Tuning in to a Common Goal: A Reflection on the NAFC Charitable Health Care Symposium

I often feel that being one of the staff members responsible for running Monday night free clinics is a bit like being a member of a jazz combo. While at a glance, there may be an appearance of spontaneity, every step is the result of collaborative effort and detailed planning. A single patient appointment requires dozens of phone calls between patients, referral sites, interpretation agencies, and transportation providers. While we may only spend five or six hours at the Columbus Public Health department each week, the services we provide are the culmination of 26 years spent recruiting volunteers, developing partnerships, and refining our operations.

There are moments when it is easy to step back and take in the impact of this work: when you hear the story of a life saved, learn that a family facing eviction has been housed, or witness a genuine spark of connection between a patient and a volunteer. But it is also easy to become complacent—allowing the details of the work bury you to the point where the process seems more like cacophony than art.

I’m certainly not alone in my tendency to lose sight of the larger goal amid the incessant hum of day-to-day work. If the recent spate of articles on burnout is any indication, I am in good company. But of all the techniques that are supposed to help workers stay mentally healthy and professionally engaged, I find one to be particularly helpful: setting aside time to be in conversation with other charitable healthcare professionals.

I had a unique opportunity to do so on this last week as I joined four of my colleagues on a trip to Atlanta, Georgia for the National Association of Free Clinics (NAFC) Charitable Health Care Symposium. The symposium drew hundreds of free clinic leaders from across the US, ranging from student volunteers to seasoned state association directors.

Determined to make the most of our time, the five staff members sent from PCC strategized. We poured over the packed conference agenda, dividing sessions between us so we could cover the maximum amount of ground. In the spirit of exploration, I split my time between attending sessions centered on organizational stability with sessions that were miles outside of my comfort zone. I learned about a mobile harm reduction clinic in West Virginia, best practices for delivering comprehensive care for survivors of domestic violence, new techniques for fundraising and online recruitment, and the status of national legislation that impacts the work of charitable healthcare organizations.

Free clinic people—I was quick to learn—are a talkative, generous bunch. Questions after a presentation organically grew into lively discussions that lasted long after the session had ended. By Tuesday afternoon, the empty notebook I packed on Sunday was filled to the brim with fresh insights and ideas. They ranged from practical tips, such as applying for non-profit status to defray the cost of online platforms, to wild dreams for future community partnerships.

I could easily tally up the value of this guidance: $12.95 a month saved on a Canva Pro membership, or the amount raised in sponsorships for our next Volunteer Appreciation Dinner. But the most valuable takeaway was the feeling of recognition that accompanied each interaction. For all the Monday mornings I’ve played phone tag with three different interpretation agencies trying the find a last-minute Berber interpreter, there are hundreds of other clinics employees who strive to provide culturally competent care on a shoe-string budget. For each time I’ve been so proud of a volunteer I’ve started writing them a recommendation letter in my head, there are thousands of other volunteers who go the extra mile (or ten) when given the opportunity. The tiny bits of the work aren’t an inconvenience. They are the individual notes that make up music: a contagious melody that is shared, riffed on, and passed between individuals working towards a common goal.