[Recently] I ate at one of my favorite Italian restaurants. I had eaten there many times before, but the experience this time was different. After ordering, I received a vacuous bread basket with precisely two pieces of bread. At the end of my meal I was offered two biscotti — and no more. Only the manager could offer an explanation: As a means of containing costs, the decision had been made to capitate bread and biscotti distribution.
I was disappointed. I had been eating here for years. When Colic Solved was released, my publication party was held here. After all those anniversaries, New Year’s celebrations, and birthdays, I’m shortchanged on cookies? It’s remarkable how a great experience can be shadowed by something so small.
Then I got to thinking: Perhaps I’m a two-biscotti physician. Like this restaurant, there are times when I don’t finish well. I may do a phenomenal job with assessment and diagnosis, only to delay a callback on biopsies or X-ray results. Perhaps I get it all right, but fail to get the detail right on the home health orders. Are there small pieces missing in my encounter that represent everything a parent remembers? I know that there are, and I know there are things I have to work on.
There’s a lot we can learn from a restaurant. I don’t want to be a two-biscotti physician.
*This blog post was originally published at 33 Charts*