Life is goo

 My friend Maria once told me "The meaning of your communication is the response you get."
Words to live by.
In the last few decades the need has been recognized, in human medicine, for an improvement in bedside manner. Much time and money has been spent on how to improve doctor/patient relationships and how to reduce the number of cases that end up in court with the subsequent payout of big bucks.
Not to be outdone, veterinary medicine (certainly at the bastion of cutting-edge known as Colorado State University) has instituted communications courses that begin during our third year to get us eggheads up to speed on how to "build relationships" with our clients - otherwise known as drowning in emotional goo with your clients.
It turns out that our sublime understanding of ion flow, mineral requirements for Guinea Pigs, organophosphate poisoning,  fasciola hepatica life cycle and the mating ritual of the llama (whose Latin name is llama glama - and I'm totally not kidding) is not quite sufficient to make us successful members of the veterinary medical profession.
So, to arm us is two weeks of open-ended questions, deep listening and team building. Now, I am bound by the strictures of both confidentiality clauses and the "honor code" not to repeat the particulars of this course or to share information about the members of my group. So I will do my best to poke fun only at myself - although there are others far more deserving than I.
We are assigned to small groups of five, with one "coach"- in our case a private practice veterinarian of many years. We are given a "case" and a brief description of the biomedical issues that need addressing - but very little insight into the client themselves. The caveat is that these "clients" are actually actors that are primed to trip us on our intimacy skills. To top this off we are observed - behind a one-way mirror - by the other members of our group - and being filmed so that we may enjoy our performance for self assessment at a later date. Super.
Our facilitator is in the room with us - although we do not interact with them, except if we need to call a break and get some help out of a sticky situation. These appointments last around 15 minutes - which at the time feels more like 15 years.
I step into the room on Thursday morning and lose ground with my irate client immediately - I call for a break within the first 30 seconds - so fast in fact that my unflappable group leader can't quite hide the surprise on his face.
"I'm a little stuck." I say - duh
"What's not working" he queries me.
"Well, she wont sit down - that sort of threw me, and shes threatening to sue me..."
"What can you do to build partnership?"
Tell her to shut-up and sit down, I think, but these words do not leave my mouth.
"ummmmm - ask when she noticed the first signs of  ***** or maybe how long she has owned this *****"
(I'm not actually allowed to divulge the particulars of this case and have to edit key words so that my fellow vet students will have a "fresh perspective" on these cases.)
"Sounds good" my coach says blandly.
So - I take a deep breath and jump back in.
Things progress more smoothly from there. I offer sympathy, she appreciates my active listening, receptive body language, eye contact and words of acknowledgment. I feel like a hoop jumping fraud, but man do I not want to have to repeat this rotation (a fate that has befallen some of my more unfortunate classmates.)
I have a sneaking suspicion that in real life I would not be quite so mild mannered. But perhaps I should trust the options and experience of those in the game longer than I?
The appointment drags on. At the end I am "assessed" by my group members, coach and the actor portraying the client. I have done well over all, but lost points from the client for not working at uncovering the love she had for her ***** and how a deep connection was "there." I focused too much on the medical issues - ah yes - the past three years of egg headed-ness back to haunt me. I thought she was here for veterinary help (silly me) not emotional unloading.
Now, I am a hand-holding, touchy-feely, heart-on-the-sleeve kind of a girl. Feelings don't frighten me, but the expectation that I will have deep emotional connection with each person who brings an animal to me for care is terrifying.
So, I'm thinking - take what you like and leave the rest. I try to hold on to the salient points from the week: leave judgments at the door, be kind, listen more than you talk. When you listen, really be quiet - don't just wait for the other person to stop talking so that you can get your two cents in.
And remember that the meaning of your communication is the response you get.
A point that was brought home to me by my six-year old son over french toast this morning.
"Hey mom" he says "life is goo!"
What???
"I think you mean life is good" I reply.
"No, it says it right here" he says pointing at his shirt, where a "d" is indeed missing from the end of the clothing line phrase.
I had to laugh -
You said it little brother, life is goo.
Sometimes.