I’m going to do my best to keep this short because it’s my least favorite road to go down.
I used the word “hell” in this blog because when you’re in the hospital with a very ill relative and the staff seems like they’re doing their very best to kill them, the hospital becomes hell and the doctors and nurses become demons. At least that’s how it felt on three separate, consecutive occasions.
I’ll warn you now – this is going to be depressing. In fact, I don’t really mind if you don’t read it. I’m only putting it down to get it out of my system, and to make a public record of Kaiser’s horrific ineptitude. I don’t even like to use the term “hospital” in referring to them. They should be out of business, and many of the people working for them should be fired or jailed for torture.
The first incident was when my mother-in-law had a stroke at the age of 52. It started with the ambulance driver, who didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Then, at the Hollywood Kaiser on Sunset Boulevard, everyone seemed to move excruciatingly slow. We found out later they didn’t administer medicine that might have slowed the first stroke and prevented a second one that occurred in the hospital, the one that ended her life. The doctor in charge, a tall Sikh with a black beard tied in a knot at his chin, wearing a turban, with no bedside manner whatsoever, actually chuckled and said “there it is” to his associate when he saw the MRI showing the second stroke or “bleed” as they called it. He didn’t know I was standing behind him. I asked him angrily why he laughed. He denied it. This is what I meant about the doctors and nurses seeming like demons. That is demonic.
All we could do after that is wait for her to die. To say this lady was a saint is an understatement. She was selfless to the extreme. My wife loved her more than I’ve ever seen a child love a mother. Called her several times a day every day, no matter where we were. It was a true nightmare. A trip to hell – because she died, but also because the hospital staff clearly didn’t give a damn. Even after we knew there was no hope, nurses and others would walk into the room laughing and joking about this and that, like they were walking into a public bar. I got so angry, security was called on me multiple times for yelling at them.
A few years later, my dad got pancreatitis. They shipped him off to what they call the “Cadillac Kaiser” in west Los Angeles. Another hell hole run by demons. He had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease and Dementia a short while earlier but hadn’t started showing significant signs yet. The combination of the drugs they gave him and the unfamiliar environment caused severe Sundown Syndrome. He lashed out at staff because he didn’t know where he was, or who he was. They had to tie him to the bed. I didn’t disagree with this because he was like a wild animal. What I did disagree with was when he was moved to the ICU, a circular room with doors on its perimeter, and the staff couldn’t seem to even try to be quiet. Maybe I’m old fashioned or I’ve watched too many movies. You know, the kind with CLASSY nurses and doctors who actually care about their patients. These geniuses were actually telling stories and laughing out loud in a group in the middle of the nurse’s station. One of them was dancing to entertain the others. I finally couldn’t take anymore, walked out of my dad’s room and said, “Do you ****ing ***holes realize that people are trying to stay alive in here and need to get some ****ing sleep?” They all scattered like cockroaches when someone turns a light on. It was incredible. Of course, this isn’t uncommon. They say the worst place to get some sleep is in a hospital because a variety of people are always waking you up to give you medicine, change the bed, take vitals, etc.. but because of that fact, one would think the callous, insensitive, self-centered pricks would do their best to be quiet the rest of the time! In the old days, I’m pretty sure they did. I’ve seen old movies when hospitals actually had signs everywhere that read “silence please” or “quiet – patients resting”. Back when humanity still had some class and people still expected some civility from each other.
The grand finale of this was when he got a stint put into his chest and I had to keep fighting to keep him in his bed because he wanted to leave, but didn’t know or care he had the stint connected to a major artery (for easier drug delivery, to avoid numerous injections). If he pulled it out, he could bleed to death. At least that’s what I thought. It was also painful to put it in and I didn’t want him to go through that again. When I called the charge nurse, a white woman in her forties (can’t recall her name now), she said, with a blasé expression and tone, “Let him.” I asked her what she meant. She said, “Let him pull it out. When he sees how painful it is, he’ll stop trying.”
Aghast, I said, “He’ll bleed all over the floor and possibly slip in the blood and break and arm or leg. That’s your advice?” She unashamedly answered yes. I told her to get the F out of the room. That wiped the smug look off her face, which is what my goal became every time I encountered one of these burned-out, heartless bags of shite. When you know you’re dealing with a demon, and you can’t vanquish them (i.e., beat the hell out of them), which is the only way to handle a demon, the only alternative is to say something shocking to wipe the smirks off their faces.
