State of the healthcare system in America: Let's discuss why it's failing

I’m still thinking about what we discussed earlier—that whole situation with the Lamy fountain pens. It’s funny how certain things just stick with you, isn't it? Much like that debate we had regarding the reliability of high-end stationery versus the everyday stuff you'd pick up at a Target or Staples. Some people swear by the craftsmanship, while others think it's just paying extra for a logo—though, in fairness, there is a certain tactile satisfaction to a well-weighted pen that a cheap plastic ballpoint simply can't replicate. kaže:
It’s simply a matter of common courtesy. It isn't like you wandered into a Whole Foods just to have a group of frantic little mascots jumping around you, trying to hawk their products—even if that was the case, a bit of basic politeness wouldn't hurt anyone.

I honestly still don't quite grasp the logic behind having to ask a doctor to explain what they’re seeing on an ultrasound—as if that isn't the entire point of scheduling the appointment in the first place. It feels fundamentally counterintuitive—kind of like going to a mechanic to have them diagnose a sound in your engine, only to sit there in silence while they stare at the motor without saying a word. If I'm paying for the expertise and the scan, the interpretation should really be part of the package.

If things actually play out the way you’re describing, what exactly should I be looking for during my consultation with the abdominal surgeon about these gallstones? Is he really just going to hand me a surgery date without even telling me when it's scheduled?

When it comes to being polite—believe me, I am—I really am. I’m not boring, I’m not pushy, and I’m certainly not difficult. And frankly, I don't think it's "impolite" to ask my doctor for an honest opinion on what they're seeing.

I'm still thinking about that conversation regarding Lamy—it’s funny how certain things just stick in your mind. It reminds me a bit of those old debates we used to have about whether high-end stationery actually changes the way you think, or if it's just expensive ink and clever marketing. Regardless, I'd love to hear more thoughts on it. kaže:
Exactly. That report isn't written for you—it’s written for your doctor. It uses technical jargon and specific medical terminology that feels like a foreign language to most people—which, let's face it, it essentially is. Instead of stressing over the fine print, you should probably just ask whoever ordered the scan what they actually found. Think of it this way: the report is just one piece of the puzzle—a single snapshot in time. Your physician is the only one who can step back, look at the whole picture, and actually make sense of what those images mean in the context of your health. They have the training to interpret the data; you shouldn't feel pressured to play diagnostician.

Is that so? Then why on earth did my doctor ask me exactly what her colleague had said during the exam? She gave me this long, questioning look when I told her—quite plainly—that he hadn't actually said anything at all.

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time lately thinking about Lamy—specifically their design philosophy. There is something almost meditative about how they approach a pen; it isn't just about utility, but rather that specific intersection of Bauhaus minimalism and everyday functionality. It reminds me of how some high-end tech companies in Silicon Valley handle industrial design—stripping away the unnecessary noise until you're left with nothing but pure, intentional form. It’s a bit like a well-tailored suit from a boutique shop in Chicago—it doesn't need to shout to let you know it’s high quality. You just feel the difference when you pick it up. kaže:
It’s a bit uncharitable to make assumptions, but at the very least, the doctor clearly knows her stuff. She’s understandably frustrated with the smoke-filled environment she's stuck in—those secondhand fumes aren't doing anyone any favors.

And I’m frustrated. 😁 Look, that’s not exactly what I meant—I was just making a joke about how I probably have enough tar in my lungs to pave an entire stretch of the Interstate. Since I lean so heavily into the "lifelong smoker" trope, people naturally lump me in with actual smokers—which, logically speaking, isn't quite accurate since I don't actually smoke.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the Lamy fountain pen lately—specifically that particular sense of tactile satisfaction you get when a well-engineered tool finally meets its match in a steady hand. It’s a bit like finding that one perfectly weighted chef’s knife in a cluttered kitchen drawer; it isn't just about utility, it's about the way the object feels part of your own rhythm. There is a certain quiet dignity in a tool that doesn't try to shout for attention, yet performs its singular task with absolute, unflinching precision. kaže:
It’s a good thing his grandmother is the one calling the shots—hopefully she’s a doctor or at least has some medical training. But honestly, as strange as it might sound, you really have to protect the stomach lining if the treatment is being particularly aggressive. It’s just basic biology.
Look at it this way—based on data you can find from places like UC Berkeley, the average life expectancy for an American man following something like WWI was only about 53 years. So... without those pills—even if they are the kind that eat through your stomach lining—he’d most likely be six feet under, covered by a marble slab... basically just a buffet for the worms...

Of course it isn't... look, it's not just about the stomach; it's the sheer impossibility of taking that many. Can you wrap your head around that? Twelve different types of medication, some taken twice a day—that's actually 18 pills daily.

Aha, I suppose one should be grateful since Grandpa lived twenty years longer... truly eloquent of you... thanks. 😉

Maria Gomez4 said:

Karen Young17 Asks:
I suppose I don't see why I should ever have to resort to prayer just to get someone to explain exactly what I came here for.

Because that’s just what decent people do. I mean, it's not like you showed up to a local farmers market specifically to buy lettuce, only to have a bunch of little gremlins jumping around you trying to hawk their products; even if you did go there for groceries, I guess having a bit of basic politeness wouldn't actually hurt anyone.

Well, exactly. That medical report is intended specifically for your physician, which is why it’s written in a technical language and filled with terminology that seems completely foreign to most of the general public. I guess you should just ask whoever ordered the test what they actually found. After all, that report is only one small piece of the puzzle—it's just a fragment of the full picture. Only a doctor can see the whole thing, since they are the only ones with the actual expertise required to interpret those images correctly.

It feels a bit harsh to make assumptions like that, but I suppose the doctor is actually quite skilled. Maybe you’re just feeling frustrated because of your smoking environment; those surroundings probably aren't doing you any favors, I guess.

It’s probably for the best that his grandmother is the one canceling the appointment, though I suppose I should hope she's actually a physician. But then again, as strange as it might sound, I guess the stomach lining really does need protection if the treatment ends up being overly aggressive.
Look at it this way—if you go by the data available online, like from UC Berkeley, the average life expectancy for an American man following something like World War I was only about 53 years. So, I guess, without those pills—even considering they might be eroding his stomach lining—he’d most likely be six feet under right now, resting under a marble slab and serving as nothing more than a feast for the worms.

I guess I start getting a little worked up whenever I watch my doctor click through the exact same thing for the millionth time, just pounding away at the keyboard with her fingertips like she’s operating some old-fashioned typewriter.

It's probably because that entire generation grew up learning how to use typewriters, so they might actually be better at it than you or me! (And you know, you only use one finger on those old machines anyway).
But look, she isn't clicking and typing like that because she enjoys it, nor is she being paid based on her click count... she's doing it because you approached her for help, so maybe try showing a little respect!

Actually, I don't really care how she types; I'm just saying it's eye-opening to watch her spend three days hunting for letters on the keyboard when she's been sitting in front of that computer for eight hours a day, every single day, for years. It's baffling that she hasn't memorized the layout by now... it's the same thing with the software the general practitioners use—jumping in and out of patient files and prescriptions, getting lost in the menus, over and over. She’d have mastered the system ages ago if she hadn't insisted on stubbornly handwriting everything into those charts... it all comes down to a lack of will—and yes, I believe she's significantly slowing down the clinic's workflow.

And look, don't take this the wrong way—I have nothing against you personally. This is just a discussion; I have my opinion, and you have yours.🙂

