The weekend was well spent in Boston, MA.  Even though it was foggy, rainy, and generally miserable here all weekend, we had time with a wonderful group of people representing Planetree at a conference with the Institute for Healthcare Improvement and the Institute for Family-Centered Care.  Nearly 100 professionals and patients were gathered here to discuss the United States healthcare system.  At my table of experts were some wonderful people from Washington, Texas, Arizona, New York and Boston.  The following is an e-mail that I received on Sunday.  I hope Dale doesn’t mind that I’ve included it. It truly says it all about the need for reform.

Dear Nick,

I am Justin’s Mom, who "happened" to be sitting next to you at the conference yesterday. I have experienced a rough 5 years of dealing with a system that, I thought, was meant to comfort and heal. I wanted to thank you for your much needed expressions of compassion. You did some healing yesterday that you may not be aware of.

I was very much impressed by the work that you’re doing, the lives that you’re saving and the example that you’re setting. I am proud of you! Having a forward thinking, multitasking CEO with compassion and sensitivity to lead, will make the difference. I truly believe some people will never get it and need to be replaced by those that do or this whole industry will make a thunderous fall. Having a mother beg for transparency following the unexplained death of her child while in a physician’s (hospitals) care is the highest form of inhumanity imaginable. Yet, the practice of silence is accepted and continues without even looking back at the personal affects of the tragedy. My goal is to say, NO MORE!

Your courage to take the reins and be in charge and lead your organization with a conviction for doing the right thing, fighting the good fight, has to work. When the not knowing became less important than the not caring, a friend from Walter Reed wrote: "We are truly social animals who need to know that someone cares. That is not a weakness; but, as a friend said, "A basic need like eating and breathing.” (I quoted him in my Powerpoint presentation for Yale med residents.)

Most Sincerely,

Dale Ann Micalizzi
Pediatric Patient Safety Advocate
Dale’s Blog at SignalHealth.come
micalizzidag@aol.com

PS Justin played the trumpet too

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When I was a kid, I was pressed into service for every fallen soldier’s funeral, every Memorial Day event and every parade. You see, I was the trumpet player who played TAPS, hundreds of times. Sometimes it was for a funeral for an elderly WWI vet. Sometimes for (at that time) a middle-aged WWII vet. The Korean vets were few and far between, but the most meaningful and difficult for me were the newly killed Vietnam vets because they were my brothers. Their birth dates were my birthdate. Their girlfriends were my girlfriends. Their families were my families. I stood by a tree or above the grave site, and many times trembled with my own tears echoing the tears of the loved ones being interred.

The two most difficult times were both lifetime memories. The first was November 24, 1963, alone, in the middle of my high school football game, in the middle of the field, I played solo taps for John F. Kennedy, our president, who at that time was my generation’s personal hero. The man who brought youth, excitement and challenge to our nation.

The second was atop a Bank Building in Indiana, PA where I stood in full uniform as a non-com in the Reserve Officers Training Corps, looking across a sea of 1,000 uniformed soldiers lined up on Philadelphia Avenue, knowing that many of them were waiting to be shipped out to Vietnam. Many of them were my friends, and many did not come home.

I do NOT miss playing TAPS, and wish that the world would stop producing the need for them.

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Today I was suffering from not only the Holiday Blues (Christmas is OVER). . . but also from separation anxiety.  Thirteen and a half years ago, my daughter and I went to the SPCA and adopted a puppy.  He was a little, white, fluff ball that we fell in love with immediately.  She named him Brodie.

Brodie was probably our fifth dog, but he certainly has been the best.  Last year Brodie grew a tumor.  We had it removed, and then, a few months ago, he grew another one.  We knew that Brodie was finite because we’re all on the same train, but Brodie was very very special.   He was kind, sweet, disciplined, loving and CUTE.

Well, as mentioned in a previous web log, we had moved.  Clearly, after thirteen years of running freely through the fields of Carpenters Park, Brodie had a tough adjustment to the new neighborhood.  No one welcomed Brodie to the new neighborhood.  Anyway, after more than a decade of freedom, Brodie was a captive in his new house, a house that didn’t have either of his cat buddies as playmates or unlimited hills and fields where he could run and play.

Two weeks ago we had to go away for a few days, and my daughter offered to watch Brodie.  She had also offered to watch the two cats, cats that made me sneeze.  (She’s been watching them since we moved.)  Well, Brodie seemed THRILLED to be back with his cats, running free through the fields of Davidsville.  He seemed so happy at his old house with the kids and the cats that we decided to let him stay there. 

Then something happened.  It was four o’clock on Christmas Eve and Brodie disappeared.  Our kids searched for him.  I made two trips to search for him.  The kids made three more.  We began calling our old neighbors.  It grew dark, and, for the first time ever, Brodie didn’t come home. 

The night was LONG and tough on all of us.  The following morning the kids started again, and we made more phone calls.  One neighbor reported that she had seen Brodie yesterday, but not since then.  Our son-in-law tracked Brodie paw prints across two fields, through some yards, near a horse farm and into the woods.

Some of our old neighbors got into their cars and looked for Brodie, too. 

Then, a stop at the police station resulted in a call that ended with . . . BRODIE.  He had traveled nearly six miles, was soaking wet, and scared, but some wonderful woman and her daughter found him, wrapped him in a blanket and called police. 

So far, Brodie is doing fine. 

So, thanks for the best Christmas present. 

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While driving back from Washington D.C. about a year ago, I received a phone call from work. It was from our Director of Public Relations.  She called and said, “Guess what happened today?”  My immediate, from the gut, response was, “Let me guess, the Virgin Mary appeared on the hospital.”  She paused then said, “Did someone already call you?” My response was a disclaimer.  Well, apparently, one of our patients was at the registration area in the middle of the connecting corridor when she looked out the window and exclaimed that there was something on the rise of the step.   She exclaimed, “Look, it’s Jesus!”  She said, “Look out there on the rise of the step, it’s the face of Jesus.”  When Gloria, our registration professional, looked outside, she responded with a knowing smile.

At first we were afraid that the hospital would be filled with pilgrims there to see the face of God.  Then, we were afraid that it wouldn’t be.  Well, it made the local TV news, and numerous people came by to look at the face in the cement, but it all died down in a very short amount of time.  Is it really some type of miracle?  Did it appear in the concrete to send a message?  Is it Jesus?  Mohammed?  Or is it just a collection of shadings on the concrete that appeared over time?  If you look closely, you’ll see the eyes, eyebrows, nose, and mouth. Our patient says that you can even see a crown of thorns.  Your call.  Just more fun.

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