Letter from the hospital

[redbird]

I just spent a few minutes filling out a survey on what I thought of my hospital care. I told them I was mostly pleased, with specifics: for example, that the person who drew my blood was reasonably skilled and very polite and considerate. I also took the opportunity to mention the time I had to ask the night nurses to close my door so I could sleep through their loud chat; the one nurse who was quite demanding that I acknowledge her in the terms she felt appropriate after she had awakened me for no other reason; and that lukewarm water plus a teabag does not equal tea. Also that the OR staff were particularly good at explanations of both procedures and delays. I think my most serious complaint was about the discharge nurse, which I've posted about here: that she was too focused on "everyone should eat a lowfat diet with more fish" to give me information specific to my condition, even in terms of "standard post-gall-bladder-removal instructions." (I wouldn't really expect specifics based on my vital signs.) I'm glad to have given them some potentially useful information. I left a few questions blank (they said to skip those that don't apply), including whether they'd cared for my spiritual needs (since there was no space for "no, because I didn't have any") and how I would rate the cheerfulness of the hospital.

When I saw the return address on the envelope, my first thought was that it was a bill, for the emergency room copayment if nothing else. (I had expected to be asked for that amount when I was admitted, since my insurance card says how much it should be.) As an incentive to return the surveys, they say that one person a week who does so will win a $200 Amex gift check.

Comments

[mjlayman.livejournal.com]

What terms did she feel appropriate?

[redbird]

I don't recall exactly, except that she insisted I use her name: it was a weird sort of "you have to acknowledge me" that would have been appropriate if she'd come in while I was awake and I'd asked her for help with something, or even if she'd come in while I was awake and said "Hello Ms. Rosenzweig, I'm $name, your day nurse for today." Or even "Hello, Vicki, I'm $name, your day nurse for today," since she introduced herself by first name. But not something that was reasonable to wake me for in the first place, much less push on when I said I wanted to sleep.

[browngirl.livejournal.com]

Maybe it was a really badly done attempt at a cognition test?

(Or maybe she was being idiotic. *sigh*)

[maryread.livejournal.com]

I vote that she was being idiotic.

At the only hospital I've been to lately, they had a whiteboard in front of the patient's bed where the nurse could write her name if that was desired. Or other useful stuff. And that is one of the ways my hospitalized friend was working the staff, was by remembering their names, and their hours, and their families, like she was selling something, which she was: her own care. I was appalled, and recognized the realpolitik.

[redbird]

This hospital had just such a whiteboard, and she did also wipe off the night nurse's name and add her own.

[mjlayman.livejournal.com]

Well, it could be an alertness check. Wake you up to see how coherent you were. You didn't say when it happened, so it's hard to be sure.

[redbird]

A little after 7 a.m., the day I was schedule to have surgery. I had gotten to bed at 1:30, and been awakened at 2 and 6 to have my vital signs checked. I cannot imagine why anyone would be expected to be alert under those conditions, even if she hadn't been asking for, and getting, narcotics in her IV line.

[mjlayman.livejournal.com]

No, she wouldn't be checking then.