In 1999, my dad had open heart surgery. He had recovered to the point that he was in a hospital room but would still be there several more days. I was becoming frustrated with the care he was getting because of the length of time it would take for the nurses to respond to his needs. Any time he asked for help, which he tried not to do, it would take about an hour for someone to arrive. Even just getting something for his cough - and coughing is NOT what someone needs to do if they have just had their chest wired back together - took at least an hour. To their credit, the nurses were always very kind to my dad and treated him well, so that wasn't the problem. The problem was that there wasn't enough staff... on any day.
As the days continued, I grew increasingly frustrated and protective of my dad. After one particularly bad situation I was angry enough that I wanted to call whoever was in charge and let them know what I thought of the staffing shortage and resulting problems with patient care. I didn't want the nurses to get into trouble as they certainly were doing everything they could, but I wanted to protect my dad! I also wanted to complain in a way that would be taken seriously and be effective, not as some petty lunatic, so I made myself wait until I was more... calm.
With any extended hospital stay the food gets pretty bland after a while, so dad eagerly accepted my offer to bring him something from home. The nurses encouraged it because they were concerned about his loss of appetite and were happy to give me guidelines on what he could have. By eight that evening everything was cooked and packed in a basket so that I could bring him supper. It just so happened that I was riding the elevator alone until it stopped on the third floor and a well dressed, kind-looking man stepped in. We acknowledged each other politely and the elevator continued going up. I was staring at the floor, thinking about Dad and the frustrating situation, when the gentleman asked if I had someone in the hospital.
"Yes, my dad had heart surgery", assuming he was the hospital chaplain.
"Is he getting good care?" he asked. I thought for a moment and said, "The nurses are great, but they are seriously understaffed here."
"Who is your dad and what room is he in? I'm the hospital administrator."
I quickly told him as I got off the elevator, too surprised to think beyond answering the question! My dad received better attention afterward and the nurses didn't seem to be stressed (well, not any more than they had been). I was able to complain while calm and be effective in doing so. The administrator seemed genuinely concerned, as well, so hopefully the staffing was improved. As for me, I felt like it was a Divine Appointment.
