JEWISH GENERAL HOSPTAL CHAOS
OUT OF SIGHT RECENTLY, BUT PLENTY TO TELL. FOLLOW ME AT PHYLLIS CARTER'S JOURNAL. MY RECENT EXPERIENCE AT THE JEWISH GENERAL HOSPITAL - END OF DECEMBER TO JANUARY 17, 2019 - MAY PROVE TO BE A "BEST SELLER". YOU MAY NOT BE SURPRISED, BUT YOU MAY THINK IT MUST BE FICTION. IT WILL TAKE SOME TIME TO TRANSCRIBE ALL MY NOTES, BUT THEY WERE REALLY ANXIOUS TO GET ME OUT OF THERE.
January 18, 2019
Dinah, the person in charge at JGH 8 NW and her team were so anxious to get me out of the hospital yesterday that they practically pushed me out the door. I was accused by one of them - I think it was the nurse, Hasib - of not wanting to go home, but that I really wanted to stay in the hospital and I was using excuses to stay. They couldn't get me out of there fast enough.
Later in the day I received a phone call at home from Hasib saying I was not authorized to leave.
Suddenly today, January 18, I received a phone call from the hospital telling me I am scheduled for CT scans on Monday, January 21. No notice. No explanation. Follow the bouncing ball - me.
No consideration of the fact that I just got home yesterday. No consideration of the fact that I have not heard a word from my oncologist about this. He has been away for weeks. No consideration of the fact that I require medical preparation for these tests or the fact that I could not expect to get a volunteer driver on such short notice.
No consideration of the fact that I am exhausted, worn out.
But know this: Thousands of people around the world will have access to all the facts about my recent weeks in the hospital as I transcribe my notes to my blog, PHYLLIS CARTER'S JOURNAL.
Follow as I share my experience and observations as quickly as I am able. It may take weeks - because I don't know when I will be bounced around by "the system".
I WAS A PRISONER OF THE JEWISH GENERAL HOSPITAL.
I WAS A PRISONER OF THE JEWISH GENERAL HOSPITAL.
I BEGIN MY REPORT OF MY RECENT STAY AT THE JEWISH GENERAL HOSPITAL IN MONTREAL – HEREAFTER CALLED "JGH" TO SAVE TIME AND ENERGY – WITH THE NIGHT I WAS TRANSFERRED FROM THE EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT.
I had come to the hospital by ambulance because I was having trouble getting from sitting to standing and I was feeling worried and helpless. You don't realize how important it is to be able to stand and walk and pick yourself off the floor until suddenly, you can't.
I will share my experience from this point and tell you everything, as much as possible in chronological order. This report is being transcribed from the notes I made by hand all through this adventure.
I had come to the hospital by ambulance because I was having trouble getting from sitting to standing and I was feeling worried and helpless. You don't realize how important it is to be able to stand and walk and pick yourself off the floor until suddenly, you can't.
I will share my experience from this point and tell you everything, as much as possible in chronological order. This report is being transcribed from the notes I made by hand all through this adventure.
December 30, 2018
It couldn't happen in Canada! But it did.
I was admitted to the 8th floor. I expected to see a doctor. This was where the unbelievable nightmare began. There was no doctor. It was the holiday season. Not a doctor to be seen anywhere.
Entering the cell designated for my stay, I was struck with a feeling of dark despair – like entering prison or the "gulag" people write about. Why? The room was clean, no indication of trouble – yet, The pleasant nurse asked numerous questions. I replied. And she was gone. I was left there, alone. No walker. No way to get to the toilet. I'm ringing for a nurse. No response. Alone, unable to walk. Long, long wait! Afraid to wet my pants. Haven't done that in 80 years – until now?
Supper in Emergency had been cold, dry macaroni – unfit to eat. My roommate provided a tangerine and a little packet of peanut butter. You meet kind people all along the way. A nurse found a slice of bread before I was rushed out to the 8th floor. Here I am alone, my bladder aching. I waited. Waited. I rang and rang and I am waiting.
I tried to get out of the binding gown and put my own clothes back on. I couldn't reach the phone. A nurse showed up and got me to the bathroom. She "explained" how to use the phone. Nothing worked. The nurse was gone.
