This is the 1st of a 2 part blog which examines the performance problems of the UK National Health Service. Today’s blog uses the current story of my father-in-law to highlight these issues graphically. Tomorrow’s blog will explain how I believe these problems should be addressed, based on my relevant experience. The lessons can be applied to the quest for excellence in all types of organisation.
In last weekend’s blog Is trouble brewing? Read this… I
mentioned the previous week’s publication of Sir Robert Francis’s report on
whistle blowing (staff flagging up problems or even deliberate wrongdoing) in Britain’s
National Health Service (NHS).
The NHS is already a huge (literally) political football in
the run-up to the UK General Election on May 7th. Political parties are vying to stretch
credibility beyond its elastic limit yet again by telling us that somehow they
will magically succeed where they and their predecessors have abysmally failed
and solve the intractable problems of this chronically diseased, sclerotic,
impenetrable bureaucracy, the 2nd largest employer in the world
after the Chinese Red Army.
For me the trouble with
the NHS is that brutal honesty is one of its thousands of avoidable casualties
annually. Until the patient is told
the bad news about their diagnosis nothing of importance can or will change. For an explanation of the life-saving
Stockdale Paradox see my recent blog The truth may hurt, but seeking it sets
you free.
Little did I know the awful realities of the NHS would be
brought home to me immediately and in stark personal terms this week! Admittedly, borrowing from the title of last
week’s blog, trouble has been brewing for some time with my 79 year old father-in-law’s
health, but it exploded in our faces at 6.45am yesterday having deteriorated
rapidly this week.
Having metaphorically frothed at the mouth with frustration
and anger about it for 24 hours and decided to make it the topic of this week’s
blog I woke up this morning with a strange calm and an incisive clarity. The problems facing the NHS are in fact common
to most organisations, but tend to be much worse in the public (government) sector
than the private sector, simply because in the private sector the marketplace
eventually extracts an often savage price for incompetence and failure to adapt
whereas in the public sector dinosaurs do not die off for years because they
remain protected species. The larger and
more labyrinthine the organisation the worse it gets, whether public or private
sector.
Fundamentally the problem in the NHS is one of values, or precisely
of translating values into urgent, radical
and proven effective action instead of repeatedly parroting them as
mindless, inane rhetoric to the point of utter meaninglessness, which is what politicians,
NHS bureaucrats and wealthy consultant doctors insult our intelligence by doing.
Unfortunately inertia, vested interests, smug complacency,
stupidity, and a failure to face brutal reality and learn and adapt breed the sclerosis
(hardened, unyielding arteries) of the NHS that must be broken down. The patient may soon be flat-lining – this
winter has seen unprecedented failures to meet targets in Accident and
Emergency (A&E) departments in many hospitals as the system creaks at the
seams. To use another analogy, it’s
running far too hot in the red zone and something has to give.
Ironically the main problem
I see in the NHS is NOT lack of money, which is the standard mantra on most
people’s lips.
So what is the
problem, how can it be fixed, what does it teach us for our own
organisation(s), public or private sector, and can I justify my solution with
hard evidence (answer – yes!)?
To bring the problem to life here’s my father-in-law’s
healthcare story so far.
- He has had Type 2 diabetes for over 25 years. Diabetes is an epidemic affecting 2.9 million people (4.5% of the population) in the UK, a number which has more than doubled in 20 years. It is one of several chronic diseases imposing unsustainable burdens on the NHS. This time last year it was causing major, prolonged problems with his eyesight which unfortunately coincided with the death of the lady he’d lived with for 26 years.
- He was told 7 months ago that his left hip joint needed replacing. Since then he has struggled with increasing pain and decreasing mobility, resorting to crutches, unable to drive, increasingly housebound and unable to sleep comfortably at night. He lives 60 miles (100km) from us but my wife and I have each tried to get down to see him once or twice a week. Moving him to stay with us might seem an obvious option but we live in a remote, rural area whereas he is in Manchester and his doctor, friends and good amenities are all on the doorstep, relatively speaking. And home is home, all the more so when you are suffering.