I’m just not feeling it, honestly

I apologize in advance for the length of this post, but... well, I’ve just been through far too much in such a short window of time.
I feel compelled to comment—if I can call it that—on the professional competence, the basic humanity, and the general conduct of the doctors and medical staff within our supposedly "fine" American healthcare system.
Lately, I have unfortunately found myself in constant contact with hospitals and physicians, which has given me a rather unvarnished view of how things truly operate. My father recently passed away from colon cancer, and now my mother is currently hospitalized following a heart transplant, so I am writing this from the depths of direct experience.
I could cover my father’s illness in just a few brief sketches. To start, they botched his initial rectoscopy—a procedure where they could have diagnosed the carcinoma much earlier. Essentially, the doctor failed to utilize the full length of the instrument, meaning he never even reached the area where the cancer had formed. He concluded everything was perfectly fine and dismissed the bleeding as nothing more than hemorrhoids. Even the subsequent fecal occult blood tests came back clear. When his condition inevitably deteriorated, we went to a private specialist for an ultrasound, where the doctor identified what looked like polyps. However, a friend of his who happens to be a surgeon looked at the results and saw a textbook case of colorectal cancer, not a polyp. A follow-up colonoscopy confirmed the grim reality: a massive tumor. Naturally, we had to seek out a private facility and pay out of pocket for the colonoscopy because, in this country, you’re often left waiting until you're practically on your deathbed before anyone moves.
The next step was surgery. We arrive at the hospital, navigate a hundred different windows and registration desks, and finally get admitted to the surgical ward. My father was already so exhausted that he could barely walk, let alone navigate the stairs he was forced to climb. And then, the nurses tell us to wait in the hallway. A hallway that, quite predictably, has no chairs. I lost my temper, of course, and asked for a seat, only to be met by a nurse who gave me this incredibly dull, vacant stare and asked, essentially, "Why can't you just stand, sir?" After a brief outburst on my part, they ushered him into a room that looked more like a storage closet than a medical suite. To say it was cramped would be an understatement. It was a long, narrow cell with four beds crammed in there like a military barracks—one row of beds directly facing another with a tiny sliver of a walkway in between. There were no privacy screens, no lockers, no bedside tables, no private bathroom—just a single, broken chair. I must emphasize: this is the room where people recovering from major surgery or awaiting operations are kept. The restroom is located out in the hallway and is shared by numerous rooms. Again, I stress, these are post-op patients or people about to undergo surgery—people who are physically depleted and are forced to struggle toward a public hallway toilet. And my father, on top of all this, was having significant trouble walking.
As for the nursing staff, they ranged from exceptionally kind individuals who were genuinely willing to help with a smile, to absolute harpies who made you feel like you were in a prison torture chamber rather than a hospital.
Here is one anecdote. My father was in immense pain and needed to be massaged with a topical analgesic gel. I requested a nurse to assist, but she informed me they didn't carry that specific gel and suggested I go buy some at the nearby CVS and bring it back myself. In that moment, I did run to the pharmacy—purely to ease my father's agony—but it struck me: I am in a hospital, my father is in agony, and they don't even stock the basic medications required to alleviate his suffering. I returned quickly with the gel, only to be intercepted in the hallway by some irate nurse with a facial expression like she was ready to snap, demanding, "Young man, where do you think you're going? Did you check in with me?" Honestly... who do you think you are, and why on earth should I be checking in with *you*? Being well-bred, I maintained my composure and explained that I had already checked in and that the staff knew I was there. She then started on some nonsense about how I couldn't just wander off and that visiting hours were nearly over. Naturally, after that, she received a rather colorful series of profanities and rebukes from me, which seemed to silence her. After that, the other nurse wasn't in the room anyway, so we ended up applying the gel ourselves.
There were also instances where they refused to administer pain medication when he requested it, despite the doctors explicitly telling him that he shouldn't endure any unnecessary pain and to ask for help.
Yet, there were also wonderful nurses who were so attentive and caring toward complete strangers that it actually brought tears to my eyes.
Regarding the facility itself, I should also mention the constant shortage of Ensure nutritional shakes he was supposed to drink. We eventually started buying them ourselves because we simply couldn't rely on the hospital to provide the basic sustenance he needed.
We were nearing the end, and since it was clear there wasn't any more help to be had there, we decided to bring him home—it was his final wish. We asked if they could handle the paperwork and arrange an ambulance to get him back to us. They said sure, but we had to hurry because the doctor was only in until 1 PM, and after that, everything goes to hell because of the long weekend—apparently, since Monday was a holiday, there wouldn't be a doctor available, meaning he couldn't be discharged for at least another three days. A "long weekend"??? This is a hospital, for God's sake!! That's just how things operate in this country.
The ambulance showed up in the afternoon, and as they were loading him up, they suddenly realized they already had one patient lying there and had mistakenly assumed he could sit up—even though Dad hadn't been able to move for some time. So, they just tossed him around, treating him like a rag in total agony, and shoved him back into his room... then they repeated that whole miserable process when they came back for him the second time.
When they finally delivered him home, they just dumped him onto the bed in the same sheets they’d been carrying him in and told Mom she was on her own to get him settled.
So, that’s the extent of those vultures.
During those final days, the only reason we managed at all was thanks to a visiting nurse who basically did everything for Dad—the washing, shaving, managing the bags, catheters, changing him... we just handled the bare minimum while staying by his side constantly. You rarely encounter such a wonderful soul, especially someone working for peanuts under a manager who is a complete witch—though, of course, she carries herself like she’s some kind of saint.

Here’s the rest of the story since the last post cut me off mid-sentence. 🙂

About eight years ago, my mom was diagnosed with some heart issues—and of course, because medical opinions vary, we were met with a mountain of conflicting advice right out of the gate, which didn't exactly inspire confidence. Basically, an old doctor—a family friend who wasn't practicing anymore—read her EKG and told us she’d actually had a myocardial infarction and just walked right through it. Naturally, the hospital staff didn't see it that way initially. Once they finally confirmed it, the confusion only grew; one specialist would insist she needed valve surgery, while another argued medication was enough. It leaves you feeling incredibly vulnerable as a patient when you're supposed to be in capable hands, yet the experts in front of you are essentially bickering over your life.
Ultimately, she ended up on a regimen of pills without the surgery, which—in a cruel twist of fate—only made things worse regarding Dad’s situation, eventually leading doctors to say a transplant was her only hope. They actually caught the urgency during a private ultrasound at a clinic—she’d been sent there by her hospital doctor because apparently, the hospital staff was too "overbooked" or "tied up"... I can't recall the exact excuse. When she urgently scheduled an appointment with her primary physician, he agreed a transplant was necessary and explained there was a massive gauntlet of testing required just to get her on the waiting list.
The transplant team includes a very prominent, highly recognized surgeon who will be overseeing her case. Shortly after, my mom was admitted to the hospital for those tests, and both of my parents ended up hospitalized simultaneously—each in a different part of town. In moments like those, all you crave is a little compassion or a kind word from the medical staff. But humanity was in short supply. My mom would ask to be released for an hour or two around 2:00 AM when there were no tests scheduled, just so she could visit Dad, who was literally counting down his final days. Some doctors viewed this as nothing more than extreme rudeness or being "spoiled," and they flatly refused to sign the paperwork to let her out. A few others were more reasonable, so she did manage to slip out briefly here and there. After spending two weeks in that hospital, dealing with a mix of total idiots and genuinely wonderful people who actually care about their work, they finally cleared her for the transplant list.
Later on, she had to go in for monthly follow-ups, which usually involved sitting in a waiting room for three or four hours just to have this high-profile surgeon ask if everything was "okay" or if there was anything new. Honestly, the way this system handles critically ill patients is nonsensical. They schedule these appointments, and then the doctor doesn't even show up because she's on call or somewhere else entirely. And when you finally do get a moment with this "distinguished" professional, she treats you with zero empathy or genuine interest in the patient’s well-being. To top it off, she didn't even bother explaining the actual transplant process—what to expect, what recovery looks like, or how long the wait might be. During one check-up, Mom tried to give the doctor the contact numbers for all of us, just in case her heart failed and she couldn't hear her phone, so we could rush her to the hospital. The doctor wouldn't even listen or take a single note. Seriously, lady, if the police ever had to track you down, you'd be in trouble. She said that to a critically ill cardiac patient! I think if Mom saw a police officer at our door, she’d think something catastrophic had happened to us.
I accompanied her once and we actually joked about how empty the place was—maybe everyone was away on a ski trip or something. Regardless, we still sat there waiting for an hour. So much for "efficiency" and organization.
On the bright side, Mom did receive a heart. We experienced quite a few beautiful moments during that phase. From the very first contact with the nurse who called us, to the intake process and the staff preparing her for surgery, the atmosphere was incredibly positive and relaxed, which really helped build trust in both the procedure and the recovery. We stayed with her right up until the surgery, which meant a lot to us. The operation went well, and by the next morning, she was moved to the ICU. The people in the ICU were unbelievably kind and sweet. From the doctors to the young nursing staff, they were exactly how I imagine medical professionals should be: compassionate, human, and highly skilled. It felt secure and encouraging.
Once she moved from the ICU to the general ward, however, the vibe changed completely. You still find some decent people, but you also run into the most inexplicable individuals. There are people there who snap at patients, don't even offer a greeting when they walk in, act incredibly arrogant, and are just plain rude—they won't show up even twenty minutes after being called, and when they finally do, they're condescending. For instance, Mom asked for her slippers because they were under the bed, and the response she got was, "What do you want? Should I put them on your bed instead?" Then she asked for the blanket to be moved because she was hot, and the nurse just snapped at her and left it draped over her legs. When she asked for something for the pain—not a pill, as the doctor had specifically instructed—the nurse barked at her that she couldn't do it that way. When Mom asked to call the doctor, the nurse claimed he wasn't available; when Mom asked to call him on the phone to verify the medication, the nurse insisted there wasn't even a doctor on shift. Now, I have to wonder: is she blatantly lying, or does a ward housing a heart transplant patient truly have no doctor on call at night? I honestly don't know which thought is more terrifying.

