NaBloPoMo, parents, hospital

What Hospitals Are Not Telling You

Woman wearing glasses and a white N95 mask, photographed indoors

Sadly, Mr. KK and I have spent quite a bit of time in Emergency Departments and Hospitals with our parents over the last year. In doing so, we have discovered that there is myriad of things that we are not being told, and that are not common knowledge.

We have had some hard lessons this year; I’m sharing them with you in the hopes that you can be prepared if you ever find yourself at the hospital. (And I hope you do not.)

There are very few “emergencies” in the emergency room. I’m not belittling life-threatening injuries or episodes, but I would say 90% of the people in the emergency room are there because it was the only game in town. If you need medical assistance at 9pm, there is literally nowhere else for you to go. Once you remove all the people who are having a true emergency room, the place just turns into one big waiting room for a doctor’s appointment. So you wait. And wait. Time stands still in the ER. It’s like being a casino – there are no windows and you somehow spent a boatload of money. When you first arrive they may fuss over you, order a zillion tests, check on you. But after a while, you realize that “The doctor will be by soon” could mean 3 hours.

You need to stay for 3 days. Like hotels, hospitals have a minimum night stay for some things. If the hospital is recommending any type of rehab – physical or occupational – in order for health insurance to cover your rehab stay, you must have completed 3 nights in the hospital. But there’s a catch! Your time in the ER does not count. The clock starts ticking once you are admitted into a hospital bed in a room. One time, my mother was being discharged from the ER with an order for live-in rehab at a local facility.
Me: “Will insurance cover her stay?”
Nurse: “No, since you mother was only in the ER and not admitted.” (I challenge the use of the word “only” here.)
Me: “Ok, then can you admit her so she can get her 3 days in so this can be covered?”
Nurse: “No, I’m sorry, there is no medical reason for us to hold her here. She’s being discharged.”

Inpatient and Outpatient are extremely different entities. When you are admitted to the hospital, you are considered “inpatient”. When you come to a part of the hospital for an appointment, that is considered “outpatient”. These are two very different things.

Here’s how we found this out:

My father-in-law had been admitted to the hospital on a Wednesday and was being monitored and undergoing testing. Separately, he had a doctor’s appointment coming up on Friday in another part of the hospital for immunotherapy. On Thursday, we asked the staff what the plan would be to get him from his hospital bed down to his appointment the following afternoon, since he was having trouble walking.

Staff: “Ohhhh. Well, he can’t go to that appointment while he’s here in the hospital.”
Us: “WTFDYM? He’s literally already AT the hospital. We just need to get him downstairs.”
Staff: “That’s an outpatient appointment. He’s inpatient right now in the hospital.”
Us: “So what you’re saying is that even though he is physically IN the hospital, and just 7 floors above where he needs to be tomorrow afternoon, he cannot attend his immunotherapy appointment at the hospital because he is in the hospital?”

(We ended up pushing for him to be discharged on Friday morning so that he would not miss his immunotherapy appointment. But that would not have happened if we did not advocate for him.)

There is such a thing as a safety sitter. I didn’t find this one out until yesterday, but this is 100% someone we could have used during our hospital stays. Basically, if you are worried that your loved one might try and get out of bed (when they shouldn’t be) or might try and do something else they shouldn’t be doing, and you cannot be at their bedside 24/7 to watch over them or you do not want to be the person the patient starts to hate because you keep telling them “no”, you can ask the hospital for a safety sitter. This person will sit with the patient to ensure that they don’t do anything crazy to get themselves hurt. The hospital will NEVER suggest this person to you. They will see you there at the bedside, pleading with the patient to stay put or they will fall, and just assume you have things under control. If you don’t ask for it, you don’t get it.

There is no ONE PERSON who knows what’s going on. Between shift changes and schedule rotations, you could be in the hospital for 3 days and never see the same nurse or doctor twice. It’s hard not to feel like you’re being passed around like a bad cold. You are trying to be the holder of all the knowledge, and find yourself repeating the patient’s history 347 times a day. Did you know you can request a meeting with the full care team to make a care plan? ASK FOR IT.

Nurses are the heroes. You probably already knew this, but it’s the nurses that you’ll remember from your hospital visit. For me, it was the kind nurse who got me a second chair, a blanket, and a warm ginger ale the night I stayed overnight in the hallway of the ER with my mother.

