Don’t Shout! She’s not Deaf
Louder isn’t kinder. Performance isn’t proof of care. Being careful isn’t always caring.
Theme: The Burnout
Quick Take:
My plea to the professionals - speak more human, less cartoon! Calm, clear words beat exaggerated ‘baby talk’ every time. Introducing M.A.G.I.Q. - my communication ideas for health professionals.
Laugh with and not at. Giggling at residents might be fun for staff, but respect never goes out of style - it’s tiny changes that bring humour that’s warm and connecting.
Fear of blame can make professionals defensive - maybe wary of litigation these days. We need a culture where health professional can act with confidence and simply apologise when needed, rather than respond defensively.
A Sprinkle of Magic
Two clinic appointments with Milly and a visit to a care home this month reminded me why I created M.A.G.I.Q.
Please take a look and let me know if you think it’s useful. It’s a simple, easy-to-remember system for supporting and communicating with care, calmness and clarity, using language that is M - Moderate: A - Accepting: G - Graceful: I - Inclusive and Q - Quiet.
Appointments
Milly and I have spent a lot of time in GP or Hospital waiting rooms over the last few years and we’re both much more relaxed than we used to be. She takes her cues from me, and now that I feel confident in caring for her and navigating whatever comes next, my calm energy seems to keep her at ease.
Timing is Everything
I don’t tell her about appointments until the day itself. I usually mention a last-minute cancellation, and as long as there’s time for a cup of tea and she doesn’t feel rushed, I can get her there quite smoothly. A simple line like, “It’s just a quick check-up; aren’t we lucky to have such good care?” somehow makes it feel easy and even a little pleasant.
Waiting Rooms and Raised Blood Pressure
But what is it about some hospital staff? Nobody wants a waiting room to feel like a funeral parlour, but loud chatter, private jokes and bored laughter aren’t any better. That’s the staff - the poor patients mostly sit quietly and uncomfortably.
Add the rushed, distracted calling of names and you’ve already raised everyone’s - well, my blood pressure.
We love people-watching while we wait, but it never fails to surprise us how little respect is often shown to patients - people who are almost always feeling vulnerable, tired, or anxious.
The name-calling routine is a case in point: a muddled announcement, a few worried glances, a louder shout, maybe an even louder one, and then someone leaps up as if caught out. It’s not the very common mispronunciation that unsettles people - it’s the speed, the noise, the sheer lack of care.
Small Moments, Big Difference
Calling a name gently, with a smile and a calm presence, is a tiny moment - but it can make a world of difference.
It might sound unnecessary, yet a kindness in our words - even just in the way we call a name - can help Milly feel calmer, more at ease, and more receptive. It can even turn a waiting room from something scary and unpredictable into a space that feels safer and more manageable.
Passing the Time with Hancock
Meanwhile, Milly and I amuse ourselves quoting Tony Hancock, especially the famous blood donor sketch. One of us will say, under our breath, “Have you ever had any of these diseases?” - the line Hancock is asked when he nervously tries to donate blood. After a pause, the other replies, “How dare you?” - just like Hancock, embarrassed and flustered by the very personal questions. It never gets old!
Fists, Fish and Frustration
At a recent blood test, Milly’s name was barked out with no smile. Inside the clinic room the phlebotomist didn’t look up, vaguely waved at a chair, and kept typing. After a long pause, she finally turned to us as she looked at a form and threw bottles into a tray.
“A fish,” she muttered.
“Fish?”
“Your fist, dear! Make a fist!”
“Is she deaf?” she looked at me, ignoring Milly.
“No, I AM NOT DEAF!” Milly shot back.
“You’re funny, aren’t you!” she laughed.
A patronising glance and a tone better suited to a toddler followed. Not the worst experience - but certainly not the best. I no longer say anything; it rarely leads to a positive outcome. Fear of blame can make professionals defensive, cautious of litigation, and less able to take full responsibility.
Oh, for a time when caring professionals can act with confidence - and simply catch themselves and apologise when needed (we’re all allowed bad days) - rather than respond defensively.
Cute to You, Condescending to Them
“You’re funny, aren’t you?” might sound friendly but Milly doesn’t like it. She already feels a bit out of it, so any suggestion that she is different or a bit strange is upsetting.
What’s meant as light-hearted can easily slip into something else. Using baby language, exaggerated tones, or jokey phrases like “you daft brush” or “you cheeky monkey” might feel friendly or being sweet or reassuring, but for the person on the receiving end it can feel belittling or mocking. Dementia doesn’t remove a person’s sensitivity to respect. Being spoken to as an equal - calmly, plainly and with warmth - builds trust far more effectively than humour at their expense.
We wouldn’t call our boss a silly billy or daft brush, why patients?
Derek Didn’t Sign Up for This
In the care home, bored carers matched bored residents. Two staff members tried to make a lovely man called Derek - or Dave or Danny - dance. He politely declined, but they pushed until he stood up, awkward and self-conscious. They giggled loudly.
It felt like entertainment for them, not connection with him.
There’s a fine line between laughing with someone and laughing at them.
The Heart of It
Caring for people with dementia - or any frailty - isn’t just tasks. It’s patience, noticing details, slowing down, treating people as adults. Burnout is real, but so is dignity. And a calm, kind atmosphere lifts everyone.
This is exactly why M.A.G.I.Q. matters. I hope you agree it’s helpful. Let me know.