3,000 Hours and Lessons Learned

I can remember sitting in the Mercy Hospital Surgery Center like it was yesterday. Doctor after doctor came out and talked to families. 'We had to remove this...move that...your husband has cancer... I am not sure the toll of twenty years of drinking has taken on his body...' I was absolutely astonished. As I sat there, acting like I was reading my Reader's Digest, I was dumbfounded by the information doctors shared with patients’ loved ones while everyone could hear. What in the world is that HIPAA Law we hear so much about?

After waiting hours and hours, the phone rang at the receptionist’s desk. The young woman said, 'Is there someone here waiting for John McEachern?' I said I was. She replied, 'I need to show you to a room.' I literally could feel the blood change temperature in my body. If doctor after doctor came out and talked to families all day long, with good or bad results, something went terribly wrong during my husband's surgery. The walk to 'the room' was long. My mom was with me. We said nothing to each other. We entered the room and sat there.

Before long Dr. Ann Peick came bolting through the door. 'That was textbook surgery. Everything went exactly as expected. Things could not have gone better.' Again, I was absolutely astonished. I collected my thoughts from a brain spinning out of control. I asked Dr. Peick, 'Why did you have me sent to this room?' She replied, 'Because I completely respect my patients. I am not going to talk about their surgery results within earshot of others.' I love Dr. Peick. To this day, I consider her one of the finest surgeons I have ever met. Aside from being a gifted surgeon, she respects her patients and their families.

3,000 Hours

3,000 hours is the estimated amount of time I have spent as the caregiver in a hospital over the past five years. I was in the chair next to the bed. My husband has had a heart attack, by-pass surgery, three pacemakers, congestive heart failure, a perforated colon, the colon repaired, exploratory surgeries, an LVAD implanted, a successful heart transplant, and a stroke. He died as a ‘bad result’ after receiving the tPA drug. My dad has had the flu, pneumonia, sepsis, chronic kidney disease, diabetes. He too had a stroke, received the tPA drug, and died from complications of the stroke. I have many hospital hours clocked in.

I have met doctors that I will be forever grateful to. These doctors include: Dr. Allen Soffer, Dr. Ed Ferguson, Dr. Robert W. Taylor, and Dr. Ann Peick at Mercy Hospital, and Dr. Akinobu Itoh at Barnes Hospital. These extraordinary individuals not only saved my husband’s and/or dad’s life, I am sure they save lives every day. They have a gift. They are a gift.

As someone with a lot of experience sitting next to the patient in the bed, I started to really reflect on my experience. What I have seen over the last few years has been beautiful and disheartening. I am hoping that if I write about my experience, I will make someone else's hospital experience a little bit better.

There is a patient in that bed.

My dad. I consider my dad, though not in age, someone from 'The Greatest Generation.' Here is a man, 79-years-old, modest, private, and never an overnight patient in a hospital. He served in the United States Navy, married his high school sweetheart, worked hard his entire life, had four daughters, and eleven grandchildren. He is the quintessential family man. In November of 2015, he became extremely ill after receiving a flu shot. My mom called 9-1-1, and he ended up in the Emergency Room at Mercy Hospital in Creve Coeur, Missouri.

Dr. Ed Ferguson was the attending Emergency Room physician. He was outstanding. He introduced himself when he entered the room, addressed my parents by their names, and took control of the situation. He listened very closely to what my dad and mom had to say. He ran tests and explained everything in great detail. He was quiet, in command, and visited the room frequently. He admitted my dad to the ICU at the hospital. (Just as a side note, I must say I was a frequent flyer to the Emergency Room at Mercy Hospital as my husband suffered from congestive heart failure.I honestly believe Dr. Ferguson saved my husband’s life. I was so grateful to have him treating my dad.)

When we got to the ICU, I was with my dad, along with my nephew. A young ICU doctor was on one side of the bed, me and my nephew on the other. He said, 'This patient may have a brain bleed. His kidney function may be shutting down…(he continued on with this extremely bleak overview)…I have not looked at his chart yet....but when I do, I will decide what the next course of action will be. Do you have advanced life support directives for this person?' was his very next inquiry. I said nothing as I was trying to wrap my brain around what this doctor was saying having only seen my dad for three minutes.

