Writing on the theme of ‘My big idea’, Dr Saba Shah reimagines practice waiting rooms
What’s in a name? Shakespeare said that ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ I disagree – names are vital. It may seem absurd to contradict the Bard but hear me out. If a rose was called a thorny finger pricker, you’d probably give it a wide berth and never consider giving it a quick sniff.
So let’s get radical: scrap waiting rooms in favour of calm spaces.
Room names don’t just clarify that you’re in the correct place. They indicate what the room expects of you. We dine in a dining room; play in a playroom; sleep in a bedroom; bathe in a bathroom; consult in a consultation room; work in an office; meet in a meeting room; and take a break in a break room. So, what do patients do in a waiting room?
Whilst unintentional, waiting is torture for most people, especially when the length of time is unknown, unpredictable or, well, anything longer than 4 minutes. Sitting in a silent waiting room, simmering and stewing as the seconds roll into minutes, doesn’t exactly put patients in a good mental state.
This is in addition to any worry they may have for their presenting complaint; a lump they’ve found or test results they’re awaiting. They may be angry, sad, unhappy, distraught, frustrated, lonely, scared or any other of a host of emotions. Actually, not any emotion; jubilation is not really a state we attribute to patients having to come in to see us in surgery.
The waiting room is an environment with inherent uncertainty, and the main activity for those in a waiting room is clock-watching. Most of us have encountered the agitated patient entering the consultation room, immediately lamenting the time they have spent waiting. Granted, they can often round that number up by 10+ minutes, or include the 40 minutes before their appointment time when they arrived far too early – but still, they’re irked. And who can blame them? Whether a person is attending for pain, infection, depression or any other reason, they can benefit from a few minutes of calm whilst they wait.
So, if we’re changing the name to a calm space, what would a calm space expect from you? You would be free to do as you wish, whether that is to sit quietly, do some breathing exercises or engage in a few simple activities that could easily be provided.
Picture a dimly lit area for those who want it less bright, perhaps a device to project a soothing show of cosmic lights that cast onto a wall or ceiling (my 5-month-old loves his). Nature sounds and some artificial plants for low maintenance ambience would be simple enough to add. Donated board or card games could appeal to those who play to relax. Get rid of a few chairs (not all of them, of course) and put some wipeable yoga mats down. Patients who can easily get on the floor can lie down, stretch or meditate. Parents can be encouraged to play with their children; I-spyers, Simon-sayers and nursery-rhymers are all welcome.
My hope is that by the time you call the patient in, they won’t be annoyed that they waited. Instead, they will feel calm, refreshed and a little gutted that their time in the calm space was cut short. My intention is that their sense of calm will accompany them into the consultation room and follow them around all day.
I’d like to think that if the Bard was around, he’d approve.
Dr Saba Shah is a GP Locum in Merseyside and Greater Manchester
