Hospital from hell
Last weekend, my family caught a bad flu virus. By Tuesday evening, the severity of it became clear. My son came to me at least seven times during the course of the evening in increasing states of discomfort. Nothing I did helped. The next day I was feeling very sick and quite incapable of tending to his needs. I was worried the congestion would cause a nightmare asthma attack so I asked our doctor if we could confine him. At that point, I needed serious help. If I could get him properly hydrated and tended to, both of us could rest and recover more quickly.
I packed a bag and dressed warmly as hospitals are notorious for freezing temperatures. One too many forays into emergency rooms taught me that. I was looking forward to getting settled and getting help for my boy who was growing more uncomfortable.
The emergency room of a hospital in the South wasn’t busy when we arrived and we promptly began the usual way: questions and forms. As soon as the preliminary paperwork was out of the way, we were ushered into a room to wait for the doctor. In the meantime, my son got sick on the floor. I tried the buzzer but no one came. I did my best to clean up and covered the area with paper towels, then went out to get help. Yes, they were coming, they said, but still no one came. The doctor finally examined him, asked more of the same questions, and then announced that our pediatrician had arrived. A few minutes later, a nurse moved us into a clean room, as no one had responded to their call for cleanup. Better to meet our physician elsewhere. So we moved again.
After our pedia was done, medication was ordered. Then a woman came in to present the “room menu.” After choosing the most practical one, they returned to say one such room was ready but could I please make a down payment. It was a whopping amount and all kinds of social issues crammed my brain, but I dutifully whipped out my card and paid, hoping this would get my son settled and given what he needed so we could both collapse in relief. I gave the down payment but nothing happened. I had to keep asking why we weren’t being brought to our room. The nurse said he was still checking with our doctor — who had left a good 20 minutes earlier —about some of the medicines she ordered. I didn’t see how our presence in the emergency room could help that. Surely we could go to the room while they worked it out? I got a disinterested, somewhat patronizing nod. So we waited. After marinating needlessly in the hospital igloo, we were finally rescued and brought to our room.
By this time, I was running a fever and was quite ill. The freezing temperature in the emergency area brought me straight to the sick zone of no return. My son was unable to breathe. I noticed that, despite his confinement, I didn’t seem to be getting any help caring for him. We would buzz for the nurse when he needed to go to the bathroom and she would support the I.V. pole as he walked, deposit him in the bathroom, close the door and then leave us. How can you leave a sick child alone in the bathroom? The least you can do is wait outside the door (for the whole minute it takes) until he’s done and help him back. But I was too sick to argue. Instead, I got up from under my blanket each time and tended to his return to bed. I was chilling, sneezing, feeling like death itself, and I was becoming more and more upset that I was not getting the help I came here for. We had been there for some time with no relief in sight for my child.
By text message, our doctor explained that the pharmacy didn’t have the liquid medicine she had prescribed so she suggested an outside purchase. She was informed they didn’t allow it and would charge us P2,000 if we chose to buy our medicine outside, so she asked them to work with what was available. They had the tablet form. She suggested they give a half dose of that. They came back and told her they couldn’t half it because it didn’t have a score in the middle. She then told them to pulverize it and give half the powder. She was asked to fax them a special prescription. In the meantime, my son was moaning for relief. Still we gave it time. After a few hours of nothing going on, the nurse came in with a prescription for the liquid medicine our doctor had originally prescribed because the pharmacy had decided that half the pulverized tablet did not guarantee proper dosage.
At this point we had been in the hospital for about four hours, with no medication in sight. By the time they gave me the prescription, I had just sent my driver out to get us some food. More obstacles ensued with my driver returning with the prescription, which the drugstore said lacked vital information, so there was yet another round of back and forth.
Finally, the medication arrived and the nurse said since it was an outside purchase, they could not administer it. Three times a day (two at this point, because of all the red tape) and they couldn’t even administer it. Policy, after all. We bought it outside because their pharmacy ran out. We were going to pay the abominable P2,000 surcharge (per medicine!!) for outside purchases not because we insisted on buying outside but because they didn’t have it, and then they couldn’t get themselves to give the medicine, because WE HAD TO BUY IT OUTSIDE??? This was beyond ridiculous.
