Greg's Journal: The Most Important Promise

Greg's Journal | Entry No. 2

Every morning, I ask strangers to trust me.

That's an unusual way to make a living.

When people think about anesthesia, they usually think about the medicine. They imagine someone drifting off to sleep and waking up a little while later. From my perspective, the most important part happens before I ever give a single medication. It happens with a conversation.

By the time a patient reaches the operating room, we've already met. We've talked about the procedure, their health history, and what they can expect. I've answered their questions and explained the risks honestly. I never want someone to feel surprised by what happens next.

Then they roll into the operating room. It's bright. It's busy. There are monitors, lights, stainless steel instruments, and people moving with quiet purpose. For me, it's another day at work. For my patient, it may be one of the most intimidating rooms they've ever entered.

Their heart rate is usually a little higher. Their blood pressure often climbs. That's completely normal. Fear is a natural response to an unfamiliar situation.

So before anything else, I try to slow the moment down.

We help them move onto the operating table. The nurses place monitors on their chest and wrap a blood pressure cuff around their arm. I hand them an oxygen mask.

"Take some nice deep breaths. Breathe all the way down to your toes."

People usually smile when I say that. Then I look them directly in the eyes. Not at the monitor. Not at the chart. At them.

"We're going to take excellent care of you."

I don't say those words because they're part of a script. I say them because they're a promise.

Looking Someone in the Eyes

I've always believed it's important to look people in the eyes when you speak to them. My father was that way. The Marines reinforced it. Healthcare has confirmed it.

When I look someone in the eyes, I'm telling them something without saying it out loud.

I'm here. I'm paying attention. You matter. For the next few hours, you are my responsibility.

I think people recognize sincerity.

By the time I begin giving medication through their IV, I usually see something change in their expression. When they first entered the room, there may have been uncertainty. Now I see trust.

Sometimes it's just a small change. Their shoulders relax. Their breathing slows. The worry in their face softens.

That moment never gets old.

Trust Is Earned in Small Moments

People often think trust is built through big speeches or grand gestures. I don't think that's true.

I think trust is built through consistency. You show up. You prepare. You tell the truth. You do what you said you were going to do. Then you do it again tomorrow.

I've learned that trust is easy to lose and much harder to earn back.

That's true in medicine. It's true in marriage. It's true in parenting. It's true in business.

If I tell someone I'm going to do something, I believe it's my responsibility to follow through. That principle has guided nearly every part of my life.

Preparation Is One Way We Care for People

People don't usually see the preparation behind what happens in an operating room. They don't see the backup airway equipment that's already waiting. They don't know I've already thought through multiple plans before we begin. They don't hear the constant mental checklist that's running in the background.

That's okay. Preparation isn't supposed to be impressive. It's supposed to be invisible.

One of the greatest compliments someone can give an anesthetist is that everything felt calm. Calm rarely happens by accident. It happens because someone prepared.

That lesson has followed me outside the hospital, too. It's how we make products at Bloomfield. It's how Marion develops recipes. It's why I measured ingredients with laboratory beakers instead of kitchen measuring cups when we developed Silent Night.

Details matter because people matter.

The Same Promise

When we started Bloomfield Schoolhouse Lavender, I didn't set out to build another company. I wanted to build something we could be proud to put our family name on.

Something made with care. Something thoughtful. Something we wouldn't hesitate to recommend to our own friends.

That mindset isn't very different from the one I bring into the operating room. No, making a sleep spray isn't the same as caring for a patient under anesthesia. But the promise behind both is remarkably similar.

Do the work carefully. Prepare well. Pay attention to the details. Treat people with respect. Always try to leave them better than you found them.

One More Thought

Every one of us is trusted with something.

Maybe it's your family. Maybe it's your employees. Maybe it's your customers. Maybe it's your neighbors. Maybe it's a stranger who simply needs your help.

The question isn't whether people trust us. The question is what we'll do with that trust.

For me, the answer has always been the same. Prepare well. Show up. Look people in the eyes. And do everything you can to keep your promises.

For the Quiet Hours,
Greg Wiggins, CRNA
Co-Founder, Bloomfield Schoolhouse Lavender