Shock and awe
This week I have visited Ludwigshafen, the nominal and actual heart of BASF, the biggest chemical company in the world, and the biggest and best integrated chemical site. For an industrial chemist it is something like visiting St. Peter’s for a Catholic, an impressive site (and the whole city is in some way or another BASF) with a load of historical baggage, good and bad, and in this case a glimpse of what may become the future. Heady stuff, but uninteresting to those that do not know about the Haber-Bosch process, or the changes aniline dyes brought to the world, or even the monster that was IG Farben.
When you deal with a company of that size, most standard reference points become useless. Traditionally sellers invite buyers, but here we were at BASF’s own luxury restaurant, drinking their exclusive wines from their dedicated cellar, staying at BASF’s exclusive business hotel, or using their own fleet of executive chauffeured cars. Shock and awe of the first degree. They had to refuse a 2 € USB pen drive, however, as it would be an inappropriate gift, except that it contained copies of all the presentations and videos we had presented, so that was ok. We spent seven hours together with two senior purchasers and it was all exceedingly nice, except for the five minutes when they rejected our initial offer, made their counteroffer/ultimatum, we quickly discussed internally and accepted as quite reasonable. Then back to the nice comradeship, discussion of potential areas to develop and planning for the future, which of course includes a glimpse of what they know about the future, which is more than we do. Or futures, as one was the rosy 2020 from the stakeholders estimates, and the other the grim expectations from the guys in the front of Chemical development. We are some kind of side bet, an assurance against moderately unlikely events, third supplier for a strategic product. In this case it would be a possible new development our competitors (and in a small measure us) have been working for years, combined with high oil prices and a weakening of the euro, making our main product scarce. There is also another factor with these companies, that in most commercial meetings you become aware that they wonder if it would not be cheaper to buy you, something that is not so easy with our huge competitors.
While we were in a BASF car breaking the 200 kph barrier to get back to the airport, I already had the orders for March, and even a nonconformity complaint that they did not send before because we were not an established supplier, something we suddenly had become in the previous minutes.
The
Hospital room experience
Some
time ago I read about this design initiative, Super Bed Wards and I felt at the time that it was the right approach, but in the detached way of someone
who has never been hospitalized and whose experience is limited to visits to
sick friends and relatives, as well as ER. It all changed a few weeks ago, when
I spent upwards of 100 hours keeping my wife company on her six day stay at
the hospital.
There
are a couple of differences between the Spanish and the Danish health services,
I am sure. We have both public and private hospitals, though even the private
ones are mostly financed through public resources (the private health industry
is complementary to the public one, being reimbursed by the public service for
all procedures, stays and expenses the public one covers, at fixed rates). That
allows insurance companies to offer full coverage at competitive rates, and
even invest in infrastructure knowing they have a guaranteed income.
Another
difference, though I may be mistaken, is the policy on visitors in the ward. Here in Spain it is
expected (even relied upon) that someone will spend the night with a
non-contagious patient. During visit hours there may be a real crowd, two people will
stay most of the day, and someone will spend the night in. Which is why I spent
so much time in a hospital.
It
was a quite new private clinic, with individual rooms with a nice en-suite
bathroom (and being Spain, a couch that becomes a bed and a comfortable
lounging armchair). The first day we had been warned she would be in severe
pain, so we outraged friends and family by forbidding visits (following her doctor recommendations, who of course asumed I would be staying). It is not really mistrust of the nursing service, at least now, nor
compensating for a lack of nurses, as most of what I did would have taken only
a few minutes (warning the drip has run out, whether other bags are full, or if she is in
severe pain…). It may help that familiarity lets me interpret a set of
incoherent grunts as pain while trying to move the hand, or that the morphine is working, but I suppose it is
minor. At times it allows the nurses to relax (and I am sure they had marked
who was alone who had a companion, and how friendly/reasonable/reliable that
person was), but at times it means an extra burden dealing with a vocal complainer.
On
the other hand it was a deliberate choice in the furnishings of the room that normally only two people could stay
comfortably, to keep visits standing, and reduce the visit. Another
feature is an excellent cafeteria, so you move most people outside the room
into the cafeteria (and I made all my meals for four days there, so I can
confirm it was good quality and cheap), a refuge also when certain visitors
come calling. In this case it was even more important because the clinic is
specialized in childbirth, and babies attract even more people to visit, and
lots of impromptu celebrations. That also affected the mood, as there were many
happy people, and very few sad ones, as most other patients were recovering
from surgery, without the melancholy of a chronic, hopeless illness.
All
of this to reach the conclusion that there is no perfect room design, and that
maybe a certain specialization within plants or even hospitals may be better.
Only four rooms per floor were well equipped to handle fully handicapped
patients in the bathroom, because they relied on people like me helping in
getting up, or holding firm while taking the first shower (getting moderately
soaked in the process, an area for improvement). This is a social factor that
right now is general, but it may not be in the future. Other aspects, like free
wifi, help pass the long hours, not only for the healthy people, but also the
patient (benefits of a brand new iPad mini). In our case it made unnecessary
the big plasma TV, too bright and noisy.
Lots
of small factors adding to the quality of the stay. The discussion with the
kitchen about what meant lactose intolerant (after a couple of near misses, and
an abdominal incision is not the best moment for gases and diarrhea).
Discussing the daily planning with the chief nurse in the morning, The too high
bed that made getting up unaided impossible for someone 1.63 m tall. The noisy
air heating, and lack of radiators. The huge window, impossible to dim fully,
with a streetlight just close by. The cleaners passing by after breakfast,
before the crowds arrive (visit time from 12:00 to 20:00). The wardrobe,
hotel-like. The three shifts, the good, the bad and the ugly, guaranteeing a
rested crew (except in week-ends, when there are only two). The huge parking
area and easy public transport (though at times we would have preferred longer
transit times to keep visitors away). And so on.
It
was not a bad stay, but we were happy to leave, and in no hurry to return.