X-ray. MRI. scan. oxygen. RN. CNA. Aide. PT. OT. cardiologist. IV. wheelchair. cart. oximeter. pulmonary hypertension. thyroid biopsy. COPD. Sleep Study. Lung function.
I have learned a few bits of "hospital lingo" in the past several days, since my mom was admitted to St. Joseph's hospital. Being hospitalized causes quite an upset in one's daily schedule:
- Unannounced visits from "Nutrition," "Physical Therapy," "Occupational Therapy,"
- not to mention nurses, aides, and doctors - her own, a lung doctor, a heart doctor, a thyroid doctor,
- being poked, prodded, scanned,
- having to ask a question of multiple people and hear variations on "I don't know," before getting a more definite answer,
- having to ring for a nurse in order to get out of bed,
- and just being alone in an unfamiliar room.
It is a scary experience, and can cause a patient to feel like a number: for instance, every time medication is administered, the staff needs to scan Mom's wristband and ask her for her name and birthdate.
Fortunately, there IS a human side that does not get lost in all of the schedules, sterility, and seriousness.
I was fortunate to be reminded of this with my mom early on. She was taking a walk in the hallway with an aide. The floor nurse approached us and greeted my mom warmly, introducing herself and asking Mom, "What can we do to make your stay at St. Joe's more comfortable?" The nurse told Mom, "It is our pleasure to have you here and we want to do anything we can to make your time here more comfortable." She was so genuine and caring and the timing was perfect: there had been so much testing and scanning and none of us really knew what was coming next. It was a perfect reminder of the importance of the human connection in medical care.
The terms we're hearing a lot these days are happier: Home Care. Discharge. Follow-up.
I am grateful for the thorough care my Mom has been given at St. Joseph's but will be glad to discontinue my visits to the hospital and exchange them for visiting Mom in her own apartment.
