Sure, I can’t keep a secret; but that’s usually all in good fun. To be a tattletale is a whole other thing, and something I learned not to do in grade school . That is why I thought long and hard before writing this blog post and concluded it was my duty -a responsibility- to be informative and report to my readers something that could be life threatening.
Nurse Grady
What a week for husband Grady. No sooner had we gotten back from NIFDA than Grady’s father went into the hospital.
We flew home Wednesday evening. The very next night, Grady went to check on his 90-year-old parents. While there, his father (who we call Daddy Mac) collapsed, passed out, and was unresponsive. When I arrived (as back up), Grady was holding him in the chair so he wouldn’t fall out, because without another man’s help, his dead weight was too heavy to move onto the bed. Daddy Mac’s face was as white as this sheet of paper, something I had never seen before, and his wife (who we call Gran Ann) was holding his face, whispering sweet nothings to try and revive him. Nothing worked; he was unresponsive.
The Power of the Male Ego
When the ambulance arrived and the men started talking to Daddy Mac, he woke up. What?! It was obvious he did not want to show weakness around another man. They strapped Daddy Mac on a gurney and asked us to what hospital we wanted him taken. I chose Baptist Health Med Center in Little Rock, Ark.
Hospital Choices
Little Rock is known for having good hospitals. People come from all over to receive care from our UAMS research hospital. But I didn’t choose them because it is too big and so many of the doctors are interns who are learning the business of doctoring. When my father went to their emergency room for pain in his stomach the young surgeon recommended emergency surgery, only to find out it was a gas bubble (in hindsight I should have gone there).
And then there is Little Rock’s CHI St Vincent, where I was born, that is notoriously negligent and said to be rampant with staph infection, for which one of my friends did contract from there. But that is not the worst, two of my friends went there for elective surgery and died unnecessarily while under their care. To my knowledge, their family was awarded a BIG settlement. So, I would never, ever go there.
So Baptist was my choice. Sadly, I was mistaken; it was horrible. I don’t know if every floor is bad, but the 3rd floor help and cleanliness is awful. The community bathroom just off the elevator and by the nurse’s station was shockingly filthy. I’ve seen cleaner bathrooms in airports. And the care for Daddy Mac boarded on cruelty.
Good Nurses are Angels
At the nurse’s station sat about six nurses with their heads down, scrolling through their phones, and occasionally sharing a TikTok video with each other.
One day, while doing their best to ignore me, I approached and asked for help to clean up the urine and blood on Daddy Mac’s hospital room floor. They looked at me as if I was a “Karen.” One of them, with a bad attitude, followed me down to the room where, rather than cleanup, she insolently threw towels on the floor and left with little said. I assumed she had gone to get more supplies or house keeping. But I was wrong. The next day my husband found the mess still on the floor, so he suited up in latex gloves, cleaned the floor, the bathrooms, took out the trash, and changed his father’s linens.
This, and more, went on for the whole 12 days that Daddy Mac was in the hospital. During that time, we had one helpful, angel nurse oddly enough, her name was Kerry.
If husband Grady had not been able to take off work and manage his father’s health care, I don’t know what would have happened. Each morning and evening, Grady would visit to find his father lying in filth, neglected, and no one willing to do their job; so he did it.
Back home
On Monday, thanks to husband Grady and despite Baptist’s negligence, Daddy Mac came home with an oxygen tank to the loving arms of his wife Gran Ann.
Conclusion
Stay away from hospitals, but if you must, choose UAMS.
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