We finally got out of that pit of hell and my father returned to normal somewhat. Normal is a word I can’t stand usually. For instance, if I submitted a story to a publisher and they wrote back saying “we found your work very normal”, I wouldn’t be happy about it. We don’t realize what a beautiful word “normal” is until it comes to matters of health. “Your white blood cell count is normal.” “Your MRI came back normal”, etc.
Over time, however, those diabolical diseases Parkinson’s and Dementia, would gradually pick apart my father like vultures. My father, who had always been the life of the party, an entertainer of his friends, the singer and joke teller of the group. Kaiser dropped the ball at every step. I begged my mother to let me switch insurance plans for him but she refused. She loved Kaiser for some reason, probably because she had never been seriously ill. Kaiser is apparently good at the small stuff but God help you if you have anything serious wrong with you. It’s as if their goal is to decrease the population.
After five years with Parkinson’s and Dementia, my father broke his hip in four places. He went to the Kaiser “hospital” in Panorama City. I hoped that things might be different than the previous two experiences because this was a new hospital. Nope. It was worse here than at the other two. One mistake after another. I think we were in what they called “3 west”. I won’t go into all the details except to say that this bunch of geniuses screwed everything up – blown IV’s constantly, failed attempts to insert lines and throat tubes, overdosing and underdosing, you name it. Of course, there was also the usual loud-mouthedness when he needed to rest. There was a “respiratory therapist” whose name I also thankfully can’t recall – a ghoulish, pale, bald, white man who seemed to have had his soul vacuumed out of him – who made his little rounds every day and looked into my dad’s throat, mainly because he couldn’t talk and his breathing sounded like someone trying to start an old car. He kept saying everything looked fine but a week later, when his health became worse (which of course is inevitable at any Kaiser hospital), he was taken to the ward between a normal room and the ICU, and suddenly couldn’t breathe. A nurse came in and pulled two lumps of hardened phlegm from his throat that looked like large pieces of steak. He said, “What the hell? This shouldn’t be in here after a week in the hospital?” He said they were stuck to the sides of his throat, in plain sight. Why didn’t the respiratory therapist notice that during those five or six examinations the week before? I mean, aside from the fact that he was a demon.
I started filming the staff because I was sure at this point that I wanted to sue the hospital. I set my iPhone on a table facing the bed and would start the video any time someone came into the room. A Pakistani or Hindu, female doctor came into the room and said, “So I hear you like to film my staff?” I told her, “Yes, I can film my father anytime I want to, and I’m preparing my lawsuit. Your staff hasn’t done anything wrong yet, but 3 west was a nightmare.” My dad continued to have respiratory distress but every time I called for help, the respiratory therapist or nurse (if the RT wasn’t available) would walk infuriatingly slow, even though I was screaming that my father couldn’t breathe.
That’s another thing about modern hospitals, especially Kaiser – doesn’t anybody run anymore? Again, I’ve probably watched too many movies, made during a time in America when people did their jobs right, cared about each other, expected a certain standard of behavior and job performance, etc. You know, before America and the class it once had went swirling down the crapper.
Inevitably, my dad ended up in the ICU again. I don’t know why but I thought, “At least he’ll get better attention here.” Hope springs eternal. Again, every mistake in the world was made, from big to small. A young, female, Asian doctor inserted a tube into his throat so his medicine and food could be delivered directly to his stomach, something the other wards were unable to do after numerous attempts. She was a hero for a day or two until the line became clogged. Another doctor was called in and he determined that the line she had spent 3-4 hours struggling to insert was TOO SMALL! Again, why doesn’t a doctor who does this every day know what size tube to use? I asked the new doctor this after he had inserted the correct sized tube. He said, “Good question.”
Again, I had to beg the staff to be quiet so he could get some sleep in between interruptions. I had a friend who was in the hospital and had finally fallen asleep when a nurse came in and yelled, “Hello, Mr. _____, it’s time for your sleeping pill!”
It was becoming clear that my father wasn’t going to make it, but the mistakes and inconsiderate treatment continued, anyway. Another empty-headed nurse came in while he was sleeping, free from the pain they had caused him for a few, brief, blessed moments – and shouted “Good morning! How are we doing today?” I asked, “Why can’t you people come into a dark room quietly? I mean, seriously, what the f*** is wrong with you?” Her dopey smile fell and she left the room. Another nurse came in and asked how I was doing. I said, “I’d like to leave a big, black crater of scorched earth where this hospital used to be. That’s how I’m doing.”
