My first horrific experience with this place was actually a few years ago. I was referred by my gynecologist for an ultrasound, and the male doctor was cold, curt, and finished our short appointment by throwing open the door while I was still naked/spread eagle on the table. I literally made eye contact with someone passing by in the hallway before the nurse (who had the decency to look a little embarrassed for her asshole colleague) rushed to shut the door behind him.
Fast forward a few years, and I'm back at Washington Radiology for a mammogram appointment. It was stupid of me to come back here, but for some reason this seems to be the only game in town. Which is a bummer, because everything about this place is aggressively designed to make patients feel the opposite of comfortable.
The receptionist's greeting is neutral-to-cold, the first chair I choose is missing all its springs, and the TV channel is set to a an all-male 70's show about firefighters. Nothing as offensive as what happened my first time around, but still feels unnecessarily agitating for a waiting room full of mostly women waiting for a test that will tell them if they have cancer.
Here are my first three suggestions: reward your staff for being kind; swap out the broken chairs; change the channel to Bravo (or anything with a little levity).
The aggressively uncomfortable vibe continues as I'm led from the waiting room to the changing room, a process that gives off icky, factory vibes ("take your shirt off, put this robe on, someone will call you shortly," barks my unsmiling sherpa). As I wait, half-naked and chilled, behind my curtain, I hear the patient next door deep breathing like her life depends on it. It occurs to me (not for the first time) that some, maybe many, of the patients in this place have already had cancer or have a family history of it, and this appointment is fucking terrifying for them. I wonder if this woman's technician will actually show her compassion.
Here are two more suggestions: bump the thermostat in the changing area; train your staff to spot scared patients who need a little extra care and comfort.
A technician calls my name, and I follow her to the coldest room yet - the one where I'll disrobe ("take your sleeve off, take your sleeve off -- no, take it off!") and let this woman I met 13 seconds ago, whose name I don't know, man-handle my tiny, uncooperative boobs into a foreboding machine. I can't stop thinking about the woman having the panic attack and the fact that they keep this room so cold.
Here is another suggestion: a space heater would be a kind, easy touch, or if that's too fire hazard-y, maybe turn up the heat? Just in this one room, where women are scared and naked and getting their sensitive tissue grabbed by a stranger and painfully squished by a machine ("hold your breath!"), a little warmth would go a long way.
A few minutes later, my technician dispatches me back to the changing room and I'm re-dressing as fast as my chilled fingers will go. The panic attack woman is gone; I say a quick prayer that her appointment went well and she doesn't have to come back here for another year. Or, better yet, that another imaging business opens up before then, so none of us ever have to come back here again.
Here's my final recommendation, and this one is for the owner or the board or the managers of this business (whomever or whatever is in charge): Pretend you are the patient. Go through this experience. Be honest with yourselves -- what would you change? read more