- In early-December he was told that his operation would be on 22nd January. He relaxed and enjoyed the Christmas break, safe in the knowledge that the pain, discomfort and lack of mobility would soon be a thing of the past. He spoke enthusiastically of driving again and getting out to visit some of his favourite places.
- 10 days before the operation he went for a pre-operation assessment. Tests revealed that his blood count was not satisfactory and he lost his place on the waiting list, a major psychological blow. He was told that he would need an endoscopy – a camera investigation of his oesophagus and stomach.
- A date was set – 20th March – more than 2 months away! This was depressing. His physical condition continued to deteriorate. His mobility has worsened significantly and over the last few weeks we have noticed him looking increasingly jaundiced. We believed that his doctor’s surgery was trying to get the endoscopy brought forward and that they were aware of his condition.
- On Wednesday I persuaded him to call the surgery to ask them to make a private referral to the consultant so that we, his family, could pay to get his endoscopy done rapidly. At that point, only at that point, he was told that it was pointless us spending the money because his endoscopy had been set for 20th March for clinical, not organisational reasons, connected to his specific symptoms. Still no assessment of his all-round needs. I told him to call them back and arrange an assessment. They told him they were not responsible for at-home care, and did not tell him which agency to call or give him a phone number. He asked if the doctor could come out and see him. It took some time to convince them that he was unable to come into the surgery to see the doctor – he was essentially immobile and in almost constant pain, in spite of the painkillers he’d been prescribed which his friends had collected from the surgery.
- Late on Friday afternoon I called to see him briefly – I had been at a meeting in Manchester and needed to get home for a charity function that evening. I was very concerned by his condition. In retrospect I should have stayed with him. My wife was due to visit him early yesterday morning. I left after making him as comfortable as I could. 20 minutes later I phoned him and told him I’d come down this afternoon and stay as long as necessary. He was extremely grateful.
- At 6.45am yesterday he called us to say he’d fallen and couldn’t move. We rang his late partner’s daughter who went over immediately with her boyfriend. They could not move him, which was just as well – it was not the right course of action. They called an ambulance and got him into hospital. My wife went straight to the hospital and spent the day there. He was initially admitted to Accident and Emergency (A&E) where they gave him morphine to ease the pain. His hip was X-rayed several times because they couldn’t tell if it was broken from the fall. Eventually they decided it wasn’t – it had just disintegrated ‘naturally’ over time. Don’t pinch yourself – this is 2015, not 1815!
- I’m on my way to see him this afternoon. Apparently they’ve done more tests and X rays this morning. They’re saying there are underlying health problems which the diabetes has masked, which have to be fixed before he can have his hip replacement. We’re not medics, but we could have told them that – it’s the sort of thing a child’s instincts would have detected.
I tell the story pitilessly to hammer home the brutal
realities. It’s typical of the stories of
thousands of patients and their impotent families occurring every week in the 6th
richest economy on Earth. One of my
business partners lost his father 4 years ago when he went into hospital to
have an ingrowing toe-nail attended to, caught a hospital-borne infection, and
died. 14 years ago my mother endured a similarly
Dickensian level of care during the final stages of her battle with cancer.
In tomorrow’s blog I’ll propose an approach, with supporting evidence, that I firmly believe would dramatically improve NHS performance and can improve your organisation too.
I’m grateful you’ve taken the time to read this post. If you find it helpful please share it. And make a difference - be a smart giver and do something positive for others this week. Pay it forward.
Recent blogs you may find helpful include:
If this blog is particularly relevant to you, your organisation, or to someone else you know, I may be able to help or advise. I strive to be a smart giver – Adam Grant’s excellent book “Give and Take” (2013) explains why smart givers are the highest 25% of achievers in all walks of life. They go out of their way to help others, intelligently, without allowing themselves to be widely exploited. In this way they inspire higher performance and create sustained new value through collaborative exchange.
My business Resolve Gets Results provides commercial expertise, leadership capabilities and in some cases financing to different sized businesses with long-term growth potential. I work with a superb small team of Board-level professionals, each a leader in their field with over 30 years’ business experience. We are based in the UK but have international business backgrounds, in my case including 5 years in the United States, where I ran a high growth machinery sales and service business.
You can find my contact details under the ‘Contact info’ tab near the top of my LinkedIn profile.