Faith in Medicine, Part 2: Faith in a Facility
"You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." I got a call from my mother while in the middle of vacation informing me that I was coming home unemployed. Now, for many, this would be a shock. Not so much for me. For those who follow this blog, I've stated on a few different occasions some specifics about my chosen hospital. Please allow me to be slightly redundant and catch everyone up:
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Brownsville General Hospital was bought out my some greedy doctors and run into the ground. The small hospital officially closed its doors in early 2006.
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Almost immediately, the former administration worked frantically to reopen the hospital (a feat which was never achieved before in Pennsylvania health care history.)
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Plagued by financial woes from the start, the hospital struggled all the way to the reopening. Falling under new health codes and having to repurchase all auctioned off medical equipment delayed the reopening significantly.
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On May 22, 2008, the hospital reopened with a bare crew of people and just an Emergency Room, and Telemetry and Psych units.
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June 9th, the newly renamed Brownsville Tri-County Hospital hired an attractive, intelligent, young Respiratory Therapist: Me.
Flash forward to present day, skipping over late paychecks, bounced paychecks and a lot of what I deemed "guerrilla therapy" (Read: practicing respiratory therapy in a condition of little to no money being spent, while still providing quality care. The most common form involves a lot of "borrowing" and "testing" equipment, because your department has none of its own.). Not that guerrilla therapy is a bad thing, I think all hospitals could stand to spend less; imagine how health care costs would change if every facility cut back a little bit ... but I digress.
What would have been our final paycheck never actually arrived; hospital-wide, no one got paid. Now, in what is probably the most remarkable event of the story, only a few people quit.
We were flat-out told by administration that pay was not guaranteed, but almost everyone stuck around. It wasn't because we were rich, or because we loved the administration of the hospital. We cared about our patients. If we weren't there to watch over them, who would? I suppose I can't speak for everyone, but that was my logic. So we continued working without pay.
Unfortunately, six unpaid days later, the hospital went bankrupt. Now, I'm sure every hospital would love to have such a dedicated staff (and one who works for so cheap!), but there is the question I pose to you, which is not so different from the last blog with faith playing a part in terminal weaning: When does faith end and naivety begin?
Was everyone -- myself included -- naive to think the hospital could survive? It's noble to sacrifice for the good of your patients and facility, but at what point does it become a detriment to yourself and your family?
Let me know what you think!
-- B.J.
P.S. Got some really terrific replies on the last blog! Thanks for reading and giving your input!