Apparently, you can’t make jokes like that anymore. She told security and a detail of men was attached to me every day for the last week of my dad’s life. I told them I wasn’t actually planning to blow up the hospital and was only angry – you know – about their torturing my father to death and all – and the manager of security said, “I can tell you’re not a lunatic and I’d be mad if it was my dad, too, but we still need to stay with you because of what you said.” So I got used to the company following me around. If there’s anything I can say in the hospital’s defense, it’s that they didn’t escalate this to a terrorist threat and make it impossible for me to be with my father during his final days. However, since they were partially responsible for his death, or at least made his final weeks on earth a living hell, it was the least they could do.
My father was not in good shape when he went into that hospital, but because of all the botched tube placements in his throat, they took away his ability to talk, and his right to say goodbye to us. They tortured a man who suffered from confusion because of Parkinson’s and Dementia, which is like poking an animal in a cage with a sharp stick. If someone is healthy mentally, they at least know why they’re experiencing painful procedures in a hospital, but when someone has Dementia, they don’t even know where they are or why they’re there. That makes it torture to their minds. So for patients with brain diseases, compassionate care is even more important. There were procedures I couldn’t even be with my dad for – procedures that took hours – tube placements that were certainly very painful. If they treated him so poorly when I was around, I don’t even want to think about how they treated him when I wasn’t.
The quality control people – two ladies I had a meeting with because of my complaints – at this hospital (Panorama City) admitted their staff had “dropped the ball” and asked me if I and my wife (a registered nurse at UCLA children’s hospital in Westwood – a real hospital that actually cares about people) would be willing to come back later and help train their staff. I said, “When I get out of here, I never want to see this place again.”
Three different Kaiser hospitals – three trips to hell. I looked into a lawsuit but two different attorneys said that because my father wasn’t very well when he went into the hospital and because his death was the result of “a thousand cuts” and not just one major mistake, the chances of winning would be very small. Thanks to Governor Jerry Brown, another absolute idiot who isn’t qualified to govern a chicken coop but somehow never goes the hell away, a cap of $200,000.00 was put on medical malpractice claims in California many years ago. He even admitted it was a mistake but hasn’t reneged it because the medical lobby contributes so much to his campaign and keeps him in office. More clear, obvious, blatant corruption that nobody does a damn thing about. A single Kaiser hospital probably make $200,000.00 in an hour. My goal in suing them wasn’t to get rich – it was to make them blink – to stop a second and hit them in the only area they really care about – their money. But I couldn’t even do that. I couldn’t protect my father from their bungling callousness and I couldn’t avenge him.
Kaiser is still in business and isn’t going anywhere. Other elderly people are being tortured to death by their inept staffs as I write this. There are many exceptions, of course. There are absolute saints working at Kaiser hospitals. There were a blessed few in the hospitals described above. But I pity them for having to work for this evil organization.
Again, the reason for writing this blog isn’t to depress anyone. I usually try to stay light and inspiring. But sometimes we need to call out gross incompetence, especially when it’s paired with heartlessness and corruption.
I also post this as a public service. If you have insurance with Kaiser Permanente, or have elderly parents who do, please consider changing it before it’s too late. If it were only one hospital, I’d write it off as coincidence, but it was three – three hospitals with staffs that – except for a few exceptions – seemed like demons. I’ve heard it’s because many of the nurses are elderly, Filipino women who were actually trained in the Philippines to NOT think for themselves and do their jobs like ants, so they never learned how to think outside the box. This was told to me by a young filipino woman, by the way. She said, “As they retire or die off, the care patients receive at Kaiser hospitals will improve.”
Imagine that – vast numbers of people needing to see their loved ones die horribly as they wait for ineptitude and lack of independent, creative analysis dies off. Maybe Kaiser should put that in a TV commercial – “Don’t worry, folks. You and your loved ones will get better treatment gradually as our idiotic staff reaches retirement age.” If only there was any truth in advertising. Instead, I have to suffer through commercials about how caring and conscientious Kaiser is. I know different. To use an old cliche, I learned it the hard way.
In case you think I’m exaggerating, here’s a page – one of many like it – with complaints by people who suffered similar nightmares with Kaiser Permanente –