…with a routine appointment last Tuesday.
After our experiences the previous week, we were expecting to meet with the doctor and discuss options going forward. What we got was… and I am not even kidding… “We don’t have a protocol for dealing with patients who know their rights.”
The doctor said Henning’s labs were the same (dismal) but since Henning didn’t want to comply, he should just go home, and come back in five weeks. He had no way (so he said) to put us in contact with any other doctor or administrator to discuss the various catheter options. He suggested we ask the nurse.
We then met with the nurse, who after getting on the phone and getting nowhere with making us an appointment, told us point blank that since Henning had left the week before (after being called by the wrong name repeatedly and scheduled for the acute catheter without any information being provided), he was noncompliant and therefore he was out of options until he crashed, medically. She left open the suggestion that he could hasten things along… which to us meant altering his diet for the worse… which could be disastrously dangerous. We left the ward dazed, saying very little.
Rather than drive home, which frankly, we were not up for, we decided to go for coffee in the hospital cafeteria. We sat and drank coffee and ate pastry, and were very angry. I was scared out of my mind. I was thinking, this can’t be happening. They were honestly refusing to treat him. I could not believe it.
Eventually, we started talking to each other. We discussed going to the emergency department and demanding to be seen. I was wondering if I could find someone to check into this. I believe I actually said, “What do you suppose passes for investigative journalism in this godforsaken patch of earth.” And that was the kindest thing I had said about Denmark all morning. One of Henning’s colleagues from his Patient Empowerment team runs the Patient Hotel, so he thought perhaps if we talked to her, she might be able to at least give us some direction, some traction. But she wasn’t in that day.
Finally I said out loud that I was unwilling to take him home. The past week had been so bad, and he was so sick… something, anything, needed to happen. He asked if I was willing to go back to the ward and talk to them, just myself. I figured, it couldn’t hurt. No one was talking to me, perhaps it was time they started.
So back we went. I went in by myself and said that I wanted to talk to one of three people (his two docs or the nurse), that I didn’t care which one I got, but that I was not leaving until I did.
The nurse was willing to talk to me, and we sat down in her office. I started by saying that from now on, everything had to be in English, and that I was to be informed of everything that was happening. I told her that I was not taking Henning home, so she needed to find him a better option, “today” . I said because he was so sick, I was unwilling to take responsibility for his health at this acute stage. I said if she refused to help us, we were going to the emergency department and were going to tell them that Henning’s medical team was refusing to treat him. I started crying, and I am still not sure how much of that was calculated or if I was that close to losing control.
Her entire demeanor changed instantly. She not only spoke to me in English, she was very warm and open and willing to do whatever she could for us. She left to physically talk to his doctor (the one we had been refused access to, and who she could not get on the phone) and when she came back, she asked for Henning to come into the office as well. She handed us all of his paperwork, and told us he was having the procedure that day, and to go immediately to the ward downstairs to be admitted.
To be continued…