I’m not fond of hospitals but the last time I had to confine my son, his asthma was so serious that I vowed to nip it in the bud next time, admit I needed professional assistance and ask for it while it was early enough to prevent a full-blown, life-threatening attack. This next time was here and I really needed help because I was so ill myself, and here I was, getting even more stressed out and not getting any kind of genuine care. I was huddled under a blanket, unable to warm myself despite the air-conditioning being off, and when I asked for an extra blanket the first question was: “For the patient? Kasi po may charge kung iba ang gagamit.” I just glared and got the blanket anyway, sent a text to the family angel and asked for private nurses to begin the next day. Then I told our doctor we were checking out as well.
This was not a facility that specialized in care. They did not know the first thing about true healing — from the freezing cold temperatures everywhere (warmth is a prerequisite for healing!) to the cool reception from everyone, charges here and there, and red tape all the way. This was clearly an institution that thrived on illness. They knew nothing about healing and couldn’t care less. Profit is their main goal.
I was visibly ill. Did any of them even offer to help me? No. Not that I would have accepted their help. Not for myself. I really just wanted it for my boy. But we were getting nothing and having to shell out more and more cash for nothing. I was appalled. You’re a nurse and there’s another visibly ill person in the room and you are not moved to offer assistance? Apparently not.
When one person in the family is ill, everyone is affected. Any true healing institution will recognize that one illness in the family throws everyone off. There is anxiety and worry and the daily rhythms of meals and other schedules are upset and so the whole family is thrown off-kilter. When someone else in the family is ill as well, in this case the primary caregiver, the situation is compounded. Hospitals should be very sensitive to that and be able to provide support for all. (By this, I only mean: at least make sure the child gets back to bed from the bathroom safely!) This makes healing all the more efficient even for the patient. Unless, of course, it is in their best interest to keep you sick.
The next day, checking out was just as painful; there was just as much red tape. It was a nightmare. In the end I wasn’t charged the P2,000 for the controversial medication, probably because our doctor raised hell on our behalf, though I find no comfort in that. That surcharge shouldn’t even exist. I understand that hospitals need to make a tidy profit to survive but this hospital clearly has something else in mind and it’s not your health, despite all the advertising they do to the contrary. In this place, greed takes precedence over human health.
A true hospital would put the comfort and health of the patients first. Everything else comes later. Did we have to stay in the emergency room that long, freezing to death? No. Did we have to wait that long to get the right kind of medication our doctor prescribed? No. If your health was the priority, they would have escorted you to the room, settled you in and given you everything you needed to recover right away. If they didn’t have the medication in the pharmacy, they would have thought nothing of sending someone to run out and get it and then put it on the tab. There was a drugstore across the street. Maybe an appropriate service fee could be attached if necessary, though nowhere near P2,000. That amount was nearly seven times the actual cost of the medicine.
Back home with our own nurse, I at least had the time to lie down knowing my child was being cared for. Each time I checked on him, prepared his nebulizer or refreshed the vaporizer, the nurse would offer to take over so that I could rest. In the end I was reminded that professional home care is better and you don’t end up spending as much as you would in the hospital, where your every move makes a dent in your pocket. Here at home, the focus is true patient and family care. Now that’s something modern hospitals ought to learn.
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Those who would like to learn to do home care (a skill and business of the future!), please come to ISIP, 6241 Palma St., Makati, behind Ateneo Rockwell,on Saturday, July 28, from 8:30 a.m. to 12 noon for a workshop on “Nursing Home Remedies for the Rainy-Back-To-School-Days.” The fee is P750 per person. Please call the Raphael Clinic at 895-8421 (look for Pony) or call/text 0927-8329458.
This session starts a series of lectures and workshops offered by PAAHPI (Philippine Association of Anthroposophic Health Practitioners) doctors to families and the community.
PAAHPI in cooperation with Clinica Blumea starts this morning workshop with an overview followed by a two-hour hands-on practicum on lemon neck compresses for sore throats and colds; chamomile abdominal compresses for pain and discomfort; and more. Dr. Pinky Baclig and Damarisa Ceriales, RN, who have been teaching practical remedies to families and caregivers for the past 10 years, will handle the workshop.
Through this workshop, participants can bring home the warm healing gestures of good nursing care and some useful procedures through which they can offer true and authentic healing to their loved ones and the larger community.
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Thank you for your letters. I can be reached at magisip@yahoo.com. No attachments or junk please. Log on to www.truthforce.info for true and good news.