That was an interesting exchange. First, this ICU doctor was rattling off all these things that Dr. Ferguson had never mentioned to us literally minutes earlier. Secondly, he admittedly said he had not looked at the chart yet. ('Let me take time to look at the chart' could have saved us so much anguish for my family.) Thirdly, 'This person' has a name. And finally, you may want to ask us who we are before you ask what we would like in terms of advanced directives. This was an extremely overzealous doctor who definitely forgot that a family is associated with ‘this person’ lying in the bed. I am not able to say who this doctor was as he never introduced himself nor did he say what his role was in the ICU.

As I was trying to take this all in, Dr. Taylor and Dr. Robyn Jacobs arrived. Again, a calmness came over the room. These two doctors told us what they would be looking for over the next few hours, days, weeks. They called my dad Mr. O'Reilly and held my hand as they talked to me. They were in charge. My dad had a name. He was a person. I was thrilled.

The ICU experience was long for my dad. With a large family, we developed a spreadsheet so that someone was always with him. Overnight was interesting. One patient, in a room next to my dad for one night, screamed for hours on end. The nurse entered our room and said, 'It sounds like they are performing an exorcism next door.' The patient visibly agitated her. A woman across the ICU called for her daughter most of the night. Several people at the computer (nurse) station made jokes and repeatedly said, 'Your daughter is not coming any time soon.' Many of them laughed. My heart ached for the woman who needed reassurance. As I sat there through the night and listened to the conversations being had by the staff, I remembered some of the absolute best advice I got from my dad, 'Someone is always listening. Be careful what you are saying.' I found the behavior at the computer/nursing station appalling. My sister walked over to the room of the woman calling for her daughter. She took this patient’s hand and gently said, ‘Your daughter will be here very soon.’ With that, the woman fell asleep.

As I sat day-after-day in the ICU, I found the teams interesting who rotate the patients. They would come in, carry on a conversation with each other, and never acknowledge the patient or the people in the room. Flip the patient over, change the pillows around, and talk about the previous night at Llewellyn's Pub. Remember, there is a patient in the bed. Other teams would come in, explain to my dad what they were doing, move him around, ask him if he was comfortable, and tell him they would be back soon. So beautiful and appreciated!

As the ICU is for the extremely ill, I was surprised that unsupervised nursing students attended to patients. As my dad lay in the ICU, he had terrible and serious sores on his feet from diabetic complications. As one nursing student removed the dressing, wiped off his feet, wiped the bed, then wiped his feet again, my stomach turned. Even though I do not have any medical background, I had to tell her I did not find it a good practice to wipe off the bed then go back to his feet with the same gauze. She agreed, noting, ‘That was probably dumb.’

My dad got moved to a regular room. We were so excited. We probably had twelve people in the room as this was the first time the grandchildren could see my dad. Two nurses entered the room at shift change. They stood right in the center of all of us. 'This patient, a 79-year-old male, has a history of cancer, diabetes,...' and they went on-and-on while we all sat there listening. Remember, there is a patient in the bed. Oddly, it was like none of us was present.

My dad, again a private man, had never told any of us he had cancer. Four years ago he was diagnosed with cancer in September. He had a grandson graduating from college in early December, and a granddaughter getting married in late December. My dad did not want to take away from the joy of their events. He kept his treatment to himself. That was his choice. We all respected that. Having said that, many of us did know my dad had cancer. How? Very simple…I ran into a person I casually knew at the grocery store. She worked at Mercy Hospital at the time. ‘Is your dad okay?’ she asked. I replied, ‘Yes.’ Her response, ‘I have seen him going into Radiation every day at the hospital. I thought maybe he had cancer.’

2100 at Barnes

My husband has been a patient at Barnes, Mercy in Creve Coeur, Missouri Baptist, and DePaul. I cannot even guess how many rooms, floors, doctors, nurses, and support staff we have encountered. In my opinion, there is no other floor like 2100 at Barnes.

Why is this floor so different? Why can't every floor in every hospital be like 2100 at Barnes?