A year older... and apparently no wiser.

@Patrick Reyes15

I see your last post basically killed this entire thread—honestly, I have no idea why.
Everything you just laid out is just my daily reality, except I’m looking at it from the staff side of things.

Your shock at how the system works actually confuses me. Your dad passed away from colon cancer, your mom has heart disease, and by any standard statistical measure, you’re someone who should be looking at health risks after 40—yet you still cling to this incredibly naive, idealistic worldview.

Look, I can give you some straight answers to the questions that seem to be eating at you:
1. Most doctors in hospital wards during their shifts are just there to "get through it." They aren't necessarily uncaring, but let's be real—they're indifferent. They don't want to come check on patients just to be grilled about trivialities that won't change the medical outcome anyway. Besides, the doctor on call isn't there to be your personal counselor or a walking encyclopedia of your specific case; they are there for emergency interventions. For everything else, there's the medication chart and the floor nurse.

2. A hospital isn't a Hilton, and you don't have the right to wander in and out whenever you feel like it. So, all those insults you hurled at the nurse because she wouldn't let you onto the ward after visiting hours? That's completely uncalled for. Seriously, if you had said that to a security guard, they would have tossed you right out of the building.

3. If you aren't happy with how a patient is being managed, you have every right to file an official complaint with the department head or even the hospital director—that's how civilized people handle things. And just to clarify one thing: the constant "tuck me in," "fix my blanket," "move this" stuff can get really irritating for some patients, but frankly, that isn't my job, so I'm just noting it.

4. As for terminal patients—in your father's situation, being at home is better than being in a hospital, regardless of whatever reason you want to use to justify it. The most humane thing a doctor can do for a dying patient (someone with an incurable illness) is to send them home. There is nothing more human than that. Dying in a hospital, far away from anyone you actually know, is just as terrifying as it is at home—the only difference is that in a hospital, it's happening out of your sight.

Patrick Reyes15 said:Here’s the rest of the story since the last post cut me off mid-sentence. 🙂

About eight years ago, my mom was diagnosed with some heart issues—and of course, because medical opinions vary, we were met with a mountain of conflicting advice right out of the gate, which didn't exactly inspire confidence. Basically, an old doctor—a family friend who wasn't practicing anymore—read her EKG and told us she’d actually had a myocardial infarction and just walked right through it. Naturally, the hospital staff didn't see it that way initially. Once they finally confirmed it, the confusion only grew; one specialist would insist she needed valve surgery, while another argued medication was enough. It leaves you feeling incredibly vulnerable as a patient when you're supposed to be in capable hands, yet the experts in front of you are essentially bickering over your life.
Ultimately, she ended up on a regimen of pills without the surgery, which—in a cruel twist of fate—only made things worse regarding Dad’s situation, eventually leading doctors to say a transplant was her only hope. They actually caught the urgency during a private ultrasound at a clinic—she’d been sent there by her hospital doctor because apparently, the hospital staff was too "overbooked" or "tied up"... I can't recall the exact excuse. When she urgently scheduled an appointment with her primary physician, he agreed a transplant was necessary and explained there was a massive gauntlet of testing required just to get her on the waiting list.
The transplant team includes a very prominent, highly recognized surgeon who will be overseeing her case. Shortly after, my mom was admitted to the hospital for those tests, and both of my parents ended up hospitalized simultaneously—each in a different part of town. In moments like those, all you crave is a little compassion or a kind word from the medical staff. But humanity was in short supply. My mom would ask to be released for an hour or two around 2:00 AM when there were no tests scheduled, just so she could visit Dad, who was literally counting down his final days. Some doctors viewed this as nothing more than extreme rudeness or being "spoiled," and they flatly refused to sign the paperwork to let her out. A few others were more reasonable, so she did manage to slip out briefly here and there. After spending two weeks in that hospital, dealing with a mix of total idiots and genuinely wonderful people who actually care about their work, they finally cleared her for the transplant list.
Later on, she had to go in for monthly follow-ups, which usually involved sitting in a waiting room for three or four hours just to have this high-profile surgeon ask if everything was "okay" or if there was anything new. Honestly, the way this system handles critically ill patients is nonsensical. They schedule these appointments, and then the doctor doesn't even show up because she's on call or somewhere else entirely. And when you finally do get a moment with this "distinguished" professional, she treats you with zero empathy or genuine interest in the patient’s well-being. To top it off, she didn't even bother explaining the actual transplant process—what to expect, what recovery looks like, or how long the wait might be. During one check-up, Mom tried to give the doctor the contact numbers for all of us, just in case her heart failed and she couldn't hear her phone, so we could rush her to the hospital. The doctor wouldn't even listen or take a single note. Seriously, lady, if the police ever had to track you down, you'd be in trouble. She said that to a critically ill cardiac patient! I think if Mom saw a police officer at our door, she’d think something catastrophic had happened to us.
I accompanied her once and we actually joked about how empty the place was—maybe everyone was away on a ski trip or something. Regardless, we still sat there waiting for an hour. So much for "efficiency" and organization.
On the bright side, Mom did receive a heart. We experienced quite a few beautiful moments during that phase. From the very first contact with the nurse who called us, to the intake process and the staff preparing her for surgery, the atmosphere was incredibly positive and relaxed, which really helped build trust in both the procedure and the recovery. We stayed with her right up until the surgery, which meant a lot to us. The operation went well, and by the next morning, she was moved to the ICU. The people in the ICU were unbelievably kind and sweet. From the doctors to the young nursing staff, they were exactly how I imagine medical professionals should be: compassionate, human, and highly skilled. It felt secure and encouraging.
Once she moved from the ICU to the general ward, however, the vibe changed completely. You still find some decent people, but you also run into the most inexplicable individuals. There are people there who snap at patients, don't even offer a greeting when they walk in, act incredibly arrogant, and are just plain rude—they won't show up even twenty minutes after being called, and when they finally do, they're condescending. For instance, Mom asked for her slippers because they were under the bed, and the response she got was, "What do you want? Should I put them on your bed instead?" Then she asked for the blanket to be moved because she was hot, and the nurse just snapped at her and left it draped over her legs. When she asked for something for the pain—not a pill, as the doctor had specifically instructed—the nurse barked at her that she couldn't do it that way. When Mom asked to call the doctor, the nurse claimed he wasn't available; when Mom asked to call him on the phone to verify the medication, the nurse insisted there wasn't even a doctor on shift. Now, I have to wonder: is she blatantly lying, or does a ward housing a heart transplant patient truly have no doctor on call at night? I honestly don't know which thought is more terrifying.

The real reason Mom isn't allowed to just wander out? It comes down to the legal fallout for the staff. If something were to happen to her while she’s wandering off the unit, and the family decides to file a massive lawsuit, the hospital is on the hook. And look, as you already pointed out, you find all kinds of people in these places—including those who pull this kind of absolute nonsense—so blame them, not the nurses. The staff is just covering their own backs. (I mean, obviously, Mom can always sign those papers saying she refuses treatment and wants to be discharged—not permanently, mind you—but the hospital isn't a prison cell.)

Patrick Reyes15 said:Here’s the rest of the story since the last post cut me off mid-sentence. 🙂

