Communicate

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They say that good health and good conversation are two things that must be interrupted to be appreciated. From this writer’s hospital bed, we can see what they mean.
We may not know much about good conversation [Of course we do, read on – Ed], but we have been blessed with pretty good health up until now. This is thanks to a punishing daily regimen of at least two walks to the shop – once for chocolate digestives, and once for crisps. Alas, all that healthy diligence unraveled when a friend persuaded us to try motocross in the UAE desert.
After the fact, we’re no longer sure how he talked us into getting on a high-powered bike, but we’re pretty sure the pitch played on macho imagery, reckless fun and a sense of adventure. We have forgotten the exact details – but a head-on collision with a wall will do that to you.
Now we sit, on our automatically operated hospital bed (a button for up, a button for down) and suffer the worst buyer’s remorse. Ironically we have now become a walking advert for not trying motocross; a broken kneecap, shattered hand and snapped forearm are the USPs of our campaign.
On the plus side, the accident did plunge us into a new environment, in which we’ve had plenty of time to contemplate the curious business of marketing within hospitals (it’s only a small plus side, come to think of it).
It must be a tough business, marketing a hospital. It’s an odd proposition, selling a place you really don’t want to be. Not that Dubai’s Rashid Hospital needed to advertise its services to us. Since the ambulance that peeled us off the asphalt belonged to the institution, we had little choice but to go there. Fortunate, then, that the trauma center to which we were admitted is one of the best in Dubai – if they ever do want to advertise we’ll be the first scarred spokesman to volunteer our services.
Inside the hospital there is more marketing than you might expect. Coffee shops and cafés provide menus and 24-hour delivery of food and drink to your bed. One even dispatches a girl to collect orders from the rooms. It’s true we are a captive audience, but it’s still a nice touch to be targeted.
The pharmacy and the healthcare supplies shop have an easy job of it and don’t appear to advertise; you either need them or you don’t. Likewise the gift shop, in which Communicate estimates its friends have spent a healthy sum (pun intended).
The most unexpected marketing wasn’t from anyone involved with the hospital, however. About a week into our stay a nurse announced the arrival of a representative from Dubai’s Roads and Transport Authority (RTA). He promptly strolled into the room, asked about the accident, wished Communicate a speedy recovery before handing us an RTA goody bag and smiling for a photographer. “PR” done, rep and snapper disappeared, leaving a bewildered Communicate to wonder what just happened.
The answer is old school PR: hospital, offer best wishes, gift, photo op and out. The pic will no doubt be in contention for a news release to show off the compassionate side of the RTA. Cynics will pour scorn on this primitive effort, but Communicate won’t hear of it – what else can the RTA do in a city of such chaotic and calamitous driving ability? Besides, we’re rather chuffed with our new RTA mug and cap.
Over long hours here in this bed we have contemplated the possibility of successfully advertising a hospital, but it doesn’t take much to realize it will never be possible to make a persuasive advert for hospital life – the fact is, it doesn’t have much to recommend it.
But, as the RTA demonstrated with its “get well soon” message and gift, there is always some mileage in the possibility of recovery. That is something the medical world will always be able to sell, because those of us who have had good health interrupted are the ones who appreciate it most.

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