Yesterday afternoon, Rita was home with me while Rose was at school. The two of them alternate going to school every other Thursday so they can get some one-on-one time with Mom. Anyway, Rita and I were about to read a book together and I'd made a cup of tea and set it on the coffee table. I went upstairs to fetch the book when I heard her scream. I hurried back down to find her hopping around and screaming about her foot. She had begun rolling around on the couch when I went upstairs and dipped her foot straight into my tea. Andy and I ended up taking her to U of M emergency where she was bandaged up. We had to return today because the doctor hadn't sealed off the bandages very well and they were opening up and dirt could easily get in. Rita has been much happier since she got her bandages on yesterday afternoon. She hasn't been on painkiller and didn't even wince when they changed her dressing today. I'm hoping her seemingly pain-free state continues. When we first arrived at the ER, yesterday afternoon, they mistakenly directed us to the main burn unit inside the hospital. We drove to the main entrance and I took Rita in. She was screaming the entire time as we asked for help and were escorted to the burn clinic. Once there, they informed us that we had to go back to emergency. By the time Rita was eventually seen, I was a bit shaky having listened to her cries of agony for over an hour. Hard to believe that they misdirected us in the first place and it's also surprising that they didn't dress her wound properly. I questioned the original doctor about the dressings and he felt they were adequate but today when I brought her back, everyone we spoke to agreed that the bandages were not adequate and might easily lead to infection if left alone. One other frustrating thing about hospitals. When we first got there, they took her name, birthdate, asked why we were there and gathered other information. Once in the exam room, a technician came in and went through the same line of questions all the while looking at her chart (perhaps checking to see if our answers were consistent). Later, a nurse came in and we went through the same questions. Finally, the doctor. Rita was soooo sick of hearing me tell people that she'd put her foot in a cup of tea she asked me to stop talking about it. Today, when we went back, we went through the same story again with 3 or 4 more people. One doctor had enough of a sense of humor to assume her weight hadn't changed overnight but the entire process was so impersonal. It's as if no one hears what you're telling them. Each person is operating in a vaccuum and is meeting you for the first time. There's seemingly no continuity or communication from one person to the next. Do all those people really need to know Rita's date of birth? Can't they store it somewhere where they all can access it? Interactions are all about getting the fields on the forms filled in properly and instead of feeling like a person, you feel like you're a case, a speciman, an entity to be processed. Granted, these people treat dozens of patients each week but the care part of the treatment is lacking. To be fair, many staff members seem to be making an effort to be friendly. Perhaps it is just the structure of the burocracy that leaves me feeling like a package arriving at a Fed Ex drop box where it is picked up and passed through several levels of sorting before arriving at a clearly defined, pre-identified destination. All thanks, however, go to U of M for fixing up Rita's foot. She was more than happy to return this morning and watch cartoons on the exam room's TV and she greatly appreciated the popsicle and stickers. | 
