Bowel Obstruction? #2

    I called Walmart until about closing time last night. The worker did not send in my order for Paxil even though she said herself that she knew I only had one and would expedite things. I made copies of the last posting and went to Brattleboro Memorial Hospital Emergency Room. The receptionist was busy on the phone so I just put the copy on the desk, saying to her, "If I come in unconscious tonight, you'll know what's wrong."  I went out to the truck and found an overnight bag that I had used with a girlfriend two years ago. I found some Paxil, but I have no idea how old and potent they were. They put me to sleep until 2:30 and then I was awake until 5 at which time I took ZZZ-Quil and got back to sleep.
    I waited until noon the next day for PA Paul Stanchfield to call me back and started making calls myself. I tried to call the prescription worker at 802-257-26111 to find out what happened with my no Paxil last night at Walmart. I had to leave a message. It's 3:05 now and she hasn't called back. I also called the hospital at 802-257-0341 and asked to talk to the president or CEO. I was shunted to "Kelsi Gatley" who was not there. I left a message asking to call me. No response yet. I then called back to see if there wasn't some administrator on duty. I got shunted to "Jody Dodge" who was not answering and had to leave a message. I called Josyln Smith, the receptionist back who advised me to wait two hours and if I didn't hear from them, call her and she would hunt around for me.
    I waited the two hours and called Josyln, who was still friendly and engaged with me. She called around but could find neither. "Do you mean you have no administrators on call?" I asked. This is not an exact recording of what was said.
     "Well, they're at meetings and things."
    "And I'm supposed to be ignored?"
    Well, no, but they have things to do."
    "Do you realize the millions of dollars and hours of time it would take if I died and a suit was brought against you - the hospital."
    "Just a minute, I'm going to have you talk to my supervisor."
    "Thank you very much."
    I waited and a lady said, "Kate."
    Pen in hand, I asked, "Who is this?"
    "Kate."
     "And you are?"
    "Patient's Access Supervisor."
    "You are exactly what I need! Kate I am really worried about this going too far and it will be such an egregious mistake that Paul Stanchfield and the hospital will deny it and try to turn it back on me by villifying or demeaning me."
    "Well, what is your problem, Mr. Nickerson,"
    I explain including the bowel obstruction, as I suspect it is, and the blood in the toilet last Sunday, and having only one Paxil left yesterday and the worker not callilng over to Walmart even though she knew that. Kate wanted to know what worker told me Monday morning that Paul had the X-rays, but there was no way I was going to remember that. She was already head-hunting but for someone way down on the
totem pole whom it's no problem to discipline. Kate disarmed me by sounding warm and genuine and repeating "I'm so sorry this happened to you." She promised she would look into the problem right away. I told her I didn't like being in an adversarial relationship with my PA, his staff, and the hospital with whom I had enjoyed a lot of warmth and brief comments. I asked her too to think of the possible conseqences if I were to die. I told her I was walking around feeling like I needed to go to the bathroom all the time plus my stomach ached a little. I told her something had gone wrong, and I felt they didn't like me anymore. That there was now something about me that they didn't like. I told her all that I wanted was Paul to call me about my X-rays and the woman worker to call Walmart and authorize my Paxil. I said, "It's all so easy. So quickly done." She promised to look into it and call me.
    I had called my daughter earlier to call Paul on my behalf. She didn't pick up but I left a message to Wendy that I needed help. I heard from her mother that Wendy was getting her nails done, so my number, and immediatley called her mother, Lee, to see if she was allright. I've called Wendy before when I can't reach her mother. I worry about my ex running 10 miles or so every day out in the boonies without a gun. She's had some bad experiences. I then called Lee asking her to call Paul and say that I'm waiting for his call and my medicine. She talked to Denise whom she didn't find particularly warm. She also heard a male with a high-pitched voice kibbitzing Denise. I told her that must have been nurse Mark. I also wanted to impress upon the staff that I wasn't just a poor piece of shit but I had an intelligent, assertive family as well. I told that to Lee. Lee said that Denise had perked up in interest when she said I had clinical depression. I was not happy to hear that because it is my fear that these people are going to deny me medical services because they don't like me anymore for some reason. They also aren't going to admit their negligence but try to put the whole thing on me. Taking  a macro view of these events, I am seeing that structurally the hospital is more designed in some areas to protect the staff rather than provide
services. Look at all the positions, and no one for me to call for hours.
    Earlier, I had called my daughter to ask her to call Paul Stanchfield. I worry about. I apologize for the typing. Running out of time and left my glasses in the truck.
    Peter Nickerson, Philosophy Major, Class of "68, William and Mary