by Donald Jeffries, “I Protest”:
I was raised by much older, chronically sick parents. I saw far too much of hospitals as a youngster. My father was a hospital patient as often as he was at home with his family. For instance, as a seven year old rock and roll fanatic, I had to watch the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show on a television in the hospital lobby.
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Every time my father underwent his latest surgery, he came out the worse for the wear. They never made him better. They never healed him. But they made a lot of money off of him. My mother was hospitalized several times during my youth as well. Again, while she was never as sickly as my father, they never improved her health, either. The same kind of hospital that has killed so many almost killed my sister at age thirty. They gave her the Last Rites of the Catholic Church, and she almost left six small children behind. Miraculously, she pulled through, only to be abused by them repeatedly decades later. She is in constant pain, and has never really recovered from a broken hip eight years ago. The doctors just shrug in their patented manner. What do you want us to do? Heal you or something? Healing is apparently for faith healers and witch doctors. I’m not sure that witch doctors aren’t superior to allopathic medicine.
I could share stories that you wouldn’t believe, just from my own personal experience. How they almost killed my father once when he underwent an incredibly simple surgery for a deviated septum. How they put the metal pin in wrong when he broke his hip, causing him excruciating pain and another unnecessary surgery. How the nurses took so long to bring my niece Denise, who has Down Syndrome, a bedpan that she fell and reinjured her broken hip. And, of course, you all know about how they killed my brother Ricky with their hospital COVID protocol. Is it any wonder that I have done everything I could to avoid doctors and the medical profession in general? Just give me another vitamin, please. I hear others talk glowingly about the treatment they received, or the wondrous accomplishments of their doctors, and I simply cannot believe it. I have seen nothing but the worst in them my entire life.
When I worked in a hospital, and interacted with nurses regularly, I heard patients screaming from their rooms for help, in vain. One nurse said, with a smile on her face, that she wished a particular patient would hurry up and die. A pediatric nurse joked to an orderly bringing a child to surgery, “Tell them not to try too hard. We are already full as it is.” I saw security called on an elderly mother who was so understandably grieved over her daughter’s death that she wasn’t leaving promptly enough. Her daughter’s dead body was visible in the ICU bed. The woman tried to explain that she had no one to pick her up. The nurses didn’t care. Security didn’t care. The system doesn’t care. You’re a piece of meat to them, to be carved into and exploited for all the money you have. I still feel guilty that I didn’t have the courage to chew out those nurses for treating that poor woman like that. I was too afraid of losing my job.
All this is on my mind because of what my friend Chris Graves experienced recently at Boston Medical Center. I think that facility might have been the setting for one of those laughably unrealistic medical shows on television. Trust me, there are no Marcus Welbys or Dr. Kildares out there. Chris was in a very serious one car accident on December 1. He is very fortunate to have survived, as you can see from the photo below. He doesn’t remember anything about the accident, except that he ran into a telephone pole. The state is expecting him to pay to replace it. Since he could only afford the required liability insurance, his totaled car won’t be replaced. He was taken to the Boston Medical Center, a supposedly esteemed part of our impossibly magnificent Medical Industrial Complex. That is where the trouble really began. Chris was just as lucky to survive their “care.”
When Chris first called me from the hospital, he had no idea where his wallet, his cell phone, or his eyeglasses were. Naturally, neither did the hospital. Despite him telling them that he couldn’t really see without his glasses, no one at BMC was motivated to simply ask him for the doctor’s name, and contact him about sending a new pair of prescription lenses. So Chris sat there in that hospital, basically blind as a bat, until a couple of Good Samaritans sent him pairs of reading glasses. As he told me, he could at least kind of see the TV after that, and make out the faces of his nurses. Good Samaritans also sent him two new cell phones. These were all people who know of Chris from his own podcasts, or found out about his situation through my own “I Protest” show. Without them, Chris would have been essentially blind, and without a way to contact anyone. Thanks very much to Harland Stonewall, Mr. Anderson, Jason Barker, Angry Tiger, Melissa Arterburn, Peter Secosh, Raybo, Jenn Rindler, Carlos Rex, Weezy, Russ. Chris is forever grateful to all of you.
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