The Labyrinth

Unlike me, my Dad has an innate sense of direction. Like a homing pigeon, he always finds his way back. He is one of those rare males who truly don’t have to stop and ask for directions.

Still, the hospital confounded him. The labyrinth of corridors, turns and corners threw off his homing sense and got him lost. The worry over Mom, who was caught up in the machinery of hospital policies and procedures, probably caused some of that confusion. We who work in that environment forget how overwhelming the atmosphere can be.

My parents live in Switzerland, but came to visit me for a few weeks to celebrate my graduation. One night, Mom experienced chest pains severe enough to warrant an investigation. She asked me take her to the emergency room. Once she was hooked up to monitors, the hours began to pass at a snail's pace. She agreed to some thorough testing and was told, she might have to spend a couple of days in the hospital. When we left her late at night, she still waited for a room. They admitted her at 3 a.m. when Dad and I were already home and sleeping soundly.

They ran several expensive tests that night and the next day, tests that required an empty stomach and my mother fasted, feeling faint and hungry. Dad and I visited and tried to keep up with her schedule. I thought I saw a moment of panic in Dad's usually confident eyes when he returned from lunch and her bed was empty.

“I guess they came to get her early. I tried to be here on time, but she was already gone.”

“Do you want to go find her?”

His hands flew up. “I don’t know where she is.”

Luckily, I knew. I had done clinicals in that hospital and knew my way around. I introduced my parents to the nurse in charge and functioned as go-between, when language barriers or procedural twists obstructed the flow of information. Thus, I was able to reassure my parents and lessen their anxieties.

My parents’ experience reminded me to be gentle with my patients, because I realized that their spirits may be troubled and they may be afraid or nervous. Hospital patients move in unfamiliar surroundings and are forced to trust strangers with their bodies and their health. They have husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, parents and children who share their fears. They enter the labyrinth and worry that they will not find their way out. And if they seem restless or uncooperative, lost or confused, it is because they are out of their element and have lost their groove.

Some patients may stay only a day or two, others may remain there until life fades from their eyes, but they are guests in the giant labyrinth and we should care for them with courtesy.

For the most part, my mother was treated kindly by the staff – perhaps because I was there to guard her. In the end, we found our way out and Mom is better now. The daunting experience may be forgotten soon and the memories faded.

But wait! There will be a bill - and it will not be gentle...