=RECEPTION OF OFFICE PATIENTS=
To the physician who prefers to do a strictly office practice, making
few or no professional forays into the country, well located, neatly
furnished, attractive quarters are a necessity. Three rooms will be
sufficient for a start. These should include a reception room, waiting
parlor, and doctor’s private office.
Size is not so important as location and furnishings. The quarters
should be in a modern building of high-class reputation as to the
character of its tenants. If the arrangement is such as to give an
entrance into the doctor’s room from the waiting parlor, and an exit
into another hall, it is preferable. This will make possible the
separation of the callers the doctor has seen from those who are still
waiting, and this prevents a lot of talk which may have a harmful
tendency.
People, especially men, waiting to see a physician are apt to get into
conversation with one another. When there is only one door serving as
entrance and exit to the private office, and a caller, after seeing the
physician, has to come back into the waiting parlor in order to get out
there is a temptation to stop for a few moments and chat with those who
are still waiting. In this way much harm, particularly in the matter of
fees, may be done.
It is poor policy to give people a chance to exchange confidences. They
will tell each other their opinion of the physician, the amount of the
fees, etc. If these latter do not agree in amount it causes jealousies
and distrust, and it becomes difficult in many cases for the physician
to explain to the satisfaction of Mr. Brown why he should be charged a
larger fee than Mr. Jones.
Under the best of conditions there will be too much of this sort of
thing, but it may be greatly reduced by an arrangement of the rooms
which will admit of callers being taken into the doctor’s office at one
door and shown out at another. In one instance the waiting room of a
certain specialist was crowded when one of the callers came out from the
office after an interview.
“Are you going to take the treatment,” was the question put to him by
one of those with whom he had been talking before he had seen the
doctor.
“Not much,” was the answer in a loud tone. “That man’s a robber. He
wanted $500 for the treatment.”
This frightened away a number of men nearly all of whom would have been
good for $100 apiece when interviewed by the doctor under proper
conditions. But they left without seeing him; actually scared off by the
talk of the dissatisfied caller.
Rooms arranged as described and located in a good building will command
more rental than ordinary quarters, but the investment will be a good
one. There will be more money in paying $100 or $150 a month for rooms
of this kind than $50 for others not similarly arranged.
Proper furnishings create a favorable impression upon callers. Neat
rugs, comfortable leather covered chairs and lounges, neat tables for
books and magazines, handsome curtains and bright, cheerful pictures on
the wall tend to make the extraction of a good-sized fee all the easier.
No person feels like paying a big fee to a doctor of sloppy appearance
who is quartered in a shabby, poorly furnished room. Shabby surroundings
breed distrust. An appearance of prosperous solidity on the other hand
creates confidence. It is easier to get $100 from a patient in properly
furnished quarters than it is to get $5 when the doctor’s poverty stares
out from every side.
One of the most successful specialists in the profession had retired
with a competence. He got to speculating and lost heavily. When he had
only $1,000 left he was compelled to resume practice. He rented quarters
which cost him $125 a month, and furnished them magnificently at a cost
of $1,250, paying $500 down. Various other outlays cut his cash capital
down to $100 by the time he was ready to open his offices. Did he
flinch? Not at all. He was game and knew that with any ordinary luck it
would be a paying investment. He made a second fortune which he was wise
enough to keep.
“It was like catching flies with a bait of sugar,” he said in discussing
his method. “They swarmed in from all sides; the surroundings looked
right, and I had little trouble in landing a fair percentage of the
callers. If I had attempted to skimp in the rent or furnishings my
purpose would have been defeated from the start.”
In taking medical treatment, as in nearly everything else, people like
to deal with the successful man, and they judge of a man’s success by
his surroundings. If he looks prosperous the battle is half won before
the attack on the caller’s pocketbook begins.
Next to the location and furnishings of the office, and the neat,
well-dressed appearance of the physician himself, comes the question of
the selection of the proper reception room girl. Here almost as much
tact is needed as in the physician’s private office. The right kind of
girls are scarce, and when one is found she is worth much more money
than the average doctor, unacquainted with the importance of the
position, is willing to pay. A thoroughly competent girl is easily worth
from $18 to $25 a week, yet most doctors grumble at paying $10 or $12.
It is a peculiar combination of talent, one exceedingly hard to find,
that is required. The successful attendant must be prepossessing in
appearance, a neat dresser, intelligent, sympathetic, chummy to a degree
without being “fresh,” and, above all, must have that undefinable
quality known as tact. She must have the knack of making people feel at
home and comfortable on their first and all subsequent visits, without
being fussy or over-prominent in her attentions.
Quiet dignity and charm of manner in a reception room girl is a
combination of great value to an employer. The girl possessed of these
qualities, in addition to “tact,” can be a valuable and powerful ally of
the physician. She will exert a great influence in keeping patients good
natured and satisfied, steer the malcontents away from opportunity to
make trouble, and preserve in general the harmony that should prevail in
the professional family.
We all know what a strong factor first impression is. The manner of our
reception by a stranger invariably sows the seed of our opinion. If the
reception is courteous and kindly without being effusive we are won; if
it is cold and indifferent, or so overly effusive that deceit is
apparent, we are repelled. Right here is where the reception room
attendant wins or loses. It makes all the difference in the world
whether the prospective patient meets the doctor for the first time
pleased with the manner in which he was received, or whether he is
fretted or annoyed at his treatment in the outer office.
The door leading from the reception room into the waiting parlor should
always be kept closed. There is no necessity of letting the people who
are waiting to see the doctor hear what is going on in the outer room.