This is one floor where every single team member – top down – is extraordinary. On the floor, they really are a team. They help each other. They help the patients. There is something incredibly unique that happens on this floor. As I sit next to my husband, I often wonder... How do all these nurses care so much? How did they all end up on the same floor? Why can’t every floor be like this one? The care is extraordinary. When my husband is on 2100, I can take a breath. It is so refreshing.

I have talked to many nurses on 2100. I am intrigued by the difference on this floor. A nurse was holding my husband’s hand while we were having our conversation. She said her favorite quote was ‘a kind gesture can reach a wound that only compassion can heal.’ I love that, especially in a world where many nurses are…

Computer Driven

I have a very dear friend who was a Cardiac ICU Nurse at Barnes for years. She left the field for twenty years to raise her children. After her youngest child started college, she returned to cardiac nursing at Barnes. She lasted for ten days. At the time, she told me the only thing that stayed the same at the hospital was the human anatomy. She talked about how she felt nursing had moved away from the patient and became all about numbers. She was baffled and bothered. She told me she was working with another nurse as she was being retrained. My nurse friend walked over to the patient and took their hand. The person training her asked her what she was doing. This was six years ago. I listened passively as I was not impacted at the time. Now I completely understand.

It is remarkably interesting to see a nurse enter a room. A LARGE percentage walk directly to the computer. They acknowledge no one in the room. I have seen it happen so many times. They login and start asking questions... 'On a one-to-ten, what is your pain? Have you had a bowel movement today?’ The questions continue. I have seen many nurses not even look at my husband (or my dad). They ask the questions on the computer screen. They dispense the meds. They are on their way.

Back to 2100 at Barnes. Every single nurse that enters the room comes directly to the bed. They ask my husband how he is feeling. They wait for him to answer. They are attentive to his medical needs. After a few minutes, they head to the computer. Those few minutes spent with a patient makes a world of difference and it means the world to a patient and their family.

Back to Dr. Peick at Mercy. I learned a lot from Dr. Peick while she was treating my husband over several months. Many things she said stuck with me. She said, 'If we didn't have patients, we wouldn't need doctors and nurses.' And, 'if you don't like working with sick people, a hospital career probably isn't the right career for you.' I laughed as she said that, but she was right. So simple. So accurate. I am glad Dr. Peick is a surgeon. She has the brain power and she is such a people person. She is truly an advocate for her patients. She knows there is a patient in the bed. That patient is a person with a name. That patient has a family.

Shifting Focus.

Twelve hours is an exceedingly long shift.

I do not believe anyone performs the same at arrival as they do twelve hours later. I have witnessed that firsthand – many times. I would see nurses go strong for the first six or seven hours, hit a lull, and then regroup for the last hour as they prepare for the incoming team. During the lull, it can be extremely difficult to get anyone to answer call buttons, phones, or turn beeping machines off. From my point of view, I definitely saw a dip in performance and response time during the middle seven to eleven-hour range. I am sure the twelve-hour shifts are beneficial to the hospital and the nurses. Are they beneficial to the patient?

As I sat in hospitals around St. Louis, I have talked to several nurses who continue to work eight hours shifts. They opted out of the twelve-hour rotation and one nurse told me, ‘I just couldn’t give it my all for twelve hours.’ I had such great respect for that nurse for recognizing that.

What the Beep?

I know that if this was an easy fix, it would be fixed. But, what is with all the beeping?

Patients are already tired. They desperately want sleep. When they start to dose off, machines and monitors they are hooked up to start beeping. Here is the deal... no one comes quickly to turn them off. The only person they bother is the patient. I have literally sat for 45-minutes with a machine beeping in my husband's room. I have casually asked nurses repeatedly if they hear the beeping. They say 'somewhat.' They acknowledge that ‘so many machines beep that they all start to blend together.’

There must be a solution to that.

Let’s pre-register and then do it again!

Pre-registering seems like such a great idea. You are called the day or two before a surgery. You provide all your pertinent information. You are ready to go. Then, you arrive at the hospital and literally go through the exact same process.