Everything about being at a hospital is stressful. First, no one wants to be there. Second, it’s filled with germs and sick people. Third, if you are the patient, you are scared you’re dying; if you are the caregiver, you are worried your loved one is dying. Lastly, the lighting is just awful; no amount of makeup can fix it.

If you find yourself at the hospital – and I hope you don’t – speak up for yourself. Ask questions. Then ask more questions. Request all the services. Be a nuisance. When they say, “I’ll get the doctor for you” and it’s been 2 hours, go find them and ask again.

Learn from my experiences; your loved one is lucky to have you.

hospital, parents

My Dad Slept Next to a Fugative

Staying true to the tagline on this blog of “You can’t make this sh*t up”, get a load of this story.

A few Fridays ago, my dad had routine kidney stone surgery. This is when they give you propofol (aka: the good stuff) and put you to sleep and then go in with a laser and blast the kidney stones to smithereens. (I can’t tell you how excited I am to have used the word ‘smithereens’ on my blog!)

My dad has had this surgery before, it’s in and out of the hospital on the same day, then go home and rest and don’t lift anything heavy for a week. And this is exactly what we did. However, the weekend following the surgery, my dad developed a fever and the chills and was lethargic, and on Monday the morning the nurse told him, “Go to the Emergency Room!” And so Uber KK went and picked up Mom and Dad, and drove back to the hospital, this time to the ER. Blessedly, there was no one there and he was taken back immediately.

My dad was in his street clothes on a gurney, parked in the hallway due to no open curtained rooms. It’s possible my dad was one of the only sober person being treated. The guy behind him was hacking up a lung and throwing up on his gurney. A woman was screaming for hematology and ripping all the gloves out of the boxes that hung on the wall and throwing them all over the floor. Someone else kept a steady tempo of yelling “Nurse!” for a solid hour. During all of this they poked and prodded my dad, taking urine and blood and his temperature until finally they admitted him with an infection. (No medical training over here, but hearing his symptoms when I picked him up that morning, I diagnosed him with the same thing).

When they wheeled my dad into the room, there was already someone else there in the bed by the window. He was about thirty or so, walking with a limp and cane. His music was blaring and he was singing loudly. If he walked by us once, he walked by us a thousand times – grabbing pudding out of the floor fridge, handing out at the nurses’ station, visiting other patients on the floor.

“This guy is like the mayor,” my dad commented as our roommate hobbled by.

The next morning Uber KK picked up mom and then we headed down for another full day of bedside sitting at the hospital. I was reliving my childhood sick day dreams: glued to the TV watching Let’s Make a Deal and The Price is Right (RIP Bob), plus more hours of news in one morning and afternoon than I have consumed in the last 20 years.

A nurse came to check on our roommate, and – with those flimsy curtains doing nothing to block sound – I heard her ask: “Did you break your parole?”

Say what?!?!

Not long after this exchange, three hulking men in street clothes with multiple guns strapped to their legs and waists came into our little hospital room.

“Excuse us, ma’am,” one of them said to me. “We’re just going to move that gentleman to another room.”

It was like we were in a COPS episode. At once both of my parents started talking.

“SHHHHHHHH!” I commanded, waving at them to be quiet, my eyes bulging at them. “I can’t hear!” I whispered.

The cops moved the curtain aside and smiled at the roommate. “I’m going to have to take your phone,” the first one said.

A second officer glided in, ordered the roommate to lay down, and handcuffed him to the bed.

This was really happening!

With little fanfare, besides multiple men with giant guns and the arrival of a uniformed police officer, they starting wheeling our roommate out of the room. I didn’t know where to look! Do I pretend to be into the muted episode of Judge Judy? Do I bury my face in my phone? Do I look him dead in the eye…no definitely not that one!

“I need to finish my antibiotics,” he said to one of the officers. “Oh you will,” the cop replied. “And when you’re done, you can go back to jail.”

When my dad’s nurse came in to check on him, she peeked on the other side of the curtain to see if he was gone.

“See all this entertainment I provided for you?” she joked, taking my dad’s temperature.

I asked the obvious question: “He has been walking around this floor for two days, why did they now handcuff him to the bed?”

The nurse said matter-of-factly: “Oh, that’s because they just found out where he was.”

Oh.

“They came in here to arrest him. That’s what they just did. Now he’s in a private room on the other side of the floor.” She finished up with my dad. “They’ll be in soon to clean, someone else is moving in here.”

I looked at my dad. “We have to get you out of here,” I said. And then the news came on. Again.