It often works harm. Besides this a new comer will announce himself more
freely to the attendant when alone with her than he will when a dozen or
more strangers are within hearing.
One of the furnishings of the reception, or outer room, unless the
business warrants a separate department, may be an unobtrusive cabinet
in which the correspondence is filed. This should always be closed so
callers will not get an idea as to its contents. Men especially do not
like to know that a woman is conversant with the contents of their
letters to the doctor.
When a stranger enters the room the attendant should always rise from
her desk, meet him half way, and enquire pleasantly:
“What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to see the doctor.”
“Step into the waiting room, please, and I’ll let him know you are here.
Whom shall I announce?”
“Thomas Carroll, of Providence, Iowa. I think he expects me as I’ve had
some correspondence with him.”
“All right, Mr. Carroll, I will let him know you are here.”
Taking the new comer into the waiting room the attendant should give him
a paper or periodical. The man who is reading is not so apt to get into
conversation with strangers as the one who is idle. Coming back into the
outer office the girl closes the door, goes at once to the
correspondence cabinet and takes out the packet containing Mr. Carroll’s
correspondence. This she gives to the doctor via the outside door, at
the same time announcing Mr. Carroll’s arrival.
No doctor who is wise will receive a caller immediately upon arrival. It
creates a good impression to keep the caller waiting for a few moments
even if there is nobody ahead of him. The girl goes back to the waiting
room and says:
“The doctor is glad to know you are here, Mr. Carroll. He is engaged
with a patient just now, but he will be through very soon, and will see
you in a few minutes.”
This helps to kill time, and to convince the caller that the attendant
is looking after his interests. In the meantime the doctor is reading
Mr. Carroll’s letters and the answers thereto, and refreshing his memory
about the case so that when Mr. Carroll is shown in the latter will be
astonished by the doctor’s knowledge of his ailment and condition. The
letters in the meantime are put away in a drawer out of sight.
Finally the bell rings and, if Mr. Carroll is next on the list, the girl
will say:
“The doctor will see you now, Mr. Carroll,” and shows him into the
sanctum. What happens when doctor and caller come together is told in
another chapter. This one deals solely with the manner in which the
caller should be received by the girl in charge of the outer office.
Should the caller become a patient the attendant who understands her
duty will begin to evince a mild ladylike interest in his case. Without
at any time becoming forward or fresh she will have a cheery word of
greeting for him on his daily arrival or departure, and finally begin to
comment in a delicate manner on the improvement in his appearance.
“Good morning, Mr. Carroll. You’re looking better this morning. By the
way, if you want to write any letters you can dictate them to our
stenographer, and you might as well have your mail sent here. I’ll be
glad to look after it for you.”
Such attentions mean much to an invalid stranger and are more
appreciated than they would be by a robust, healthy person. Mr. Carroll
may intimate that he thinks of going to some theater in the evening, but
doesn’t know where to go. Then the attendant should say:
“Well, that depends upon what you like. If it’s comedy there’s the —— ——
at the Continental. Grand opera at the Richelieu; tragedy at the
Shakespeare and vaudeville at the Boston. If you want to see something
really funny go to the Continental. I’ll have our stenographer get your
ticket when he goes out to luncheon, and that will save you from being
pushed around in the crowd at the box office.”
All this, of course, is after the lapse of a week or so when Carroll has
become a daily caller for treatment, and begins to think that the doctor
is all right himself, and that the reception room girl is just about as
near right as they make them.
No matter how many girl stenographers the doctor may keep busy in a room
further down the hall, there should always be one young man for what may
be called “show” purposes. Men patients don’t like the idea of having
their physical troubles discussed in letters written by girls. When the
young man stenographer is brought in to take dictation from a patient
the latter not only appreciates the compliment, but feels confident that
his troubles are known only to one of his own sex.
By all means keep the girl stenographers out of sight, and do not let
the male patients know that a woman ever saw their letters, or the
doctor’s replies to those letters. Adopt exactly the opposite tactics
with women patients—keep the man stenographer under cover.
Despite the utmost care there will be times when the patients will get
together in the waiting room and discuss the doctor and his methods, the
merits or demerits of the treatment, compare fees, etc. One dissatisfied
patient—and every physician has them, no matter how generally successful
he may be—can create more disturbance and uneasiness in ten minutes than
the doctor can overcome in a week.
It is right here that the reception room girl has a chance to prove her
worth. When she finds the conversation drifting into disagreeable
channels she can adroitly step in and change the subject without seeming
to have a purpose in doing so. The introduction of a timely topic by a
bright, entertaining woman will start the flow of talk in a new
direction and in the discussion that follows criticism of the doctor
will be overlooked.
One day a chronic kicker, one of those fellows who is never satisfied no
matter how much is being done for him, met another patient in the
reception room and began to find fault with the treatment. Without
seeming to listen to the conversation, and with her mind apparently
engrossed on some other topic, the attendant said:
“Oh my, how I wish I had a brother or a father to advise me.”
“Why, what’s the trouble?” very naturally enquired one of the
patients—and he happened to be the “kicker.”
The girl went to relate an entirely suppositious occurrence over which
she pretended to be badly wrought up; a business entanglement with a
concern from which she had bought some goods on the installment plan,
and about which there was a serious misunderstanding. Both men were
profuse in their tenders of advice, and in their desire to be of
assistance to the girl they forgot entirely the original topic. The girl
kept them engaged in conversation until the “kicker” departed, and the
danger was over for that day, at least.
She reported the matter to the doctor and the latter very cleverly
arranged the “kicker’s” hours for treatment so there would be little
chance of his finding other patients in the office.
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