About eight years ago, my mom was diagnosed with some heart issues—and of course, because medical opinions vary, we were met with a mountain of conflicting advice right out of the gate, which didn't exactly inspire confidence. Basically, an old doctor—a family friend who wasn't practicing anymore—read her EKG and told us she’d actually had a myocardial infarction and just walked right through it. Naturally, the hospital staff didn't see it that way initially. Once they finally confirmed it, the confusion only grew; one specialist would insist she needed valve surgery, while another argued medication was enough. It leaves you feeling incredibly vulnerable as a patient when you're supposed to be in capable hands, yet the experts in front of you are essentially bickering over your life.
Ultimately, she ended up on a regimen of pills without the surgery, which—in a cruel twist of fate—only made things worse regarding Dad’s situation, eventually leading doctors to say a transplant was her only hope. They actually caught the urgency during a private ultrasound at a clinic—she’d been sent there by her hospital doctor because apparently, the hospital staff was too "overbooked" or "tied up"... I can't recall the exact excuse. When she urgently scheduled an appointment with her primary physician, he agreed a transplant was necessary and explained there was a massive gauntlet of testing required just to get her on the waiting list.
The transplant team includes a very prominent, highly recognized surgeon who will be overseeing her case. Shortly after, my mom was admitted to the hospital for those tests, and both of my parents ended up hospitalized simultaneously—each in a different part of town. In moments like those, all you crave is a little compassion or a kind word from the medical staff. But humanity was in short supply. My mom would ask to be released for an hour or two around 2:00 AM when there were no tests scheduled, just so she could visit Dad, who was literally counting down his final days. Some doctors viewed this as nothing more than extreme rudeness or being "spoiled," and they flatly refused to sign the paperwork to let her out. A few others were more reasonable, so she did manage to slip out briefly here and there. After spending two weeks in that hospital, dealing with a mix of total idiots and genuinely wonderful people who actually care about their work, they finally cleared her for the transplant list.
Later on, she had to go in for monthly follow-ups, which usually involved sitting in a waiting room for three or four hours just to have this high-profile surgeon ask if everything was "okay" or if there was anything new. Honestly, the way this system handles critically ill patients is nonsensical. They schedule these appointments, and then the doctor doesn't even show up because she's on call or somewhere else entirely. And when you finally do get a moment with this "distinguished" professional, she treats you with zero empathy or genuine interest in the patient’s well-being. To top it off, she didn't even bother explaining the actual transplant process—what to expect, what recovery looks like, or how long the wait might be. During one check-up, Mom tried to give the doctor the contact numbers for all of us, just in case her heart failed and she couldn't hear her phone, so we could rush her to the hospital. The doctor wouldn't even listen or take a single note. Seriously, lady, if the police ever had to track you down, you'd be in trouble. She said that to a critically ill cardiac patient! I think if Mom saw a police officer at our door, she’d think something catastrophic had happened to us.
I accompanied her once and we actually joked about how empty the place was—maybe everyone was away on a ski trip or something. Regardless, we still sat there waiting for an hour. So much for "efficiency" and organization.
On the bright side, Mom did receive a heart. We experienced quite a few beautiful moments during that phase. From the very first contact with the nurse who called us, to the intake process and the staff preparing her for surgery, the atmosphere was incredibly positive and relaxed, which really helped build trust in both the procedure and the recovery. We stayed with her right up until the surgery, which meant a lot to us. The operation went well, and by the next morning, she was moved to the ICU. The people in the ICU were unbelievably kind and sweet. From the doctors to the young nursing staff, they were exactly how I imagine medical professionals should be: compassionate, human, and highly skilled. It felt secure and encouraging.
Once she moved from the ICU to the general ward, however, the vibe changed completely. You still find some decent people, but you also run into the most inexplicable individuals. There are people there who snap at patients, don't even offer a greeting when they walk in, act incredibly arrogant, and are just plain rude—they won't show up even twenty minutes after being called, and when they finally do, they're condescending. For instance, Mom asked for her slippers because they were under the bed, and the response she got was, "What do you want? Should I put them on your bed instead?" Then she asked for the blanket to be moved because she was hot, and the nurse just snapped at her and left it draped over her legs. When she asked for something for the pain—not a pill, as the doctor had specifically instructed—the nurse barked at her that she couldn't do it that way. When Mom asked to call the doctor, the nurse claimed he wasn't available; when Mom asked to call him on the phone to verify the medication, the nurse insisted there wasn't even a doctor on shift. Now, I have to wonder: is she blatantly lying, or does a ward housing a heart transplant patient truly have no doctor on call at night? I honestly don't know which thought is more terrifying.

Look, the system is broken—I think you figured that out by now—but this "merciful" doctor isn't the one building the system, nor does she have any real power to change it. Most of the time, she’s just another exhausted worker being squeezed dry by the bureaucracy, yet you're taking all your frustration with the entire infrastructure out on her. It happens all the time: your mom gets seen by someone who hasn't slept in 30 hours, and the only reason they’re even looking at her is out of pure, individual willpower. If they were acting according to "standard procedure," they’d just say, "My shift ended five or six hours ago, and I don't care who the system scheduled for today; I'm done." They'd walk away, leaving those 20 people hanging, simply because the system dumped them there without checking if anyone was actually available to help.

Karen Young17 said:Why on earth would I need to pray to anyone just to get an explanation for the very reason I showed up?

Take the other day, for instance... I went in for an abdominal ultrasound, and honestly, the entire experience consisted of nothing more than being told to "take a breath," "hold it," and "just breathe"—followed by the standard, "wait over by the window for your results." Then, I finally get the report in my hands and it says:

Cholecystolithiasis—or what most people just call gallstones—is one of those medical terms that sounds much more intimidating than the actual reality of dealing with it. Essentially, you’re looking at solid deposits forming in your gallbladder, which can turn a routine Tuesday into a complete nightmare if they decide to migrate. It’s a bit like having a handful of gravel stuck in a delicate piece of plumbing; everything functions fine until a stone decides to wedge itself right in the narrowest part of the pipe. Once that happens, the discomfort isn't just a nuisance—it's a full-blown crisis.
Splenomegaly—essentially an enlarged spleen—is one of those medical terms that sounds much more intimidating than the actual sensation might suggest, though the underlying causes can certainly be serious. It isn’t a disease in itself, but rather a clinical sign that something else is going on within the body's internal ecosystem. Think of the spleen as a sort of high-tech filtration plant for your blood. When that plant starts swelling, it’s usually because it's being overworked—perhaps by fighting off a persistent infection, or due to issues with how blood cells are being produced or recycled. It could be anything from a relatively minor viral bout to more complex hematological concerns that require a specialist's touch. If you’re feeling that specific fullness or discomfort in the upper left side of your abdomen, it’s worth getting it checked out by a professional. It’s better to have a doctor run some standard tests—maybe some blood work or an ultrasound—to figure out if your "filtration plant" is just dealing with a temporary clog or if there's a deeper systemic issue at play. Always listen to those subtle cues your body sends; they're rarely wrong.

I did some Googling of these Latin terms and discovered that I have an enlarged spleen and gallstones... Should I be praying over this information, or was my doctor—the one who performed the exam—supposed to tell me directly?

Nicholas Chavez70 Asks:
It shouldn't be particularly difficult to distinguish between those who dress themselves up and those who just smoke like a chimney. When you look at the data—blood alcohol levels, the specific patterns of damage to the liver, brain, stomach, and kidneys—it becomes quite obvious how chronic drinkers differ from everyone else. It’s the same story with cigarettes; you have layers of tar and nicotine building up in the lungs year after year. Personally, I’m all for a dedicated surcharge on alcohol and tobacco to help fund Medicare, but that isn't true prevention. If you actually want to prevent health issues, the most effective method is prevention via the wallet—making the cost high enough that people think twice before they indulge.

So, get this—about nine months ago, I was recovering from surgery. While I was in the ICU, the doctor on duty was listening to my lungs when she suddenly shakes her head and starts muttering under her breath, something like, "Ugh, you smoke..." I could have sworn right then and there that I’ve never even touched a cigarette in my entire life. It’s honestly such a repulsive assumption to make. But here I am—the lucky one who basically grew up in a cloud of smoke, having spent twenty-three years breathing in secondhand smoke.

And how exactly would you go about proving that?

My grandfather used to say back in the day—and he was one of those old-school types who didn't waste words—that things were built differently then. It wasn't just about the quality of the tools or the materials, though that was part of it; it was more about a certain mindset, a way of approaching life that seems to have slipped through our fingers lately. He had this quiet, steady way of looking at the world—not rushing to judgment, just observing—and he believed that if you took care of the small details, the big picture would eventually take care of itself. It’s a perspective that feels increasingly rare in such a loud, fast-paced era. Twelve varieties. It’s always the same cycle—you take a pill, then go in for a follow-up only to have the doctor tell you your stomach is acting up because of the medication, so they just hand you another prescription to fix the side effects of the first one. It's a bit of a loop, isn't it? 🙄

I honestly get a little anxious watching my doctor click through the exact same menu a million times—just pounding away at the keyboard with two fingers like she’s using an old typewriter.

If she realized that software isn't static—that you don't just use the same program every single day and constantly have to type things out—maybe she wouldn't be so perpetually lost in space and time... by the way, I've been seeing this woman for 40 years now.

It’s blindingly obvious your grandfather isn't doing well if he's popping 12 different pills, but jumping to the conclusion that he's sick because of those 12 specific tablets is just pure madness. Still, if you're so absolutely convinced that's the root cause, go ahead—cut all 12 out and let's see how much "better" he feels then.

And honestly, you should probably just be happy and grateful that he's managed to stick around for an extra 20 years.

Kyle Lee7 said:I'm concluding that you must be a primary care physician. 😉

First of all, every specialist SHOULD take a full medical history and know exactly what medications the patient is currently taking and what other conditions they might be dealing with.
Why would you think a primary care doctor knows which drugs interact, but a specialist wouldn't?
For instance, when I see my pulmonologist once a year, she gets a complete report from me regarding my other diagnosis. I ask her if Singulair interacts with interferon, just like I ask my neurologist the same thing. Plus, I read the instructions for both medications myself.