I am dumbfounded when I sit in a hospital and hear patients spew out personal information. My husband went in to register for a recent procedure. I literally sat in the waiting room and heard him say, along with everyone else, his full name, Social Security number, date-of-birth, address, and place of employment. When the next person entered the room to register, I wrote down all of their information. I went and handed to the woman admitting the patient. I said, ‘This is the information I just heard from this woman.’ The response, ‘Okay, thanks.’ She had no idea the point I was trying to make. As you hear more and more about identity theft, I am baffled by this careless practice.

There is a reason those admitting rooms have doors. They should be closed.

‘The Queen needs my help finding her Corgis on the Tarmac.’

After everything we have been through at various hospitals, I must say delirium is the most frightening experience to me. My husband has spent days, weeks, in the ICU. I know that when he calls and says, ‘The Queen needs my help in finding her Corgis on the Tarmac,’ we are in for a few long days.

Delirium is interesting. Doctors have been very quick to acknowledge delirium and reassure our family that, ‘this too shall pass.’ They explain the need for better, deeper sleep, by the patient. They explain that the patient is waking up in a different environment and all times of the day. The patient is genuinely confused. I am so grateful for the explanation and reassurance I have been provided by doctors regarding delirium. It is real.

While doctors seem accepting of the nonsense that comes from a patient experiencing delirium, I have found many nurses far less tolerant. Several have almost seemed agitated by the condition.

We have truly found, and I know several other families have done this for their loved ones, making huge posters with ‘You are at Mercy Hospital. You fell. You will be fine,’ really seems to help. If the patient wakes up, they can at least have some knowledge of where they are. (Sorry, the small 18” x 24” dry erase board by the door does not work. The words need to BE BIG.) Brand yourself! You have a captive audience.

A hospital is so quick to put its name on professional ballparks, billboards, and on television, they should put their name nice and large in a patient’s room. YOU ARE AT MERCY!

Parking..a lot.

Parking is one of those experiences that hospital administrators need to do to truly understand what a patient and their family endure. I am not sure if administrators have a parking garage or designated spaces, but if so, they should give their spaces up for a month and be required to park in the lot in the morning between 9 am and 11 am.

Mercy has far too few parking spaces. They do have valet parking at the Heart Hospital. Interesting though, if you are having a procedure, you usually have to be there before an attendant starts for the day. If you are spending a long day, the attendants are long gone before you leave for the day.

My heart breaks for the elderly and disabled patients and guests that I see trying to park, walk to the hospital, then walk further to a patient’s room or doctor’s office at Mercy and Barnes. I will no longer let my parents come visit my husband in the hospital. The parking challenge is too great.

And Barnes, that is an entirely different set of parking issues. Paying is ridiculous. I must say though, Barnes does have each level clearly marked by color, number, and letter. I see so many people taking photos of the place where they parked. Although Mercy has far fewer levels of parking, they still need to mark the levels clearly. Have you ever been 80 years old trying to find a silver sedan at Mercy? Again, it could make things so much easier for patients and guests if a little thought or consideration was given to the parking issue.

Christmas Eve.

After having his LVAD implanted on December 5, 2014, we knew my husband would be spending that Christmas in the hospital.

When Christmas 2015 rolled around, we had so much to celebrate. My husband and dad were both home for the holidays, or so we thought. Christmas Eve morning my husband started to feel terribly ill. We called 9-1-1 and he was taken to Missouri Baptist Hospital. After a short while, we were told he was bleeding internally and needed to be taken to Barnes. I was a little (a lot) unraveled. I was expecting 25 people for dinner. I had food in the oven, crockpots on, and a caterer dropping food off. Living only a few miles from the hospital, the nurse told me to go home and redirect our evening plans. She made it quite clear that they would be starting a blood transfusion, he would sleep, and be transferred to Barnes later in the day. She took my number and said she would call me if anything changed. I went home, packed up and sent off food to relatives, and boxed up packages for my kids to receive at my sister’s house. Then I returned to Missouri Baptist and walked into my husband’s room. He was not there. I panicked. I walked out and saw the nurse down the hall. I walked toward her. She said, ‘Oh dang, I forgot to call you. We found an available transport for your husband. He is at Barnes.’ We were dumbfounded. My mom was with me and she asked for the head nurse on duty. We told her how upset we were. She shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘We have way too much going on today to worry about calling families.’

Naked and Afraid.

