Been There, Done That: Nine Decades And Counting By Alice Herb: What I Never Knew About Patient Care

By Alice Herb

As many readers already know, I was hospitalized in early May. By the time I got my head around my being sick, I was discharged and told to go about my life. Which I have. But now I have had some time for reflection and want to share with you what was mortifying, surprising, and quite ordinary but appalling to me, especially since I previously spent so many years as a bioethicist working at hospitals.

What I did not previously explain about my not feeling well, and the smooth efficient administration of tests, diagnosis, admission into the hospital, treatment, and discharge, was the indignity, loss of privacy, and unpleasant procedures that a hospital stay can visit upon us mortals. So let me let you in on what I endured but tolerated for the sake of regaining my health and normal life. Some of it I admit was pretty funny but some of it was pretty abhorrent. 

When I was admitted as a patient around dinner time on a Monday, I was tucked into bed with at least 2 dozen wires, or so I thought. This was after I had experienced a crisis in breathing that alerted a team to prevent my crashing. I had overheard them demanding the oxygen quickly as I “was going fast.” My recollection was that I had no intention of going anywhere as I had too many things to take care of. Clearly, I stayed around and was later amazed to see my brother at the foot of the bed staring back at me stoically and finally saying “Exactly what happened to me in reverse.” He had been hospitalized at the same hospital a couple of months earlier. “I knew you were coming out of this,” he said. After he left, I was allowed to go to sleep. And sleep I did, until I was rudely awakened at 4:50 or 5:10 AM and told I was about to get a bath!!!

I was transferred to a gurney, wheeled somewhere, and placed on what felt like a slab of wood. Three or more people started to hurriedly strip me of all my clothes and proceeded to wet me down and scrub me from head to toe. I was truly mortified for two reasons, or maybe three. I felt as though I were a cadaver that they were preparing for a body bag and the morgue. The second was that, although I am unusually outgoing about my emotional and intellectual issues, I am quite private about my body and those of others besides my husbands and my babies. And they were not leaving out any part of my anatomy except my head. But it was all without my leave. As I was now awake and about to protest, I was rinsed, dried, and clothed, put back on the gurney, and told to go back to sleep. I was in shock!  

Finally falling asleep, I was again awakened by tubes being attached to every orifice in my body and medications delivered as soon as a plausible diagnosis was established. And then I was served an unappetizing breakfast and told to go to sleep. I did fall asleep again but each time I succeeded in finding blissful rest, I was awakened by another test, probe, or yet another physician, nurse, or other. The tests and procedures were so many and so frequent that I began to wonder how I was supposed to rest with all these interruptions.  

But as the days went by, the number of tests, probes, and doctors’ visits did decline, though I did feel continuously uncomfortable having tubes changed and bags of urine prominently displayed. The nurses and doctors were quite matter-of-fact and I guess appropriate, but I could not help but feel exposed and undefended. After a week into my stay, I had resigned myself to my loss of physical privacy and was trying to adjust. As much as I liked and admired my nurses, it never felt less than an incursion into my innermost privacy. And I was not permitted to leave my bed and use the facilities until almost a week into my stay.

What was not surprising was the lack of privacy in a double-bedded room. I was not interested in the other patient but could not avoid her moaning and groaning while her family and friends spoke loudly, recited and/or incanted religious rites without regard to my feelings, and behaved as though I did not exist. There was nothing I could do about that except make certain that my family and friends returned the lack of courtesy so that it could be heard next door. Yet my state of health was none of their business.

Enough of sharing the horrors of illness. Having said that, I do feel that Lenox Hill Hospital did a superb job in bringing me back to health. Nonetheless, the discomforts and lack of dignity and privacy need to be improved at all facilities! But know that I am as ever sassy and unbowed after this hospitalization!

Alice Herb is a retired attorney, journalist, and bioethics consultant. Having reached the age of 90+, she’s more than ready to share her experiences and opinions with agebuzz readers. Want to comment on something she’s said? She welcomes your feedback at [email protected].

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