Before 10:00 pm
Desperate, I tried 911.
I am at the JGH and I want to leave. I have no idea of where I could go. I want to escape.
The Montreal Police said I need a doctor's permission to leave. The police can't help anyone inside the hospital.
But there are no doctors to be found. I am a prisoner – treated like a mental patient in the hospital that I have known since I was a young girl. Trapped.
I was finally able to contact two young nurses who entered my cell together – Amanda and Samantha. These angels found a full frozen supper meal in a fridge and heated it up for me. A taste of life.
Meanwhile, I keep trying to phone friends. My cell phone has a tech mind of its own. I couldn't get anything to work. Tech stuff mangled and muzzled my every attempt.
I finally connected with a family member. I ate. I was so shaken I spilled tomato juice on my lap. Voices in the hall are wishing each other "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
It's Midnight, December 30, 2018.
(Is this when I was moved to Room 8828?)
I am alone. I write. It's my breath – My salvation. I keep thinking of John McCaine. Five years of torture. I think of Yemen and thousands of refugees – bombed, maimed, starved - and thousands with no toilets as they make their way over painful miles struggling to survive. How can I complain!
Pride went out the window when nurses had to wipe my bottom! Good people treating patients with kindness and dignity.
I spent hours in Emergency with a beautiful lady journalist, Margaret, who looked like an older Audrey Hepburn and I shared in prayer and sentimental "pop" songs with a priest who doesn't want to be called "Father" but just "Mike".
Other guests I met in Emergency that evening were Monique and her son, Zachary. She was the one who provided the tangerine and peanut butter. She devoted day and night to taking care of her beloved 90 year old father.
It couldn't happen in Canada! But it did.
I was admitted to the 8th floor. I expected to see a doctor. This was where the unbelievable nightmare began. There was no doctor. It was the holiday season. Not a doctor to be seen anywhere.
Entering the cell designated for my stay, I was struck with a feeling of dark despair – like entering prison or the "gulag" people write about. Why? The room was clean, no indication of trouble – yet, The pleasant nurse asked numerous questions. I replied. And she was gone. I was left there, alone. No walker. No way to get to the toilet. I'm ringing for a nurse. No response. Alone, unable to walk. Long, long wait! Afraid to wet my pants. Haven't done that in 80 years – until now?
Supper in Emergency had been cold, dry macaroni – unfit to eat. My roommate provided a tangerine and a little packet of peanut butter. You meet kind people all along the way. A nurse found a slice of bread before I was rushed out to the 8th floor. Here I am alone, my bladder aching. I waited. Waited. I rang and rang and I am waiting.
I tried to get out of the binding gown and put my own clothes back on. I couldn't reach the phone. A nurse showed up and got me to the bathroom. She "explained" how to use the phone. Nothing worked. The nurse was gone.
Before 10:00 pm
Desperate, I tried 911.
I am at the JGH and I want to leave. I have no idea of where I could go. I want to escape.
The Montreal Police said I need a doctor's permission to leave. The police can't help anyone inside the hospital.
But there are no doctors to be found. I am a prisoner – treated like a mental patient in the hospital that I have known since I was a young girl. Trapped.
I was finally able to contact two young nurses who entered my cell together – Amanda and Samantha. These angels found a full frozen supper meal in a fridge and heated it up for me. A taste of life.
Meanwhile, I keep trying to phone friends. My cell phone has a tech mind of its own. I couldn't get anything to work. Tech stuff mangled and muzzled my every attempt.
I finally connected with a family member. I ate. I was so shaken I spilled tomato juice on my lap. Voices in the hall are wishing each other "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
It's Midnight, December 30, 2018.
(Is this when I was moved to Room 8828?)
I am alone. I write. It's my breath – My salvation. I keep thinking of John McCaine. Five years of torture. I think of Yemen and thousands of refugees – bombed, maimed, starved - and thousands with no toilets as they make their way over painful miles struggling to survive. How can I complain!
Pride went out the window when nurses had to wipe my bottom! Good people treating patients with kindness and dignity.