Well, we were not on 2100 at Barnes. (We were at Barnes, though.)

My husband was in a room at the end of the hall. The door was closed. I walked in and there was my helpless husband, totally naked, sitting in a chair, hooked to many machines. The call button and phone were not within reach. I asked him what was going on. He said someone started to give him a bath but got called away. She had been gone ‘about thirty minutes.’ He could not get up. He could not call for help. I untangled his wires, dried him off, put a fresh gown on him and helped him into bed. No one ever came back! (I did not call for help. I wanted to see how long it would be before someone came back in my husband’s room. Seventy minutes passed. Someone came in to check his vitals. They had no idea who started his bath and left.)

‘Better three hours too soon than a minute too late’ William Shakespeare

Recently my husband had a ‘routine 30-minute procedure’ at the Heart Cath Lab at Barnes. He has had the same procedure twice before, once at Mercy, once at Missouri Baptist. The Heart Cath Labs were extremely efficient at Mercy and Missouri Baptist. I was expecting the same at Barnes.

We arrived at 11:00 am as instructed. We had pre-registered. Then, like always, after doing it the day before, we did it again. They took my husband back quickly, got him into a gown, hooked him up to machines, and we waited, and waited, and waited. At about 5:00 pm, they started the procedure. After the surgery, he rested and we left the hospital around 8:00 pm from the ’30-minute’ procedure.

I completely understand emergencies happen. People get bumped. Schedules change. What I do not understand is why that is never communicated to patients. Had I known they were not going to start my husband’s procedure until after 5:00 pm, I would have gone to visit my ailing friend at another hospital. Communication is what patients want. Unfortunately, it is truly lacking. It is almost like no one knows what is going on. Or, do they know and not care? Either way is unfortunate.

After spending months as the side chair at Barnes, I have talked to many doctors and nurses. They express concern that so many procedures are done and patients have no family members waiting for them. My belief…families would love to be there; however, when procedure or surgery schedules are rarely – if ever – followed, family members cannot be present. Families with critically or chronically ill loved ones are trying to juggle family, work, hospital commitments not to mention the overall stress of the situation. When there is absolutely no regard for the start time of a procedure, it is difficult for family members to be present. Again, my husband had a ‘routine 30-minute procedure,’ wherein we waited almost six hours for it to begin.

I have met so many other families in waiting rooms around St. Louis experiencing the same frustration. One woman particularly stood out to me. Her son had a kidney transplant at Barnes. The family lived on a farm two hours away from Barnes. This mother was explaining her plight over the past few years with her son at Barnes. She said, ‘My stomach turns every day. I cry myself to sleep. I just can’t always be here for procedures or surgeries or to even talk to a doctor. I never know the schedule and just when I think I do, no one sticks to it.’ She felt like communication is what you give up at a teaching hospital. You are getting the absolute best and latest medical care for your loved one. You are so grateful. But families and their support networks are secondary in the care circle. Their time does not matter. I hope that is not what they are teaching at the teaching hospitals.

The Backward Walk

I learned this phrase from many families I have met along the journey. Families say doctors learn ‘the backward walk’ on day one of medical school. They are walking backward toward the door as you continue to ask questions. I have definitely witnessed the ‘backward walk.’

Having said that, I have also met Dr. Soffer, Dr. Peick, Dr. Taylor, Dr. Ferguson, and Dr. Itoh. These doctors will not leave until every single question is answered. They are not rushed.

My mom considers Dr. Itoh at Barnes ‘Superman.’ I agree. My mom waited with me as my husband had his LVAD implanted. After the surgery, and for days and weeks afterwards, Dr. Itoh was always available. We know this brilliant surgeon has a packed schedule. And yet, he always has time. He listens. He answers questions. I am so ecstatic that he is teaching the next generation. I hope they are not only learning from his gifted surgical techniques but also witnessing true exceptional bedside manners. Why is it that this gifted surgeon always has time and yet so many other doctors and nurses are so rushed?

Let’s Have A Colonoscopy and Then Have Another!

Like so many working families of chronically ill patients, I try and hold on to vacation days until they are really needed. We always fear something unexpected will happen.

