Images:
Lowrider, second in a triptych.
Pastoral Care II:
If it’s possible. Might be a Baptist place.
It’s scary that I can read people. Sometimes I can read all wrong. Care of my father was kicked around like a hackey-sack in Austin when a hippie jam band was playing.
Dr. “Duck,” as Sister referred to him, passed the overnight, emergency care to another doc. When I approached him and introduced myself, “His son, referred by Dr.,” and so on? I think there was the briefest flicker of hate. Not directed towards me, no, directed towards the other doctor, in the briefest flash of eyes, I saw, “I’m going to kick that (blank) (blank)’s (blank) for this one.”
It’s not the care of the patients, that’s not the problem, the problem is the entourage. The retinue. The care of the family afterwards. And it’s at that point where I feel sorry for the doctors.
I’ve watched this before, from a patient point of view, too. The doctors are usually good. The problem is the way the family reacts to the bad news. Or good news. Or the most common news? “We don’t know yet.”
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It’s the only criticism I have of the VA–the patient care is wonderful, but the family care sucks. You have to find out from the patient himself how he’s doing–and he is in no position to tell you, even if he understood/remembered the doctor’s words. I’ve chased all over hospitals, barging into various rooms, demanding to get a briefing on his condition…I think an orderly finally took pity on me and explained the usual procedure…
I hope it’s better for you, that your father’s medical providers understand the family is part of the whole package, not just an inconvenient adjunct. Good luck!