Chapter 3 - The Family I Should Not Have Walked Upstairs
The first family was harmless.
An elderly man's daughter wanted somebody to explain why discharge had been delayed twice.
Patient Relations was closed.
She cried at the desk.
I found an assistant administrator who spoke with her.
Nothing happened.
The second family involved a billing dispute.
I shouldn't have been involved at all.
I gave them the name of someone in financial counseling.
Again, nothing happened.
The third was the Brennan family.
That one became part of my personnel file.
Mr. Brennan had been on our cardiac floor for nine days.
His son, Luke, was furious about a planned transfer to a rehabilitation center.
Not because the center was bad.
Because nobody had explained why his father couldn't go home.
Luke had asked for a meeting with the attending physician.
Got one.
Then case management.
Got one.
Then the unit director.
Got one.
He still wasn't satisfied.
He demanded to see Dr. Whitmore.
The request was denied.
I was the nurse on duty when he started shouting in the hallway.
I should have called security.
Instead I thought I could calm him.
I told him I'd take him to Patient Relations.
He followed.
Halfway there, he saw the executive elevators.
He realized where we were.
Then decided I was escorting him upstairs.
I corrected him.
Too late.
He pushed past me.
Security stopped him.
Luke grabbed one officer's arm.
Nobody was seriously hurt.
But the incident became the reason David Mercer could say:
“This is exactly what happens when clinical staff ignore access protocols.”
He wasn't entirely wrong.
That was what made him dangerous to argue with.
He often started with a true sentence.
Then expanded it until it justified whatever came next.
Margaret listened without interrupting.
We had moved to a smaller room.
Just her, me, Dr. Whitmore and Chief Nursing Officer Rebecca Sloan.
I finished.
Margaret asked:
“Were you disciplined?”
“Written warning.”
“Fair?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
Rebecca looked relieved.
Margaret asked:
“Did David issue it?”
“No. My unit director.”
“Did it change your behavior?”
“Yes.”
“Then why were you prepared to walk me upstairs today?”
That question embarrassed me.
I looked at the table.
“Because you weren't yelling.”
Margaret waited.
“You weren't threatening anyone.”
I continued.
“You were sitting there getting quieter every time someone dismissed you.”
“Why did that matter?”
Because I'd watched it happen before.
Not to patients.
To my mother.
My mother worked hospital food services for twenty years at a smaller hospital in Quincy.
She could argue with anybody.
But when someone in a suit used that slow polite voice that meant the conversation was over, she shrank.
I hated it.
I said:
“I thought David had decided what kind of person you were before he knew what you wanted.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“That is probably true.”
Dr. Whitmore looked at her.
“Probably?”
She shrugged.
“I'm not entitled to agreement because I'm a trustee.”
Then she looked at me.
“You still should not have tried to walk an unidentified person into an executive area.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She turned to Rebecca.
“Emily's suspension stays pending the normal review.”
Rebecca nodded.
I felt a strange mixture of disappointment and respect.
Margaret continued:
“But I want her paid during it.”
Rebecca looked at counsel through the glass.
“That can be arranged.”
Then Margaret faced me again.
“You said Luke Brennan is why you became more cautious.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to his father?”
“He transferred the next morning.”
“Did Luke file a complaint?”
“I don't know.”
Margaret's expression changed.
“What?”
I tried to remember.
“I helped him fill out a grievance form that night.”
“Formal?”
“Yes.”
“About the transfer?”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
“He said people stopped answering once he got loud.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“Did you personally submit it?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
“Patient Relations.”
“Did anyone contact you afterward?”
“No.”
She looked at Dr. Whitmore.
He looked uncomfortable.
Margaret asked:
“Nathan, was the Brennan grievance in the quarterly patient-access report?”
He said:
“I don't know.”
She did.
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
Margaret opened her small handbag again.
This time she removed a folded list.
Four names.
Not employees.
Families.
Brennan was one.
I recognized another.
Then a third.
I stared at her.
“You know these people.”
“I know their complaints never reached the committee that is supposed to review them.”
Dr. Whitmore looked at the list.
David had argued for months that executive access needed stricter control because aggressive families were overwhelming staff.
Margaret tapped the paper.
“All four complaints involved someone labeled disruptive.”
May you like
She looked at me.
“And all four disappeared after that label was added.”
Related Stories