But let's assume not every patient will remember to do that.
I still believe specialists should have the authority to prescribe medication and order follow-up tests directly. That same specialist could easily be digitally linked to the primary care physician, rather than us running around with piles of paperwork and wasting both our time and theirs by duplicating work.

It’s not that I have anything against my own GP—not at all—but it’s exhausting to think that for every single test or check-up, I have to go to them first, wait for the appointment, wait for the booking, and then go back to them again, in an endless loop, all while the waiting rooms are always packed.

That’s exactly why I handle quite a few things privately. And I pay for supplemental insurance too. You really have to piece everything together just to get adequate treatment.

Every single patient needs to know their own medication list and their medical history, period. Seriously, more than 70% of the patients I deal with have absolutely no idea what pills they’re even swallowing—that's how little interest there is.

Go ahead, ask your neurologist—or whoever you want—what "clashes" with what. I'm positive you'll just end up with a mountain of "interesting" but ultimately useless information.

Kate Collins67 said:A year older... and apparently no wiser.

@Patrick Reyes15

I see your last post basically killed this entire thread—honestly, I have no idea why.
Everything you just laid out is just my daily reality, except I’m looking at it from the staff side of things.

Your shock at how the system works actually confuses me. Your dad passed away from colon cancer, your mom has heart disease, and by any standard statistical measure, you’re someone who should be looking at health risks after 40—yet you still cling to this incredibly naive, idealistic worldview.

Look, I can give you some straight answers to the questions that seem to be eating at you:
1. Most doctors in hospital wards during their shifts are just there to "get through it." They aren't necessarily uncaring, but let's be real—they're indifferent. They don't want to come check on patients just to be grilled about trivialities that won't change the medical outcome anyway. Besides, the doctor on call isn't there to be your personal counselor or a walking encyclopedia of your specific case; they are there for emergency interventions. For everything else, there's the medication chart and the floor nurse.

2. A hospital isn't a Hilton, and you don't have the right to wander in and out whenever you feel like it. So, all those insults you hurled at the nurse because she wouldn't let you onto the ward after visiting hours? That's completely uncalled for. Seriously, if you had said that to a security guard, they would have tossed you right out of the building.

3. If you aren't happy with how a patient is being managed, you have every right to file an official complaint with the department head or even the hospital director—that's how civilized people handle things. And just to clarify one thing: the constant "tuck me in," "fix my blanket," "move this" stuff can get really irritating for some patients, but frankly, that isn't my job, so I'm just noting it.

4. As for terminal patients—in your father's situation, being at home is better than being in a hospital, regardless of whatever reason you want to use to justify it. The most humane thing a doctor can do for a dying patient (someone with an incurable illness) is to send them home. There is nothing more human than that. Dying in a hospital, far away from anyone you actually know, is just as terrifying as it is at home—the only difference is that in a hospital, it's happening out of your sight.

Based on how you worded that response, I can tell you’re clearly an industry insider—mostly because you managed to conveniently sidestep the most critical issue of all: the actual duty of a physician toward their patient and the systemic failures within our healthcare system. It was quite a masterful omission, really. Honestly, if you ever decide to jump into politics, I fully expect you to have a very successful career.
Maybe your statistics aren't exactly hitting the mark—I’m thirty years old, after all, so perhaps my worldview is just too naive or idealistic—even though I firmly believe I'm being a realist here. Look, I have certain expectations from doctors and the medical staff we all fund through our taxes; I expect basic human decency and professionalism. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. But apparently, doctors have fought their way into this divine, untouchable status where they think they're above everyone else—as if the rest of us are just uneducated peasants who should bow down the moment they walk into the room. And honestly? We can't entirely blame them. It's the patients' fault too. People don't actually stand up for their rights; they just nod along, say, "Yes, doctor," and accept whatever subpar treatment they're given. If refusing to just roll over and accept that nonsense makes me a naive idealist, then fine—call me whatever you want.
Look, being a doctor or working in healthcare is incredibly demanding—exhausting, even—and I know you understand that better than anyone. But clearly, you’ve missed the point that this job requires heart; you have to be a human being first and foremost. Both doctors and nurses take an oath, yet it seems like half the people out there treat it like a suggestion rather than a commitment. Please, just get it through your heads: you aren't auto mechanics tinkering away in a garage. If you can't perform this job with the necessary care and decency, then just quit and find something else to do. Don't drag yourself through it, and for heaven's sake, don't torture your patients in the process. Nobody forced this career path on you—you knew exactly what you were getting into when you signed those papers.

And now, I suppose, I really ought to weigh in on your responses as well.
1. What you wrote there is just pathological. I’ll say it again—people aren't made of steel, and in my opinion, a doctor who remains completely indifferent toward a patient isn't functioning normally. And then you have the nerve to claim they don't even want to see them because they'll end up being lectured with nonsense?!?!? Unbelievable. I mean, surely a patient has the right to ask what's wrong, what the prognosis is, and so on. I agree that a doctor doesn't need to weep over every single patient—and yes, certain things simply have to be suppressed just so they don't lose their minds themselves—but as for treating patients with such an arrogant attitude? You aren't going to convince me of that.

2. Look, I agree that a hospital isn't a hotel and people shouldn't just show up whenever they feel like it, but as I mentioned before, I was at the hospital during visiting hours, and a nurse actually told me to go out to a pharmacy to buy some gel because they didn't have it in stock. It is frankly sick that they don't carry basic pain relief gel, and then to have some high-and-mighty, agitated nurse start picking on me while I'm already worked up... it's too much. In all that madness, I managed to pull myself together for a second and explain the situation to her, only for her to keep up the fight. And what was I supposed to do? Go home? Leave my dad in pain just because visiting hours ended five minutes ago? Give me a break... And if, God forbid, a security guard had kicked me out, I'm certain that nurse wouldn't have had a good time—she knows she had no right to be that condescending, especially since the other nurses knew I was already in the building. She knew it too, which is why she shut up.

If I'm unhappy with how someone is treating a patient, my first move will always be to approach that individual directly to smooth things over—I'd rather give them a chance to fix it before I start filing paperwork or taking it through official channels. Because, well, I consider myself a civilized person and I don't want to cause a scene immediately. But I won't let anyone take their frustrations out on me, let alone on sick parents.

And this idea that "it might become annoying" to deal with people—I honestly don't know how to respond to that. It's their damn job. I'll say it again: if they find it annoying, they can quit. I won't tolerate people dumping their moods onto patients, especially not the decent, easy-going ones. If mom had to get up, and if she had to use slippers that she couldn't reach because she wasn't allowed to bend over—and the nurse had shoved them under the bed—what was she supposed to do other than call a nurse to hand them to her? Instead, this arrogant creature comes along and takes it out on her just because she dared to call for help. It's a disaster.

4. That's a difficult one to comment on. Some people want to die in the hospital because they want that sense of false security provided by the doctors and nurses nearby. Others, however, just want to get away from the hospital as quickly as possible. Toward the end, Dad wanted to be home, but we were naturally worried about mom's heart and how she would handle everything. But somehow, her love for him and her desire to help him through those final, hardest moments kept her going, so neither of them left.

Kate Collins67 said:The real reason Mom isn't allowed to just wander out? It comes down to the legal fallout for the staff. If something were to happen to her while she’s wandering off the unit, and the family decides to file a massive lawsuit, the hospital is on the hook. And look, as you already pointed out, you find all kinds of people in these places—including those who pull this kind of absolute nonsense—so blame them, not the nurses. The staff is just covering their own backs. (I mean, obviously, Mom can always sign those papers saying she refuses treatment and wants to be discharged—not permanently, mind you—but the hospital isn't a prison cell.)

Mom said she'd sign a waiver stating she's leaving against medical advice, so she wouldn't even have the right to sue.

Kate Collins67 said:It’s blindingly obvious your grandfather isn't doing well if he's popping 12 different pills, but jumping to the conclusion that he's sick because of those 12 specific tablets is just pure madness. Still, if you're so absolutely convinced that's the root cause, go ahead—cut all 12 out and let's see how much "better" he feels then.

And honestly, you should probably just be happy and grateful that he's managed to stick around for an extra 20 years.

Well... I certainly respect that you have your own perspective as someone working in the medical field—I really do. But let’s be honest—I’m fairly certain you wouldn't even be part of this conversation if it weren't for the tablet.
The reality is that these prescriptions are often handed out just for the sake of checking a box. Take a urologist, for instance—they aren't exactly going to sit there and cross-reference every single medication you're already taking to see how they might interact. It’s a massive oversight. I’d bet anything that among the endless sea of options on the market, there are plenty of alternatives that achieve the exact same result without causing all that nausea and discomfort. But, let’s be honest—we probably won't live long enough to see a doctor actually take the time to look at the big picture.

