all have to feel important and special and noticed.
While you may never see the difference that you make in their day – understand clearly that the choice you make with the very next customer or co-worker in front of you has an impact! Choose to make the moment extraordinary.
Copyright, 2008, Donna Cutting
Question: What choice will you make today?
Gal Morale, Private Eye
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Make the choice to give extraordinary service. Read "The Celebrity Experience: Insider Secrets to Delivering Red-Carpet Customer Service" today. Available on Amazon.com and everywhere books are sold.
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