Ivylass,
I’m very sorry to hear about Ivylad’s rather miserable experience during his recovery period, and I agree wholeheartedly that the level of care that he experienced was completely unacceptable.
Unfortunately, I’ve also had a similar experience. Nine years ago, my Dad went into the hospital to have a cancerous lung removed. At the time, my parents were stuck in the living hell called Bakersfield, California (my apologies to Bakersfieldonians who might disagree with my feelings here—but I think you’ll agree after reading the below that I have plenty of reason to dislike the hell out of the place).
I was SO pissed off at what happened to my Dad that I wrote the California Medical Board. However, for various reasons no disciplinary action was ever taken (it’s a long story…). I’ve cut and pasted parts of that letter below, omitting names and simplifying the techno-jargon (so if it looks a little stilted, sorry 
).
Initially, surgery appeared to go well for Dad, and he made it all the way into the recovery ward without incident. However, things went downhill almost immediately. The ligature (surgical “tie”) that held closed the major artery going to the now missing lung ruptured. I have no idea how this happened—whether there was only one “tie” or multiple, and if so, if they all failed. I don’t know why this happened because, as you’ll see below, his surgeon simply refused to answer the question, or for that matter, ANY questions.
My mother was in the waiting room when she was told of this complication. Amazingly, this was the last my family heard directly from any of Dad’s attending physicians for four days.
Dad was rushed back into surgery, where his artery was re-tied before he bled to death. Afterwards, he remained unconscious for twenty-four hours. Once he woke up, it became apparent that he was almost completely paralyzed on the left side, and he was very confused–he denied that he had ever been operated upon and was not certain where he was. A neurology consult was obtained and an EEG was performed. However, I STILL can’t tell you what the consult revealed, as the neurologist refused to return any of our calls. All we were told (third hand, through a nurse) was that “it wasn’t a stroke”.
I tried for two days to contact my father’s internist (his primary care physician, and the one “in charge” of his recovery) but the internist wouldn’t return phone calls either. On the second day, I was visiting my father when the internist made his rounds, so I asked to speak with him. He told me to return to the waiting area and that he would speak with me when he finished with my father. Instead, I was retrieved by a nurse and told that the doctor had had to continue his rounds instead, but that he would call me that evening (which he did not).
After three days in the recovery unit, my father was transferred to the critical care unit, and believe it or not, matters got worse. By that evening his initial confusion had progressed to belligerence and violence. He yelled, screamed and struggled. Obviously, this was very upsetting to us (my father was normally a quiet person). Again we left messages for the neurologist, internist and surgeon, and again they were not returned. My father was tied to his bed and heavily sedated, but this did not change his behavior. Dad suffered from severe asthma as well as lung cancer, and his struggles would often leave him gasping for breath.
By the next day, we were quite angry that my father was continuing to experience these alarming personality changes and that all attempts to contact any of his attending physicians had failed. So, on that morning, I visited my father in the CCU and informed the nurses there that I would not leave the waiting area until I spoke with one of his physicians. After I had waited for four full hours, the internist came by on his rounds and finally spoke to me. I was informed that Dad had come quite close to dying on the table, but wasn’t given any more detail than that. I was also informed that no one seemed quite sure why my father was acting the way he was and they were not certain how long it would last. When I asked for more information, he told me that he was too busy right then, but would call later (which again, he didn’t).
Dad remained in the CCU for four more days. During that time, I was never convinced that anyone in that unit cared whether he lived or died. Certainly, he was not under very close observation, as witnessed by the fact that he managed to pull out four IV catheters in three days. In addition, technicians would come to administer respiratory therapy to him by applying a nebulizing mask to his face. Unfortunately, they usually left immediately afterward, and we were forced to keep my father from pulling the thing off his face, as he was still quite confused and would throw the mask across the room if left alone. When we asked if they just left him when we visited, or if they always left him, they said that he was always left. I question how much of this “therapy” he actually received. Also, he was not washed, shaved, put in clean clothing (he had the same blood-spattered gown from the day of the surgery) or had his teeth or hair brushed until his fourth day in the unit, when I gave up, and washed, brushed and shaved him.
At one point, his nurse went to dinner and left him without a “backup” for an hour. During this time he had a severe asthma attack. After asking politely for help twice, I finally had to stand in front of the nurse’s station and clear my throat until someone noticed and tell them that my father was literally turning purple. At that point the nurse who responded simply turned up his oxygen and yelled at my father when he adjusted the oxygen mask.
Another time, the nurse assigned to my father for the day kept telling us (and my father) that he had had a stroke, which upset Dad tremendously (when he was lucent enough to care). When we pointed out that we had already been told that my father had not had a stroke, the nurse admitted that he had never read my father’s record and didn’t know anything about his condition at all. When I attempted to read his record (because I figured that somebody in the CCU should know something about my Dad), the record was taken from me.
By his third day in the CCU, my father had developed a horrible wet rattle that could be heard across the room, and was experiencing periods of very rapid heartbeat. Nurses and technicians came into the room periodically, pointing at the ECG screen and making comments, but not a single one would answer our inquiries regarding their concerns or plans. When my mother finally started crying and asked why my father was gasping and gurgling, she was informed that he was not expectorating adequately, but not to worry, because they would just do a “snot-suck” (their words) on him if he actually started to asphyxiate.
After several days of similar incidents, my mother called the CCU and quite angrily explained her feelings that my father was not being watched adequately, that no one seemed interested enough in him to even skim his record to answer our questions and that we were now quite frightened that he would not survive his time in the CCU, as he appeared to be getting worse and not better. The next day, I went to visit my father and was stopped by a man who identified himself as the head of the respiratory therapy service, who informed me that he was seeking to have my mother barred from the hospital as a result of her phone call the night before. I told him that it would (or should) take more than a late night crying phone call from a worried woman to warrant such treatment. I tried to tell him of our perceived shortcomings in the treatment my father was receiving but he told me that he was not interested in that (!), just in preventing any further phone calls like the one the night before. Initially he would not let me in to see Dad either, but after I threatened to sue the hospital, all three of his physicians and him personally, he let me pass. Keep in mind one thing—I am NOT one of those people who threatens a lawsuit at the drop of the hat, but by this time I was really, really pissed.
This is just the stuff that happened when we were there. I don’t think I really want to know what happened when nobody was watching.
Now, I KNOW that medicine is an art, and not only a science. Stuff can, does and will go wrong. Errors will be made—people are only human. That being said, I still think that there really isn’t an excuse for the things that happened to my Dad. We weren’t angry until it became obvious that none of his doctors would speak with us. I’d be willing to chalk some of the poor patient care episodes up to overworked nurses—except that in the CCU, each patient had their own nurse. They didn’t HAVE an excuse not to know what was going on with their patient.
Dad finally died from his cancer three years later. By this time my parents had moved to Houston. Again, Dad spent three weeks in the hospital. However, it’s worth mentioning that here his care was exemplary. His doctors were wonderful—they spoke with my mother and I, discussed his condition candidly, and did their best to make Dad comfortable. His nurses got on a first name basis with us as well as Dad. I actually found my Dad’s end far less stressful than his experience three years earlier. Yes, he died. Yes, I knew he was going to die—but at least I knew that he wasn’t going to die from neglect.
I apologize for the length of this post. I realize that I’ve probably bored the crud out of several people, and that I probably sound like a Pollyanna to the rest. However, this is something that’s been on my chest for almost ten years, and I’ve finally found a forum in which to air it.
I wish the best for you, Ivylass. Pass along my best wishes to Ivylad.
Lloth