I’ve written a lot lately about caring for our patients, and about caring for our spouses, and those things make me very happy. But now and then, things rub me the wrong way.
I was recently working at TMH, or Tiny Memorial Hospital, my vague name for small facilities since I work at several and wish to preserve their anonymity. While there a patient checked into the ED for a fairly unremarkable complaint, for which she was evaluated and treated in a reasonable time.
But before she left, we received a phone call from the “mother ship.” TMH is part of a large system of hospitals. The phone call was from the “foundation.” Turns out our patient was a donor well known to said foundation.
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