Last night I had a very disturbing conversation with a close friend, Lucia (the Italian pronunciation, /loo-CHEE-ah/). We were talking about a cycling accident I got into back in September, which resulted in a minor concussion and multiple facial fractures. I don’t remember a lot of the specifics due to my brain injury, but I do remember being taken to one of the most disgusting facilities in all of NYC: Harlem Hospital.
Lucia was discussing the difference between Harlem hospital and the one where she had just taken her father, up in CT from where she hails. Again, I didn’t remember much of what she outlined of Harlem, including that the ER was filled with homeless people and other degenerates with oozing wounds and open sores. She told me that she felt like she was in a third world hospital and that she was, and I quote, “amazed I didn’t contract Ebola from the place“!
She reminded me that when she arrived at the hospital, I was in the middle of refusing a 2nd CAT scan the doctor ordered to confirm that no bones in my skull had been broken, which might result in further brain damage. I maintained that when I was sent for the first CAT scan, I was left in the hallway for four hours. Lucia tried to assuage me by saying that it probably just seemed like four hours because I was medicated. I insisted that I knew what I was 
talking about because I had my phone with me and was able to track the time; even as disoriented as I was, I was still quite conscious of the way I was being treated, or in this case NOT being treated. She told me that the people seemed to be doing the best they could, but were completely outnumbered with vagrants.
My question is this: why do I, a stand-up, tax-paying, contributing member of society WITH health insurance, receive the same care as some dirty junkie or homeless schizo? I mean if my tax dollars are paying for these people to receive treatment at all, shouldn’t I get some preferential treatment? I’m the one who pays for my own care and theirs, so why am I also getting dumped in the hospital hallway to be neglected for hours???
Why isn’t there a completely separate department that deals with these people at the emergency room? Now I’m not talking about people with real disabilities. I’m talking about the people who are in the state that they’re in because of their own actions; usually either self medication or neglecting medication. I actually regretted having the conversation with my friend simply because the brain injury allowed me to forget the whole ugly ordeal and I was none too pleased to have to be reminded.
$@bs
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niceguyted on 03.10.2009
I’ve spent some nights getting stitched up in DC General (which no longer exists, I’m told) – so I know where you’re coming from.
I was talking to the Dr. stitching the pad of my thumb back together and he was like “I’m a pediatrician; this is my first night in the ER; I hardly know what I’m doing”. I told him he was doing fine. He really appreciated the support.
His last name was Ofodile, an African family name with which I was familiar (also doctors).
My current thumb-print is slightly different from the ones on file.