My husband got a notification from Barnes for an upcoming colonoscopy. He was baffled. He had just had one a few months earlier with perfect results. He played the phone game trying to call everyone on his team. ‘Well, you are trying to get on the transplant list. You better just do as they say,’ seemed to be the consensus from the scheduling personnel and team members. We took two days off work. We got to Barnes in the afternoon, checked in, and he was transported to a room. Doctor after doctor after doctor came in…’Why are you here?’ We showed them the letter from Barnes, the confirmation from ‘Follow My Health,’ and shared our phone log as we tried to get out of the procedure. My husband spent the night at Barnes. I joined him the next morning and we waited, and waited, and waited. A little after Noon, a team of doctors entered the room. ‘We have some good news, and some good news. The good news is, you do not need to have a colonoscopy. The good news is, you get to go home.’ Everyone laughed. I sat there thinking…I have just wasted two vacation days. I was holding on to vacation days in hopes that a transplant would be coming soon.

A Tough Pill to Swallow

By nature, I read, and re-read, and read one more time. Trying to follow my husband and dad’s care has been exhausting - but so necessary. I think one of the greatest lessons I have learned is to always use the same pharmacist - and to make sure that person is exceptional. I genuinely believe our pharmacist, Raj Thanki at Sam’s - Town & County, Missouri, saved my husband’s life. I went to pick up a prescription. Raj said, ‘If your husband takes this medication, he will die.’ Hours later, two different doctors’ offices called our home and said to not take the prescription. It was written in error.

I will be forever grateful to Raj. Had he not said anything, I know my husband would have taken that prescription when I got home. As the hospitals are forever changing, Raj has truly been the one constant on this journey. I know he is the ‘checks-and-balance’ person overseeing all the many prescriptions coming in from multiple medical professionals for my husband.

The second lesson learned, watch like a hawk when handwritten instructions or scripts are added on discharge papers. This is the area that I have seen the most errors and/or conflicting information…not once or twice, many times. My husband was released from Barnes in early 2016 after an internal bleed. The handwritten note said, ‘DO NOT TAKE ASPIRIN.’ On his records, 325 mg of aspirin daily remained for months. I called, emailed, told nurses, I was told repeatedly, ‘We need to change that.’ It never got changed. After another visit, he was told to take 3 tablets – 5 mg of Prednisone in the morning, 2 tablets – 5 mg at night. One week later he went in for a visit, his instructions… decrease Prednisone to 3 tablets – 5 mg in the morning and 2 tablets – 5 mg in the evening. That is what he was taking. ‘Well, that should not have been,’ the attending doctor said. It would be most helpful if the hospitals would just print a list of the prescriptions sent to the pharmacy. That handwritten information must increase the chance for error. I will never understand that practice. For us, rarely, if ever, is the handwritten information changed or added to the record. After fighting that battle so many times, we decided to go with the prescriptions the pharmacist was dispensing. We feel safe knowing our pharmacist knows what we are taking.

Conflicting Information

‘Medical errors are the third leading cause of death in the United States’ according to some recent surveys. That is so frightening.

If someone asked me why I felt that was, in my non-medical opinion, I would have to say medical care now has too many chiefs. This doctor, that doctor, this hospitalist, that nurse practitioner, are all writing prescriptions and changing the course of treatments. It is incredibly hard to know who is in charge, especially at, but not limited to, a teaching hospital. As a family member of two people seriously ill, I never have the comfort of really knowing who the decision maker is setting the course of treatment on any given day. It is extremely unsettling.

When my husband was under the care of Dr. Allen Soffer, I always knew that he was in charge. He visited the hospital each morning and evening– like clockwork. I knew to be there at that time if I had questions. Under his care, all was right with the world. I felt like one person had a complete understanding of the situation and he was the messenger to the family. I understood the hierarchy. He knew and understood us. I am afraid Dr. Soffer is now considered ‘old school.’ The doctors you know, who know you, never visit the hospitals anymore as the hospitalist and nurse practitioners are there. Were medical errors the third leading cause of death in the United States ten, twenty years ago when the family doctors were visiting the hospitals on a daily basis? That is just one of those rhetorical questions I often ponder. Back then, the doctor who knew the patient best was laying hands on - and seeing - that person daily.