I get that healthcare workers are frustrated—and honestly, calling their working conditions "tough" is a massive understatement—but at the end of the day, they chose this career path, and we’re all dealing with the fallout of those choices now. It isn't like anyone else is getting a free pass through life. I can't help but wonder if these same professionals feel a sense of vindication when they encounter a rude clerk at the DMV or some unhelpful agent at a bank? Probably not. It’s a cycle, really—that lady behind the counter is likely just as burnt out and miserable as anyone else, venting her frustrations in all the wrong ways onto the wrong people.

I’ve been sitting here reading Patrick Reyes15’s post... honestly, what you and your parents went through sounds absolutely harrowing. It’s one thing to deal with medical issues, but it’s another entirely to face doctors who lack basic competence—people who simply don't care and are more terrified of an audit or oversight than they are of failing their patients. Then you have the rest of the staff, who seem to take their own frustrations out on the very people who need support the most. It’s the exact opposite of what healthcare is supposed to be.

I’ve seen my fair share of incompetence, too—cases where people are just fundamentally out of their depth. I once heard about an ophthalmologist who told a patient during a routine exam that they had cataracts and immediately referred them for surgery. The poor guy shows up at the hospital only for the surgeon to look him in the eye and say they can't believe he was even sent there—the man didn't have cataracts at all. As it turns out, that doctor only ended up in that role by default—a sort of "safety net" career move because he failed to get into his actual preferred specialty during med school. It was painfully obvious that he had zero passion for the work, which explains why he doesn't bother putting in any real effort.

To be honest, I really ought to schedule an eye exam with him—but I just can't bring myself to go. Before I commit to anything, I need to do some digging and see what my other options are. I’m looking for someone else entirely because, frankly, this guy is completely out of his depth. It’s one of those situations where people would rather pay premium prices for a private consultation with the doctor who inherited the practice just because they know his name, even if there are better specialists out there. $167 Regarding that checkup with him... honestly, I have my doubts about his actual expertise.

Well, I suppose it really comes down to the individual. I had surgery at Mayo Clinic recently, and honestly, everyone was incredibly kind—from the nurse who handled my prep work (with a smile and a little lighthearted teasing) to the technician who practically caught me when I nearly threw up right after my CT scan. Neither experience was exactly a walk in the park, obviously, but no one was rude or dismissive. I could also tell when things were getting a bit frantic for them. For instance, once my digestive system finally kicked back into gear, I was running to the restroom every few minutes while still hooked up to my IV. Every time I rang the call button, the nurse would be there in seconds to disconnect me so I could go. I actually found myself apologizing for being such a nuisance, but she just told me not to bother—if I need to go, I need to go, and helping me is literally what she’s there for.

I ended up stuck in the ICU for five or six days because of a fever—it was pretty rough. Honestly, though, the nurses were a lifesaver. They went out of their way to wash my hair—which they definitely weren't required to do—and even spent time braiding it just so I wouldn't be dealing with a tangled mess. We shared a few laughs and some lighthearted banter, too. It sounds small, but those little gestures made an incredibly difficult stay much easier to handle.

The surgeon—well, he’s in a league of his kind. He took me under his wing from day one, checking in on me several times a day leading up to the surgery. He even showed up on Labor Day just to see how I was doing—even though he wasn't technically on call and there were plenty of other doctors on duty since my procedure had actually happened the day before. During all the follow-up appointments, he’s been nothing short of wonderful... honestly, he's the gold standard of what a doctor should be. 🙂

Kate Collins67 said:Look, the system is broken—I think you figured that out by now—but this "merciful" doctor isn't the one building the system, nor does she have any real power to change it. Most of the time, she’s just another exhausted worker being squeezed dry by the bureaucracy, yet you're taking all your frustration with the entire infrastructure out on her. It happens all the time: your mom gets seen by someone who hasn't slept in 30 hours, and the only reason they’re even looking at her is out of pure, individual willpower. If they were acting according to "standard procedure," they’d just say, "My shift ended five or six hours ago, and I don't care who the system scheduled for today; I'm done." They'd walk away, leaving those 20 people hanging, simply because the system dumped them there without checking if anyone was actually available to help.

We can't just act like there isn't a human element behind the "system." The system isn't some imaginary, untouchable ghost in the machine—it's made up of those very doctors. And surely, as a highly skilled specialist and a respected physician, she actually has some influence over how things run. Maybe not total control, but if every doctor actually stepped up and took some responsibility, things might actually move forward. Even those empty-headed politicians would need to wake up once in a while. We can't just keep chanting "it's the system's fault, it's the system's fault" without actually doing anything to change it.
It’s just like that classic line: "the institutions should just do their jobs." Nobody knows anything, and everyone is always pointing the finger at someone else.

That person might be on their feet for 30 hours if they're picking up extra private shifts—which, honestly, they really shouldn't be doing.

Karen Young17 said:Well... I certainly respect that you have your own perspective as someone working in the medical field—I really do. But let’s be honest—I’m fairly certain you wouldn't even be part of this conversation if it weren't for the tablet.
The reality is that these prescriptions are often handed out just for the sake of checking a box. Take a urologist, for instance—they aren't exactly going to sit there and cross-reference every single medication you're already taking to see how they might interact. It’s a massive oversight. I’d bet anything that among the endless sea of options on the market, there are plenty of alternatives that achieve the exact same result without causing all that nausea and discomfort. But, let’s be honest—we probably won't live long enough to see a doctor actually take the time to look at the big picture.

I get that healthcare workers are frustrated—and honestly, calling their working conditions "tough" is a massive understatement—but at the end of the day, they chose this career path, and we’re all dealing with the fallout of those choices now. It isn't like anyone else is getting a free pass through life. I can't help but wonder if these same professionals feel a sense of vindication when they encounter a rude clerk at the DMV or some unhelpful agent at a bank? Probably not. It’s a cycle, really—that lady behind the counter is likely just as burnt out and miserable as anyone else, venting her frustrations in all the wrong ways onto the wrong people.

I’ve been sitting here reading Patrick Reyes15’s post... honestly, what you and your parents went through sounds absolutely harrowing. It’s one thing to deal with medical issues, but it’s another entirely to face doctors who lack basic competence—people who simply don't care and are more terrified of an audit or oversight than they are of failing their patients. Then you have the rest of the staff, who seem to take their own frustrations out on the very people who need support the most. It’s the exact opposite of what healthcare is supposed to be.

I’ve seen my fair share of incompetence, too—cases where people are just fundamentally out of their depth. I once heard about an ophthalmologist who told a patient during a routine exam that they had cataracts and immediately referred them for surgery. The poor guy shows up at the hospital only for the surgeon to look him in the eye and say they can't believe he was even sent there—the man didn't have cataracts at all. As it turns out, that doctor only ended up in that role by default—a sort of "safety net" career move because he failed to get into his actual preferred specialty during med school. It was painfully obvious that he had zero passion for the work, which explains why he doesn't bother putting in any real effort.

To be honest, I really ought to schedule an eye exam with him—but I just can't bring myself to go. Before I commit to anything, I need to do some digging and see what my other options are. I’m looking for someone else entirely because, frankly, this guy is completely out of his depth. It’s one of those situations where people would rather pay premium prices for a private consultation with the doctor who inherited the practice just because they know his name, even if there are better specialists out there. $167 Regarding that checkup with him... honestly, I have my doubts about his actual expertise.

Well, I suppose it really comes down to the individual. I had surgery at Mayo Clinic recently, and honestly, everyone was incredibly kind—from the nurse who handled my prep work (with a smile and a little lighthearted teasing) to the technician who practically caught me when I nearly threw up right after my CT scan. Neither experience was exactly a walk in the park, obviously, but no one was rude or dismissive. I could also tell when things were getting a bit frantic for them. For instance, once my digestive system finally kicked back into gear, I was running to the restroom every few minutes while still hooked up to my IV. Every time I rang the call button, the nurse would be there in seconds to disconnect me so I could go. I actually found myself apologizing for being such a nuisance, but she just told me not to bother—if I need to go, I need to go, and helping me is literally what she’s there for.

I ended up stuck in the ICU for five or six days because of a fever—it was pretty rough. Honestly, though, the nurses were a lifesaver. They went out of their way to wash my hair—which they definitely weren't required to do—and even spent time braiding it just so I wouldn't be dealing with a tangled mess. We shared a few laughs and some lighthearted banter, too. It sounds small, but those little gestures made an incredibly difficult stay much easier to handle.

