When Lapius was a Patient
S.Q. Lapius looked like a beach ball hidden beneath
the covers. Bolstered by pillows, he
held an ice pack to his head, moving it occasionally to his neck, with his left
hand, while he shoveled ice cream into his mouth with his right hand. I could have enjoyed his distress had he
been in a hospital room with nurses bustling in and out to do his bidding. But we were at home, and I was the nurse. He had a pain in the neck and he was a pain
in the neck.
It began last Saturday when moving men
brought a dental chair and other paraphernalia into the house. Soon Strathmeyer showed up with packages of
sterile instruments wrapped in white sterile packs. I was converted into an instrument nurse, and Lapius climbed
grumpily into the chair, leaned back against the headrest and opened his
mouth. Strathmeyer, after injecting the
site, performed a tonsillectomy. I didn’t sleep for the next 24 hours, for even
when dozing, Lapius demanded that I plump his pillows and straighten his
covers. For sound effects, he gurgled,
grunted and groaned.
Strathmeyer came in daily to see
Lapius, as if making hospital rounds, and recovery proceeded according to
schedule. I was becoming exhausted, and
one day Strathmeyer peered into my face through his bifocals and said “How come
you are so pale, Harry?”
“I’m so pale,” I told him, “because you
chose to do this infernal surgery here instead of the hospital, and I’m not
used to 24-hour nursing duty for a crotchety old man.”
“Shhh.
He’ll hear you.”
“I couldn’t care less”
“Look here, Harry. It wasn’t my idea. It was his. I had him
booked for the hospital, and he actually entered and spent a day there.”
“What happened? Didn’t he like the food?”
“He didn’t like it particularly, but I
think he would have stomached it if we could have gotten the thing over
with. But you know Lapius. First he insisted that we admit him sort of
incognito. Don’t tell anybody he’s a
doctor. He didn’t want special
treatment.”
“Didn’t want special treatment,” I repeated
numbly.
“That’s right. Well, you know how things go in
hospitals. He was booked in advance for
a reserved bed. Unfortunately his
number came up on a Thursday. By Friday
morning it became obvious to him that he would have to stay the weekend doing
nothing, because I couldn’t get scheduled for the operating room until the
following week. My operating day is
Wednesday. He asked me for a weekend
pass. That sounded reasonable enough,
so I wrote a note on the chart for a weekend pass. Nothing happened. I
called the head of nursing. She said I
would have to talk to the administrator.
I spoke with him and he said that weekend passes were contrary to
hospital policy, because Lapius would still legally be a patient, and if he
hurt himself at home, the hospital could be held liable.”
“Then Lapius insisted that I discharge
him and readmit him. That sounded okay,
but admissions couldn’t promise me a bed for Tuesday. They referred me back to the administrator. I asked him for a reserved bed on Tuesday. He said that there were only so many
reserved beds set aside, and he couldn’t add another.”
“I explained to him that I would be
releasing a much needed bed for four days, so why not simply take the bed I was
releasing and reserve it. This way the
hospital would get an extra bed and get paid for two extra admissions. Business-wise they’d do okay. But the administrator explained to me that
that, too, was against hospital policy.”
“But you need the beds. I’m releasing one to you. Otherwise the patient has to occupy a bed
uselessly and needlessly. It’s
ridiculous.”
“’But it is policy.’ he
explained’.”
“So I told Lapius to stick it out. Just pretend it was a hotel, have his meals
in the cafeteria if he wanted, walk around the grounds. That’s when the real trouble began. The gendarmes found him sitting on a bench
outside the hospital and escorted him back to his room. When he went to the cafeteria he again was brought
back to his room. He screamed like a
stuck pig. The administrator called
me. ‘Strathmeyer, you’ll have to do
something with that crazy patient of yours.
He’s walking all over the place.’”
“Of course he is.’ I told him, ‘he’s not sick, he’s waiting for surgery.’”
“’But that’s against policy. He can only walk in his own hallway. I have to enforce the rules you know’.”
“That was the last straw. Lapius demanded out. But even then they wouldn’t let him
walk. The jammed him into a wheelchair
and rolled him out. He kept
bellowing. ‘I’m not sick, let me walk,
you fools.’”
“The administrator came and tried to
explain to Lapius that he was being rolled out in a chair because if he walked
out and fell the hospital might be liable for damages.”
“’You are going to be sued anyway for
damages, for driving a sane man insane with sane rules insanely applied. Rules become violent when reasonable
exceptions can’t be made. After all,
man, you are supposed to be ministering to the needs of the patients, not just
blindly administering the rules.’”
“By this time they had reached the
front door. The administrator was
becoming impatient. ‘All right, I’ve
heard you, sir, as has everyone within 40 yards. Now you are at the front door.
You are free to leave, so do so promptly.’”
“’I can’t,’ said Lapius.”
“’Why not?’”
“’I’ve become wedged in this infernal
chair. And I’ll sue you for that, too,
since you brought up the subject.’”
Afterwards, Lapius said to me, “Blue
Cross is always complaining about over utilization of beds by doctors. Had I
stayed, it would have cost them $400, not on sou of which could be blamed on
the doctor. Maybe they should have peer
review of hospital administration.”