This review is going to link to the Orthopaedic Clinic of the Boston Medical Center. It's their fault I am writing this review in the first place.
I was admitted here after a bunch of douche rockets at BMC failed to advise about the possibility of, check for, or diagnose blood clots as a result of a prolonged leg cast. Even after I told them i was in pain and having trouble breathing. Anyway.
The *doctors* at Cambridge Hospital were relatively competent; they diagnosed my situation relatively quickly. I was pretty satisfied with the fact that I had two pulmonary embolisms, and a right-side pneumonia and didn't, you know, *die*.
It's everything else about the hospital that pissed me off. I tried to get a B-Reader to take a look at my chest film at 6:00 p.m. on a Thursday. Yeah. Might as well have asked Sister Mary McConnell if she wanted a quick tumble out in the servant's quarters.
So I had to check myself into the ER and wait. Fortunately my PCP was greasing the wheels, so I only had to wait an hour, instead of the six that was projected. Rules are rules, and in a hospital ER, if you're not bleeding on the floor, you're not a priority.
The CT scan tech was an *asshole*. Straight up, fake blonde from Everett, doesn't give a shit about people, just operates a machine for a living. Here's a guy in his 30s, trying to tough it out, and comes close to passing out twice from pain, says "I can't lie down, it's killing me." Now, to most people this says "Hey, this guy needs some help or something." To Bottleblond McNorthshore it's just an excuse to whip out her Customer Service voice and say "mmmkay, can ya just try one more, kaaay?"
I was biting off screams on the damn table. After ten minutes of this I sat up and told her she was going to have to get security to hold me down if she wanted more films. At THAT point she suggested: "how about if we got you some more pain meds, would that help?
Genius, you antipathic cow. Of course, god forbid the PATIENT suggests that lest they be instantly labeled a drug seeker and thereafter receive nothing more than ibuprofen. (Cue all the self-righteous comments from health-care workers about all the druggies they have to deal with)
The vacant-eyed golem that wheeled me back again managed to go to the wrong floor twice, despite having been the same person that brought me down there in the first place.
I got a "room" at 1:30 in the morning. I use quotes because what I got was the third bed in a room that had previously been a double. They made it into a triple by pushing some furniture into a corner, sticking another craftmatic in there and another sliding curtain. My "room was 6' x 9'. I was sharing it with a lovely old man who was a great dude, and a REAL drug seeking narcotics addict who they tried to discharge twice *because there was nothing they could treat him for".
Ugh. Never again. read more