I spent hours in Emergency with a beautiful lady journalist, Margaret, who looked like an older Audrey Hepburn and I shared in prayer and sentimental "pop" songs with a priest who doesn't want to be called "Father" but just "Mike".
Other guests I met in Emergency that evening were Monique and her son, Zachary. She was the one who provided the tangerine and peanut butter. She devoted day and night to taking care of her beloved 90 year old father.
There was Nurse Scott, a dynamic unit of polite, gentle energy I couldn't resist calling "Scotty" – with Star Trek in mind. He never slowed down to take a breath.
These ships pass in the night giving the hospital experience a feeling of purpose, reason for being there. There was no way to foresee what I was about to face in the following hours and weeks.
HOURS ALONE, TRAPPED.
There is something horrible behind this nightmare. YOU ARE IN HOSPITAL IN CANADA AND YOU CAN'T GET AWAY. The police can't – or just will not help you. The JGH and the Montreal Police control you, own you.
When the patient enters the JGH he/she becomes a prisoner of the hospital administrators. As I have reported here over the years, you cannot expect the Montreal Police to protect you.
It's past Midnight, December 30 now. Can we dare to hope for a Happy New Year? Do you believe that 2019 will be any better?These ships pass in the night giving the hospital experience a feeling of purpose, reason for being there. There was no way to foresee what I was about to face in the following hours and weeks.
HOURS ALONE, TRAPPED.
There is something horrible behind this nightmare. YOU ARE IN HOSPITAL IN CANADA AND YOU CAN'T GET AWAY. The police can't – or just will not help you. The JGH and the Montreal Police control you, own you.
When the patient enters the JGH he/she becomes a prisoner of the hospital administrators. As I have reported here over the years, you cannot expect the Montreal Police to protect you.
There is hope. There is Amanda and Samantha, Mike and Margaret, Monique and Zachary and Scotty - and one of the nurses who mysteriously left a Kit Kat bar on my bedside table in Emergency. And the gentle male nurses who will wash your bottom and not leave you feeling shame - and never tell you to SHUT UP.
THERE MUST COME A REVOLUTION.
That was December 30, 2018, On December 31st, someone stole $100. from my purse.
4 comments:
NOTE - I DID NOT TELL THE POLICE THAT I WANTED TO "ESCAPE."
Hello. The only problem with this hospital is that it is accepting to continue to treat people,such as yourself,that are only there to tarnish reputations! #1: is seems you’ve been unhappy with this institution for more than 10 years. Solution: go to another hospital! #2: unless deemed unsafe for yourself or others nobody will keep you by force in any hospital in Canada,if you want to leave you sign an “against medical advice” form and you leave so please stop lying!#3: paradox: you had to call the police to save you from these horrible people keeping you hostage,however when it came time to leave you’re fighting tooth and nails to stay! Make up your mind or else even the clueless people won’t believe a word you say! #4: YOU are an abuser of the system! Because of selfish,narcissistic people like you people with REAL emergencies cannot be seen faster! #5: it is a hospital,not a 5* restaurant,you are there to get medical treatment,not to write a food blog. Take your food complaints to your government! #6: your pharmacy delivers your medications at home,there is no such thing as emergency chemotherapy treatment by mouth that you get from the pharmacy and you saying you were forced out without your treatment is a big,fat lie!#7: you have been complaining about this hospital and the care you are receiving for more than 10 years,but here you are 10 years later surviving cancer! Have you checked cancer survival rates?!?! Use your blog and your time on this earth for better purposes other than trying to tarnish the name of an institution that is doing nothing else but providing the best possible care! And definitely the best care in Montreal! Let me know if you need a list of hospitals in Montreal and I can provide it for you. People like you make nurses and doctors jobs even more difficult than they already are. So sad!
Reply relates to your latest post as well
NOTE THAT THE INDIVIDUAL WHO POSTED THESE COMMENTS ABOUT MY EXPERIENCES AT THE JEWISH GENERAL HOSPITAL "IDENTIFIES" HIM/HERSELF AS"UNKNOWN" OR "ANNONYMOUS".
MY NAME IS PHYLLIS CARTER. MORE THAN 480,000 PEOPLE AROUND THE WORLD KNOW IT.
Post a Comment