The surgeon—well, he’s in a league of his kind. He took me under his wing from day one, checking in on me several times a day leading up to the surgery. He even showed up on Labor Day just to see how I was doing—even though he wasn't technically on call and there were plenty of other doctors on duty since my procedure had actually happened the day before. During all the follow-up appointments, he’s been nothing short of wonderful... honestly, he's the gold standard of what a doctor should be. 🙂

I am genuinely glad to see some positive hospital stories in here. These kinds of experiences should be the norm, but unfortunately, they seem to be rare exceptions. You clearly caught a break, and I'm happy for you because I wouldn't wish the treatment I've witnessed in hospitals over the last few months on anyone.

I actually have a lovely story of my own that happened following my first post, but first, naturally, I have to recount a complete catastrophe.
My mom was admitted to the ward, and in the middle of the night, she was dying from the pain, yet there was nothing listed on her chart that could actually help her. Of course, the nurses aren't allowed to administer anything outside of the prescribed list, so Mom kept begging them to call the doctor. But here's the thing... the doctor wasn't around, and they wouldn't call him. So you're just left sitting there. Luckily, Mom managed to get a hold of us over the phone to explain the situation, pleading for us to do something, because by that point, she couldn't even catch her breath from the agony. After that call, we phoned the unit to check on her, and the nurse actually gave us false information, telling us Mom was doing great and everything was fine. Well, we lost it. We rushed to the hospital and ended up in a massive confrontation with one of the lead doctors, who was incredibly dismissive toward both us and my mother, throwing out disgusting comments like, "If she doesn't like it, she can just go home," or when we asked for an injection, he snapped, "What, do you want a musical performance too?" Honestly, we didn't hold back either; we were giving it right back to him, and things got heated in the hallway. It was a terrifying, miserable scene.
Naturally, the next step would have been a lawsuit and all the legal fallout that comes with it. However, her surgeon stepped in and sorted the whole mess out; that other doctor actually came forward to apologize to both her and us, and from that moment on, everything improved. Her surgeon is truly a special, kind man who fights for his patients and refuses to tolerate injustice or the arrogance of other doctors. It just goes to show there are decent, caring people out there—they're just hard to find.
Because of the wonderful way he treated her, Mom practically came back to life; she found this new surge of energy, and now she's back home, happy and content. We've left all those terrible experiences behind us and are focusing on this new lease on life.
It just goes to show—that genuine human connection and actually giving a damn about the patient can lead to a much faster recovery and, honestly, just a way happier person overall. All it really takes is a little bit of basic human decency.

melloworca6 said:First off, let me make one thing clear: I’m not here for any petty arguments or insults. Let's keep it civil.

I want to hear from both patients and medical professionals—how satisfied are you all, honestly, with our healthcare system? And if you could change one thing, what would it be?

I was watching this segment on FOX the other day about the healthcare industry. They were out on the street interviewing people, asking if they were happy with how things are run, and almost everyone said yes. I don't know if I'm living in some parallel universe or if those people just rarely ever have to see a doctor. 🤷

Also, a question for the patients: how much does this whole new electronic medical record system worry you? Do you think your privacy is actually going to be compromised with them?

Of course I'm not happy with it. Whenever I can swing it, I go private. It's not even because I think they're more skilled—honestly, I doubt there's much difference there—it's just two things: 1. the way they treat me; I actually feel like a human being and a woman when I'm there, and 2. I actually get seen in a reasonable amount of time.

Going to a public clinic is a massive stressor for me, whereas going to a private practice feels easy.☕
As for the electronic records, yeah, I bet privacy will take a hit, but it's not like I've got anything to hide.🤷

Patrick Reyes15 said:We can't just act like there isn't a human element behind the "system." The system isn't some imaginary, untouchable ghost in the machine—it's made up of those very doctors. And surely, as a highly skilled specialist and a respected physician, she actually has some influence over how things run. Maybe not total control, but if every doctor actually stepped up and took some responsibility, things might actually move forward. Even those empty-headed politicians would need to wake up once in a while. We can't just keep chanting "it's the system's fault, it's the system's fault" without actually doing anything to change it.
It’s just like that classic line: "the institutions should just do their jobs." Nobody knows anything, and everyone is always pointing the finger at someone else.

That person might be on their feet for 30 hours if they're picking up extra private shifts—which, honestly, they really shouldn't be doing.

We all know who's actually responsible here, but patients don't usually go after them directly. It's the hospital directors, the department heads, and the Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services. They are the ones in charge of organizing the entire healthcare system. The doctors you meet in outpatient clinics? They're just the frontline workers executing the system's orders—they aren't the ones designing the whole mess.

Here’s the most ridiculous example of where the blame lies: the Secretary keeps making these grand statements claiming that every single person in America is entitled to "everything available" within the American healthcare system. What an idealistic, populist load of nonsense! It's a way to mislead patients into thinking everything is accessible whenever they need it, when in reality—as you can clearly see—it's absolutely not. And does that same Secretary take any actual steps to make it true? Not a chance.
But look, when you're hit with pure frustration because you're dealing with a sick mom or dad, you show up at the clinic and the doctor snaps at you—telling you things won't work quite the way you imagined—and naturally, you're going to be furious with *him*, not the Secretary. Then, you head over to a private provider and suddenly everything is "perfect," right? Well, that's because the policy there isn't dictated by some government official, but by a capitalist. In a private facility, your satisfaction is worth more to them because it leads to more money, which creates a whole different trap for the sick: being cycled through endless, unnecessary checkups and tests just so they can bleed you dry.

Patrick Reyes15 said:Based on how you worded that response, I can tell you’re clearly an industry insider—mostly because you managed to conveniently sidestep the most critical issue of all: the actual duty of a physician toward their patient and the systemic failures within our healthcare system. It was quite a masterful omission, really. Honestly, if you ever decide to jump into politics, I fully expect you to have a very successful career.
Maybe your statistics aren't exactly hitting the mark—I’m thirty years old, after all, so perhaps my worldview is just too naive or idealistic—even though I firmly believe I'm being a realist here. Look, I have certain expectations from doctors and the medical staff we all fund through our taxes; I expect basic human decency and professionalism. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. But apparently, doctors have fought their way into this divine, untouchable status where they think they're above everyone else—as if the rest of us are just uneducated peasants who should bow down the moment they walk into the room. And honestly? We can't entirely blame them. It's the patients' fault too. People don't actually stand up for their rights; they just nod along, say, "Yes, doctor," and accept whatever subpar treatment they're given. If refusing to just roll over and accept that nonsense makes me a naive idealist, then fine—call me whatever you want.
Look, being a doctor or working in healthcare is incredibly demanding—exhausting, even—and I know you understand that better than anyone. But clearly, you’ve missed the point that this job requires heart; you have to be a human being first and foremost. Both doctors and nurses take an oath, yet it seems like half the people out there treat it like a suggestion rather than a commitment. Please, just get it through your heads: you aren't auto mechanics tinkering away in a garage. If you can't perform this job with the necessary care and decency, then just quit and find something else to do. Don't drag yourself through it, and for heaven's sake, don't torture your patients in the process. Nobody forced this career path on you—you knew exactly what you were getting into when you signed those papers.

And now, I suppose, I really ought to weigh in on your responses as well.
1. What you wrote there is just pathological. I’ll say it again—people aren't made of steel, and in my opinion, a doctor who remains completely indifferent toward a patient isn't functioning normally. And then you have the nerve to claim they don't even want to see them because they'll end up being lectured with nonsense?!?!? Unbelievable. I mean, surely a patient has the right to ask what's wrong, what the prognosis is, and so on. I agree that a doctor doesn't need to weep over every single patient—and yes, certain things simply have to be suppressed just so they don't lose their minds themselves—but as for treating patients with such an arrogant attitude? You aren't going to convince me of that.

2. Look, I agree that a hospital isn't a hotel and people shouldn't just show up whenever they feel like it, but as I mentioned before, I was at the hospital during visiting hours, and a nurse actually told me to go out to a pharmacy to buy some gel because they didn't have it in stock. It is frankly sick that they don't carry basic pain relief gel, and then to have some high-and-mighty, agitated nurse start picking on me while I'm already worked up... it's too much. In all that madness, I managed to pull myself together for a second and explain the situation to her, only for her to keep up the fight. And what was I supposed to do? Go home? Leave my dad in pain just because visiting hours ended five minutes ago? Give me a break... And if, God forbid, a security guard had kicked me out, I'm certain that nurse wouldn't have had a good time—she knows she had no right to be that condescending, especially since the other nurses knew I was already in the building. She knew it too, which is why she shut up.

If I'm unhappy with how someone is treating a patient, my first move will always be to approach that individual directly to smooth things over—I'd rather give them a chance to fix it before I start filing paperwork or taking it through official channels. Because, well, I consider myself a civilized person and I don't want to cause a scene immediately. But I won't let anyone take their frustrations out on me, let alone on sick parents.

