At the Colorado Workers’ Compensation Educational Conference, concluded yesterday in Colorado Springs, David “Corey” Staver presented the session “The Lonely Journey and Back Again.” Staver is an Accessibility Specialist and CEO of The David Corey Company, providing home modification services for the accommodation of people with impairment. He was the winner of a recent “CompTalks” presentation at a SAWCA conference, where he had 8 minutes to relay a concept important to improving the comp system. The Colorado Division of Workers’ Compensation, who produced this event, invited him to come and expand on the topic for their audience.

One of the stories Staver told was of a woman who had received a “very” traumatic brain injury when hit by a car. She was going to need highly specialized care for the rest of her life, but her family insisted that she needed to be at home, surrounded by those who love her. Modifications would need to be made, including a room addition to her parent’s home where she would be living. During the construction process, he made a visit to that home. He spent some time with the family, and as he was leaving, the woman’s mother thanked him for his time and attention. She told him, “You know, this has been an incredibly lonely journey.”

Now, how could that possibly be? There were dozens of people involved in the management of her daughter’s claim. There were insurance professionals. Doctors. Nurses. Therapists. Case Managers. Many people working various parts of the file, managing her daughter’s care. How could this still be such a lonely experience to endure?

Simply put, there were many people involved, but they were managing the claim; they working a file. They weren’t “seeing” the family, which was navigating a labyrinth of angst alone and virtually unobserved amidst a large group of people who were busy with the technical aspects of their job. So why had the mother seen fit to single David out for this particular declaration?

He had come to the home to discuss some pandemic-related delays in the construction process, and to assure the family that the project would be completed as promised. But when he first sat down with the group, which was large and included everyone from grandparents to children, he opened the dialogue by asking about their daughter. They spoke at length about her; both past and present, and he listened as they reminisced about the woman that they loved. Essentially, he made the family feel “seen,” which was something that had not happened prior.

He could have made his visit highly technical. He could have listened to their concerns over the process and discussed what was being done to address any issues with the progress of the modification. In other words, he could have followed in line with other hard-working, well-intended professionals and simply worked the claim.

But instead, he saw the family and listened as they had an opportunity to share their thoughts about the person at the center of the production. For a moment, the “claim” was humanized, and the supporting cast in this play was given the opportunity to be heard and considered.

In reality, this is not too different from a concept I’ve heard from a disability avoidance expert who recommends adjusters start every phone call to an injured worker with “How are you feeling today?” A simple acknowledgment of the needs and emotions beyond the physical injury, both for the injured worker and their loved ones, can provide a tremendous amount of healing in its own right.

And taking just a few minutes to listen to and really “see” the people involved will make a tremendous difference. And it just might help alleviate what is for many today, an incredibly lonely journey.