The Memo

GETTING (AND READING) THE MEMO
DECEMBER 1, 2009

Long ago, I represented an operating room (O.R.) technician who had been fired from her hospital job. Her duties required her to count needles, other “sharps,” and sponges used during surgery. She needed to count the ones brought into the operating field and be sure that the same number left the field before the patient was sewed up. A patient who is sent home with a spare needle or sponge would have a whopping claim against the hospital.

Because my client was slightly dyslexic, several needles and sponges had escaped her notice. As I looked over the Notice of Termination, I realized that the hospital had not fired her for her miscounts. It fired her for failing to follow hospital policy regarding sponge/needle counts. I immediately had the hospital send me a copy of that policy.

When I asked my client to tell me the provisions of the policy, she went into an elaborate discussion. She said that there were different policies for different procedures. One policy governed abdominal surgery. Another addressed delicate ear, nose, and throat surgery. In all, she reported four applicable policies. Yet, the hospital had submitted only one generalized policy.

At the hearing, I called the head O.R. nurse as a witness. I asked her to describe the policy governing sponge, sharp, and needle counts. She went into the same elaborate discussion that my client had recited. She had never seen the policy the hospital had submitted before trial. I argued that it was irrational for the hospital to fire my client for not knowing the policy when the head O.R. nurse didn’t know the policy.

I myself have been the victim of not knowing important policies. Raised as a Methodist, I decided that, like my parents, I would take my children to the church and raise them in the faith. Traditionally, the church allowed only members to participate in communion. However, when my daughter was about four or five, someone in the church decided to change the policy and allow everyone to participate in communion. I’m sure I didn’t get the memo.

At the next communion service, the minister announced the new policy. I was a little worried. I had never taken the time to explain communion to the kids. I didn’t know how Jenny would react. Nevertheless, it soon became our turn to approach the chancel rail for communion. Rather than embarrass the family by refusing to go up, I took my little girl by the hand and guided her to a place at the rail. I instructed her to kneel on the cushion beside me.

The minister approached, solemnly intoning as he passed out a wafer, “This is the body of Christ.” Jenny looked shocked and backed away. I whispered, “He’s only kidding. It’s OK.” She hesitated. In her short life, she hadn’t known ministers to clown around but - trusting me - she took the wafer.

Before I could figure out what to do next, the preacher approached her with a glass of red juice saying, “This is the blood of Christ, poured out for you.”

This was too much for the child, who shrieked and, in pushing the cup away, spilled the juice on the obviously expensive, white cloth on the rail.

As her mother, I know I should have been loving, supportive, and compassionate. So, as I turned to my only daughter, I said, “Well you’ve done it now. We’re totally ruined. You’ve spilled the blood of Christ. We may as well go home.” I helped her up and headed to the car.

Although I tried to make it right at home, it took a few years before she would drink out of a glass. Her avoidance of red juices finally cleared up before she went to college. And she’s no longer afraid of communion. She even considered a career as a minister while she was at Davidson College. She copes by telling everyone that I was the one who knocked over the wine.

Life would have been so much better, if I’d only gotten the memo.

I hope your holidays are awesome.