Ask More: The Power of Questions to Open Doors, Uncover Solutions, and Spark Change pdfdrive com

If the problem is eliminated, can we survive?
Miller’s “fearless and clueless” approach to asking about and acting on bad
news did not make him popular. But as a surgeon working on a desperately sick
patient, he lived by the idea that if you want to fix a serious problem, you have
to go looking for it and cannot avert your eyes when you find it. For years after

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his experience at Delphi, Miller wrote notes to the people whose lives were
shattered in the reorganization, explaining and apologizing.
Bad news comes with a price, and whether it’s a business that’s confronting
impossible legacy costs or a patient who is in denial about her diabetes, looking
for bad news is a necessary first step toward diagnosis and action.
History Is News, Too
News can be bad or it can be good, but history is forever. And history is part of
diagnostic questioning. It provides clues and reveals patterns.
When did you first notice this?
How long has it been going on?
What was it like before?
Some of the most effective diagnostic questioners are history buffs. My
neighbor, Al Darby, is one of the best. He’s a roofer who specializes in slate
roofs, copper gutters, and that tricky flashing that wraps around chimneys and
keeps the water where it belongs when it rains: outside. He usually gets called
when a homeowner finds water in a bedroom or a hallway, dripping down the
wall or puddled on the floor. He starts by asking about the history of the house,
the roof, and the water problem.
Does it leak every time it rains?
Does the leak always start when the rain begins?
Where do you see the first signs of the leak and has that changed over
time?
Al knows how water behaves. He knows it can travel twelve or fourteen feet
across a pipe or beam of wood before dripping into a puddle, so the puddle’s
location doesn’t necessarily correspond to where the water came in. He looks for
patterns over time. The more he learns, the more specific his questions become.
History has made him a detective.
Have you ever repaired the roof?
What exactly have you done?
Does the water drip from the ceiling or down the wall?

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Does it only leak when the wind blows?
If the leaks correlate with wind, it could be that something outside has come
loose or broken, and the problem might not involve the roof at all. If a repair has
been made, he wants to know what materials were used, when, and whether the
neighbor’s house is similar and if she’s had any water problems. Only after
finding out all he can does Al take a hose to the roof to imitate a rainstorm and
duplicate the problem.
Al’s diagnosis frequently surprises the homeowner. Windows are often the
culprits; people leave them open or they’re not properly caulked. Clogged
gutters are frequent offenders; if water doesn’t drain properly, it can come in
through shingles or siding. Wood can rot in the valleys or low points of the roof.
Many times, Al has put his finger right through rotten wood that’s let the rain in.
Al asks about a leaky home like a curator asks about a fading manuscript. He
knows it is a vulnerable thing, exposed to the elements against the relentless
march of time. He wants to know what it’s been through and how it’s been
handled. He finds clues in the past.
Al takes immense pride in his questioning. “I love it,” he told me, “because I
like helping people solve their problems. It’s as simple as that.”
Challenge the Expert
Gardner, Miller, and Darby are all experts. They put their curiosity and their
knowledge to work by asking on-the-money questions that help them identify
and treat a problem.
The expert you’re dealing with could be a doctor or a roofer, a high-priced
consultant or a friend down the street. But even if they have far more experience
than you’ll ever have, be prepared to ask them about their diagnosis. How did
they reach it? What is it based on and what is the prognosis? Ask about their
process, their experiences in similar situations, and your options, risks, and next
steps. Questioning an expert can be daunting and difficult. But often it’s
necessary. I know it’s not easy because I’ve been through it, very close to home.
What are you telling me?
What does this mean?
What aren’t you telling me?

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My mother hadn’t been feeling well for a while. She hadn’t been happy with
her doctor, either. He seemed dismissive of her complaints and suggested her
problem was indigestion or just changes that come with age. He didn’t ask
whether the sensation corresponded to meals, how it affected her digestion or
what was different from how she’d felt in the past. Frustrated and angry, Mom
found another doctor who questioned her thoroughly, listened carefully, and
ordered tests.
I was on vacation when I spoke to Mom on the phone a couple of weeks
later. She sounded fine at first, her usual assertive self. But after a few minutes,
she took a breath. Now, don’t worry, she said, but she’d gotten some bad news.
The tests were back. She had ovarian cancer.
Before I could even react, she said the doctor was great; he had already
scheduled surgery and she’d be going in a few weeks, shortly after I was back.
Then there would be chemotherapy. She had confidence in her doctor, she said.
Things would be fine.
Life had always been a roller coaster with my mother. She was smart, quick,
always sure of herself, profane—there wasn’t a swear word she didn’t use—and
the most opinionated person I’ve ever met. It didn’t matter if she was speaking
to a teacher or a plumber; she judged everyone and everything. She referred to
herself with pride as the “toughest broad on the block.” She bragged about her
stubborn independence, which set the tone for just about every conversation she
had.
Mom came through the surgery pretty well, though when the nurses came by
to get her up and walking, she barked them out of her room. She’d get up when
she was good and ready, she said, and she wasn’t ready. This was not going to
be easy. The doctor reported that he was pleased with the surgery. He’d removed
as much of the cancer as he could. He wasn’t the warmest guy on the planet and
could be abrupt. During rounds he was in fast, out fast. But he had a solid
reputation as a surgeon and, most important, Mom loved him. She called him
“Dr. Blue Eyes.”
But we had questions for the doctor. Lots of them.
What lies ahead?
Which chemo drugs will be most effective?
How will Mom feel?
What side effects should we expect?
What is life going to be like during treatment?

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What are her chances of beating this?
Getting answers out of Doctor Blue Eyes was agonizing. He never had much
time and he didn’t especially like to talk. When he did, he focused on the clinical