No Place for Old Men - And Old Women

I have just returned from the hospital, realizing how pointless and debilitating my stay there was.

I shan’t relate in detail because we’ve all had our hospital experiences; and some of them have been excellent, while others—if you’re old, hospitals can kill.

I went in for a heart situation, not a heart attack, not heart failure, not heart anything apparently from all the tests they took, all of which came back negative.  It was an ER experience, suggested by my primary doctor when I told her my conditions of four-days standing.

After multiple tests, everything they could think of, no answer was forthcoming to my particular problem.  Both my primary and the ER doctor thought I should stay for more tests not given on the weekend because, if I went home, I might collapse, especially as I lived alone.

So, what should I do?  I stayed.  And was transferred to their “Observation Unit.”  Think prison cell.  Glass doors, light shining in at all times from the noisy hallway, no windows, but at least a private bathroom.  I was blessed.

I stayed there for two and a half days while they tried to discover what was wrong.  They never did.  Released finally, I returned home in worst shape than when I had left.  I was much weaker and nearer collapse than I had ever been before I entered the hospital system.

Let us next consider my husband, a long-time resident of assisted living.  Usually mild-mannered, he suddenly became crazy, was physically hitting out at the staff.  They finally suggested he might need medical help.  Well, those of you who have been here before can guess it was a urinary tract infection.

He was taken to the ER, diagnosed, and IVs were started.  That’s when I made my almost-fatal mistake.  The doctor said she could send him back with drugs; but it might be better to admit him, so he could be thoroughly treated, as they didn’t precisely know exactly what strains of infection he had.  I took her advice.

He nearly died.  They had him strapped down at first and gave him anti-psychotic drugs to calm him.  There was no one to feed him, no one to make sure he was taken care of; and every day he stayed there, he developed some new condition.

Of course, we never saw the hospitalists who handled his care.  We only heard reports from the nurses, as more problems seemed to develop.

Finally, he was released, but not back to his assisted living establishment.  Oh no, he had to go to a rehab place.  It was horrible, and they treated him horribly.  Well, I think they treated everyone horribly.

We got him out of there as quickly as possible.  He falls frequently but I will never send him to the hospital again because another stay would kill him.

Now I’m not down on hospitals.  I had three children within them.  They are definitely necessary for emergencies and other life-saving situations.  But for old people, they are the death knell.

I have learned my lesson.  I’ve had a good life, one I will not end in a hospital gown.