And this idea that "it might become annoying" to deal with people—I honestly don't know how to respond to that. It's their damn job. I'll say it again: if they find it annoying, they can quit. I won't tolerate people dumping their moods onto patients, especially not the decent, easy-going ones. If mom had to get up, and if she had to use slippers that she couldn't reach because she wasn't allowed to bend over—and the nurse had shoved them under the bed—what was she supposed to do other than call a nurse to hand them to her? Instead, this arrogant creature comes along and takes it out on her just because she dared to call for help. It's a disaster.

4. That's a difficult one to comment on. Some people want to die in the hospital because they want that sense of false security provided by the doctors and nurses nearby. Others, however, just want to get away from the hospital as quickly as possible. Toward the end, Dad wanted to be home, but we were naturally worried about mom's heart and how she would handle everything. But somehow, her love for him and her desire to help him through those final, hardest moments kept her going, so neither of them left.

So, if I’m reading this right, your father passed away in the hospital?
If that’s actually the case, I honestly have no idea how you can sit there and lecture anyone about humanity or compassion or any of that nonsense—seriously, go back and read what you just wrote.

Patrick Reyes15 said:We can't just act like there isn't a human element behind the "system." The system isn't some imaginary, untouchable ghost in the machine—it's made up of those very doctors. And surely, as a highly skilled specialist and a respected physician, she actually has some influence over how things run. Maybe not total control, but if every doctor actually stepped up and took some responsibility, things might actually move forward. Even those empty-headed politicians would need to wake up once in a while. We can't just keep chanting "it's the system's fault, it's the system's fault" without actually doing anything to change it.
It’s just like that classic line: "the institutions should just do their jobs." Nobody knows anything, and everyone is always pointing the finger at someone else.

That person might be on their feet for 30 hours if they're picking up extra private shifts—which, honestly, they really shouldn't be doing.

And look, there are other versions of this too. You’ve got cases where after a grueling 24-hour shift, they’re basically forced to stay because "there’s nobody else to cover"—so once again, all that talk about compassion and humanity in the medical field just goes right out the window. Once we actually establish decent working conditions, maybe then we'll see a bit more actual humanity and professional behavior than what we're dealing with right now.

melloworca6 said:First off, let me make one thing clear: I’m not here for any petty arguments or insults. Let's keep it civil.

I want to hear from both patients and medical professionals—how satisfied are you all, honestly, with our healthcare system? And if you could change one thing, what would it be?

I was watching this segment on FOX the other day about the healthcare industry. They were out on the street interviewing people, asking if they were happy with how things are run, and almost everyone said yes. I don't know if I'm living in some parallel universe or if those people just rarely ever have to see a doctor. 🤷

Also, a question for the patients: how much does this whole new electronic medical record system worry you? Do you think your privacy is actually going to be compromised with them?

I suspect those folks aren't actually frequent hospital visitors... and frankly, they can go jump in a lake for that perspective...
In my humble opinion, our hospitals, the insurance providers, and the entire healthcare system are a complete mess.
I'm basing this on my own experience: 40 days spent admitted to the hospital (Mayo Clinic, San Francisco) and six months navigating various specialists... dealing with a mountain of paperwork, endless hours waiting in lines, $267 being unable to take sick leave because I didn't meet certain requirements (even though I spent $333 months paying for medications out of pocket!!!!), doctors who are clearly overworked and struggling to provide good care, and departments that seem to be in total disarray (not enough staff, many employees are pressured to work way beyond their pay grade, and the actual state of the facilities themselves). Then there's the issue of getting physical therapy; I had three major fractures, nerve damage in my leg, and back issues, yet an elderly woman with hip pain gets access without any trouble...
I certainly wouldn't wish illness upon anyone in this country.

Patrick Reyes15 said:Based on how you worded that response, I can tell you’re clearly an industry insider—mostly because you managed to conveniently sidestep the most critical issue of all: the actual duty of a physician toward their patient and the systemic failures within our healthcare system. It was quite a masterful omission, really. Honestly, if you ever decide to jump into politics, I fully expect you to have a very successful career.
Maybe your statistics aren't exactly hitting the mark—I’m thirty years old, after all, so perhaps my worldview is just too naive or idealistic—even though I firmly believe I'm being a realist here. Look, I have certain expectations from doctors and the medical staff we all fund through our taxes; I expect basic human decency and professionalism. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. But apparently, doctors have fought their way into this divine, untouchable status where they think they're above everyone else—as if the rest of us are just uneducated peasants who should bow down the moment they walk into the room. And honestly? We can't entirely blame them. It's the patients' fault too. People don't actually stand up for their rights; they just nod along, say, "Yes, doctor," and accept whatever subpar treatment they're given. If refusing to just roll over and accept that nonsense makes me a naive idealist, then fine—call me whatever you want.
Look, being a doctor or working in healthcare is incredibly demanding—exhausting, even—and I know you understand that better than anyone. But clearly, you’ve missed the point that this job requires heart; you have to be a human being first and foremost. Both doctors and nurses take an oath, yet it seems like half the people out there treat it like a suggestion rather than a commitment. Please, just get it through your heads: you aren't auto mechanics tinkering away in a garage. If you can't perform this job with the necessary care and decency, then just quit and find something else to do. Don't drag yourself through it, and for heaven's sake, don't torture your patients in the process. Nobody forced this career path on you—you knew exactly what you were getting into when you signed those papers.

And now, I suppose, I really ought to weigh in on your responses as well.
1. What you wrote there is just pathological. I’ll say it again—people aren't made of steel, and in my opinion, a doctor who remains completely indifferent toward a patient isn't functioning normally. And then you have the nerve to claim they don't even want to see them because they'll end up being lectured with nonsense?!?!? Unbelievable. I mean, surely a patient has the right to ask what's wrong, what the prognosis is, and so on. I agree that a doctor doesn't need to weep over every single patient—and yes, certain things simply have to be suppressed just so they don't lose their minds themselves—but as for treating patients with such an arrogant attitude? You aren't going to convince me of that.

2. Look, I agree that a hospital isn't a hotel and people shouldn't just show up whenever they feel like it, but as I mentioned before, I was at the hospital during visiting hours, and a nurse actually told me to go out to a pharmacy to buy some gel because they didn't have it in stock. It is frankly sick that they don't carry basic pain relief gel, and then to have some high-and-mighty, agitated nurse start picking on me while I'm already worked up... it's too much. In all that madness, I managed to pull myself together for a second and explain the situation to her, only for her to keep up the fight. And what was I supposed to do? Go home? Leave my dad in pain just because visiting hours ended five minutes ago? Give me a break... And if, God forbid, a security guard had kicked me out, I'm certain that nurse wouldn't have had a good time—she knows she had no right to be that condescending, especially since the other nurses knew I was already in the building. She knew it too, which is why she shut up.

If I'm unhappy with how someone is treating a patient, my first move will always be to approach that individual directly to smooth things over—I'd rather give them a chance to fix it before I start filing paperwork or taking it through official channels. Because, well, I consider myself a civilized person and I don't want to cause a scene immediately. But I won't let anyone take their frustrations out on me, let alone on sick parents.

And this idea that "it might become annoying" to deal with people—I honestly don't know how to respond to that. It's their damn job. I'll say it again: if they find it annoying, they can quit. I won't tolerate people dumping their moods onto patients, especially not the decent, easy-going ones. If mom had to get up, and if she had to use slippers that she couldn't reach because she wasn't allowed to bend over—and the nurse had shoved them under the bed—what was she supposed to do other than call a nurse to hand them to her? Instead, this arrogant creature comes along and takes it out on her just because she dared to call for help. It's a disaster.

4. That's a difficult one to comment on. Some people want to die in the hospital because they want that sense of false security provided by the doctors and nurses nearby. Others, however, just want to get away from the hospital as quickly as possible. Toward the end, Dad wanted to be home, but we were naturally worried about mom's heart and how she would handle everything. But somehow, her love for him and her desire to help him through those final, hardest moments kept her going, so neither of them left.

You’re talking about an on-call doctor—you know, the one covering one or more departments outside of regular business hours. Your father isn't usually seeing the on-call physician; he's seeing his primary attending. That means the on-call doc isn't even briefed on your father's specific condition, unless—God forbid—he's dealing with colon cancer. You get your updates from the doctor actually managing his care at the hospital, not some guy passing through the ward. If an emergency happens with your father while the on-call doctor is there, *then* you'll hear from that doctor about what went down.
I don't understand how this is confusing to you.
The more detached a doctor is from the patient, the clearer their head is—which, medically speaking, leads to better outcomes for the patient. I won't even get into the socio-psychological side of things here.