Hospital Undercover Agent
By Edgy I decided last year to attend one of those seminars on improving
your healthcare practice. HMOs, PPOs, contracting, any willing
provider, and capitated pricing--my head was swimming like a fish
by lunchtime. If I learned anything, it was that if a lot of folks
think they're experts, they're not afraid to tell you so.
The seminar left me a little edgy, and I decided someone had to
get to the bottom of it. So with reckless disregard for my own
health and dignity, I decided to go undercover as a patient at a
local hospital. I wanted to experience each level of care. I
started off in the emergency room, followed by four days in the
ICU. I then finished up with a seven-day, six-night stay on
"3-North," the Hilton of healthcare.
In an attempt to implement some of those progressive ideas that
are suppose to improve the quality of care, folks that run this
hospital (Medical Center, as they call it) referred to me as a
"guest." A guest? Really? Where I come from, a guest can leave when
he wants. And not many people I know would hang around in a place
where they wake you up at 5 AM to stick a needle in your arm and a
plastic probe under your tongue.
The rumors about the food are true--all of them--and more. I
collected a few recipes from the kitchen just in case Uncle George
overstays his welcome at my place.
One truly disturbing thing about being a hospital patient is all
the secrets. A nurse walks in and says, "How are you today?"
I say, "Great--feeling fine."
She looks up from my chart and peeks over her glasses as if to
say, "Poor dear is delusional. He doesn't even know how sick he
is."
"Well, what does the chart say?" I ask.
I get "the look" again, and she says, "Your doctor will have to
discuss that with you."
My doctor knows his medicine, but I suspect he wanted to be a
stand-up comedian and his mom guilted him into being a doc. So
3-North is his stage, and he reads my chart like his opening
monologue. "Here's a number I haven't seen since my rotation
through pathology," he tells me. "This can't be right," he says.
Then he turns the chart upside down and says, "That's better." Doc
Carson keeps his stethoscope in the freezer. He puts it on my back
and says, "Take a deep breath." That's not a problem. Exhaling in
the next ten minutes will be.
Contrary to what they might tell you, there is no such thing as
a "private" room in a hospital. There's no lock on the door. How
private is that? And people walk in without being invited or even
knocking. Measuring your input and output, then posting it on the
door--how's that for private? They top it off by giving you a gown
that ties at the neck and makes it necessary to back away from
everyone.
All kidding aside, I came close to checking out for good last
year. But I'm still around and as edgy as ever. That's what I call
quality healthcare.
I did gain a new perspective on healthcare--if you really want
to improve healthcare, you only need to do one thing: put the
patients first. Step into their boots and walk around a little. Try
to understand their view of the situation. Then have the
determination to use that understanding to do your best with every
patient--and don't accept anything less from those who work with
you.
What I remember best about my stay in the hospital was the flag
outside my window. I could hear it flapping in the breeze as I
closed my eyes. I would drift off to sleep thanking God that I live
in the country that sets the standard in healthcare for the rest of
the world.
Happy to still be around and still a little... EDGY
Editors note: EDGY, as you might guess, is
an amputee who works in the O&P industry. You can e-mail your
own EDGY comments and stories to OandPedgy@aol.com. 
Table Of Contents - October 2003
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