When my son David went to live in a residential facility he had a rough few months. There were many errors in his care, one or two of them were major. All this, and he was at one of the best facilities available. Needless to say I was rather vocal and dealing with the top level administration there.
Things were then quiet for a few months and on a visit I was talking with one of those administrators. I asked what changed … with a wink he said:
We put a sign over his bed that said ‘Don’t fuck up with Mr. Smith’s son’
As I am sure you remember, a bit ago I got an email addressed to “Mary” and I assured you my name is not Mary. Maybe there is something about the letter ‘M’ but my name is also not Michael. Really. My name is neither Mary nor Michael.
Today, September 5, 2018, I received an email. Here is a screen shot, simply redacting identifying information. I did not need to redact my name because, alas, it is not there.
All good information. I hope Michael knows that he has appointments on August 28, eight days ago.
I then got another email about 5 minutes later, identical other than it had the correct salutation, and this was followed by a phone apology about 90 minutes later.
Oh, the surgery prep instructions that were attached, simply a photocopy of these.
That sign sounds like a wonderful idea. I want to get Miss Katie a t-shirt that says
“I Matter”
because she does. I’ve been going through emails and incident reports today, printing and filing them because as soon as Katie is out of there I will be vocal about my complaints. I’m learning to be patient.
I hope the hospital eventually gets their shit sorted out, so to speak.