Overworked and Underpaid



Yesterday, on his way to the post office, my dad fell.  Thankfully, he is living in Co-op City, one of the best places in the city, and people were around immediately to help him.  A security guard called me twice, once to tell me what happened and that he called an ambulance and a second time to give me the name of the hospital.  The construction workers around stopped what they were doing to care for him.  The Bronx, and particularly places like Co-op City, aren't touted as good places to live, but as long as my dad can live alone, I wouldn't want him anywhere else.

The ambulance took him to Einstein Hospital, the hospital I credit with finding his cancer and saving his life.  And, while I will say thank you to the doctors for fixing him up, I will say BAH HUMBUG when it came to patient care.  We waited hours to see a doctor and even longer (almost two hours) for the nurse to bring the pain killer he ordered.  There was a machine behind my dad that beeped non stop and no one bothered to turn it off for more than a few minutes at a time.  Before we left a patient advocate let us know all we had to do was hit a yellow button and it was a shame we weren't told this.  My dad missed his turn at x-ray because no one came to pick him up and even when we were told we could leave, it took another hour and a half to get tubes removed and papers signed.

I had a long conversation with the patient advocate as we waited to depart and let her know all my concerns.  She listened, upset at what I told her and said to say something earlier next time.  The truth of the matter is I would have except I watched the poor staff run around, like chickens without heads, doing their best to take care of everyone.  No one was sitting around shooting the breeze or having a leisurely cup of coffee.  These nurses, techs and aids were providing the best care they could.  There just was not enough personnel to handle the patient load.  The PA that took care of my dad was a fine young man who was running in a hundred directions at once.  By the end of the night, I wanted to tell him to lay down in the bed my dad was vacating. (He looked like he needed it.)

ER's take care of sick people.  They save lives.  The people that work their deserve decent paychecks and the utmost respect from everyone.  Hospital administrators need to see how overworked and overwhelmed these people get and they need to do something to alleviate these working conditions because, unless these conditions are improved, lives will be lost.  But hey, ERs like this take care of us 99%ers and the people in charge don't much care.

Hardened Heart

My heart is hardening to my dad's tears. I can't survive any other way and luckily the tears are not coming as frequently and as hard as they used to.

The second anniversary of my mom's death is approaching and my dad is starting to have some bad days again. I called yesterday at 4:30 and he could barely talk. I offered to go over but he did not want company. An hour later, the phone rang again. "Rita, I need you." I told him I would be there within a half hour, traffic permitting. "Bring S", he said before hanging up. This scared me because I usually go alone. My dad finally was able to say he was having trouble breathing and needed to go to the ER. He wanted my husband along so I wouldn't have to worry about parking.

We flew out of the house. Just when I needed to make time, the Cross Island and the New England were both backed up. We made it in 30 minutes anyways. My dad was able to make it to the street on his own and we headed for Einstein, the hospital his cardiologist is connected to.

My dad was surprisingly calm on the way there. Only once did he tell me where the key to the safe deposit box was located and where to find his money.

The ER triage team took him quickly. They tested his pulse, blood pressure and oxygen level and I knew he was going to be fine because he did not get hooked up to any machines. In fact, they did not even give him a gown. Little by little his color returned.

We did wait a long time for an ER nurse, but that was due to a change of shifts. As soon as the night nurses came on, the sweetest young man (with a strong Jamaican accent, so of course I was hooked) came over. He took blood and asked some questions. The doctor arrived next. He checked my dad out, ordered an x-ray and said if everything was fine we could take him home.

I will love this doctor forever. He got us a quick x-ray, fast blood test results and released us to be home by 9:30 PM.

My dad was suffering from anxiety, nothing more but very scary. My heart is hardened to his tears but not to his pain. I will never let him suffer alone. I will never let him be alone. Growing up, there was nothing he would not do for me and my sister. Now there is nothing I will not do for him. I accept that no one lives forever and that he is 84 years old. I accept that there will come a time when I must say goodbye to him but not yet. That ride to the Bronx and the ride to the hospital scared all of us. I am grateful that I am able to write this now and know that he is safe and sound, happily watching television in his own apartment.