Harold

‘Harold’ forever left an impression on me. My husband was having an emergency surgery on a Friday evening at Barnes. Harold entered the surgery waiting area and said, ‘Hi, I am Harold. As soon as we have a team together, we will get this surgery started.’ I had no idea who Harold was. After the surgery, Harold came to the waiting room to talk to me. There was no one else in the facility. Harold was the surgeon and a Fellow at Barnes. We spent a few minutes talking about the success of the surgery. Then our conversation changed. Harold wanted to know about my experience on this long journey. He was not rushed. He was extremely interested in the impact the entire hospital experience has on the patient and the family. I saw something in Harold that I truly had not seen in any other Fellow, Resident, etc... Harold was expanding his knowledge beyond the science of medicine. He completely recognized that medicine was not just about numbers, monitors, and computers. Harold said it best, ‘Medicine is about people. You can’t look a computer in the eye.’ We talked for more than an hour and I recognized how unusual Harold was. I was so grateful to have spent time with this extraordinary future surgeon. I felt great and hopeful leaving Barnes that evening.

Visiting Nurses

We know everyone wants to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. I am sure visiting nurses play a great role in many individuals’ medical care. But someone, somewhere, needs to make sure the visiting nurse has the needed skill set of the person they are visiting. We have had visiting nurses come to our house who have never seen an LVAD. We have had visiting nurses unfamiliar with colostomy bags. Many times we have not had nurses with the skill set to address our needs.

Hospice and Handholding

When my grandmother was facing her final days on this earth, she was placed in Hospice. She was to receive no further medical care. One evening she became very afraid and my grandfather called 9-1-1. The paramedics knew they should not transport her. They transported her anyway. They held her hand and talked quietly to her. When she arrived at Missouri Baptist Hospital, they knew they should not treat her. They treated her anyway. The older physician on duty held her hand and comforted her. He talked to her about her children and grandchildren. He told her she really had a life well lived. She was peaceful. That was just over a decade ago. My family still talks about the angels that touched my grandmother’s, and our, life that night. She did not need medical care. She needed compassion. That is what she got. Would this scenario happen today?

The Future Unknown – Something to think about

I have a very dear friend battling a rare terminal cancer. We have followed the same path from Mercy Hospital, to the Center for Advanced Medicine to Big Barnes. We talk ad nauseam about hospitals, doctors, healthcare, and the general difference we see in the way patients are now treated. We have lived through a lot for better and for worse as there is this transition in the medical field.

I have always felt that there are doctors, there are scientists, and there are a very few that are both. Doctors treat and touch patients. Scientists focus on research and numbers. I have met some individuals that I consider in that ‘very few’ column. Dr. Soffer, Dr. Peick, and Dr. Itoh have forever left an impression. They have the knowledge, the skill, the compassion, and they want to actually reach out and touch the patient. They listen. They understand. They have such a great respect for the person they are treating. They are not walking backwards toward the door as you continue to ask questions. They are a generation that I truly hope is not lost.

My nurse friend was right. Medicine has changed. My husband is alive and living a great quality of life thanks to advances in medicine and the scientists who work daily to ensure research moves forward. We have such great respect and admiration for what is happening every day in the medical community. The medical world is one step closer to curing so many medical challenges.

My nurse friend was right. Medicine has changed. We have gone from holding a patient’s hand to computers, monitors, and virtual medical facilities. Patients are touched a lot less. Families are communicated with if needed. The medical world is one step closer to curing so many medical challenges yet two steps further away from the patient.

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Terri McEachern is a mother, daughter, sister, aunt, Godmother, friend. She started a journey seven years ago and logged an estimated 3,000 hours in St. Louis, Missouri, hospitals as the person in the chair next to the patient. She became a ‘Chair-Leader’ for a seriously ill husband and dad. The medical path took many turns. Some beautiful. Some disheartening. She met many friends. She talked to more people than she can remember. She learned a lot.

Today, she blogs at mceachern.biz . Her opinions are her own. She hopes that if she shares her hospital observations with others, just maybe, she can make one person’s hospital experience better.

Terri’s email contact: mceachern@gmail.com