Folks. I wrote this a while back. I’ll tell you something: I think it’s spot on. However, I know I was wise to wait a few weeks before allowing the post to go “live.” Enjoy! Or not. This will truly expose Mount Auburn for what they did. And don’t worry, I’m safe from their grip now.
I dtid indeed receive the records from Mount Auburn Hospital in April, 2014. That’s the place where they persecuted me last summer. The records are obviously fudged in the hospital’s favor, that is, they’ve taken out pages. I believe this was done before the “chart” went into their archives.
I did indeed state that I was being abused, that is, I reported this to anyone who would listen right while I was there in the hospital. Keep in mind that this was a medical hospitalization and I was in precarious physical health, for the most part, too weak to get out of bed. I was at the mercy of anyone who entered the room and I couldn’t get up and get anyone’s attention if I needed something. It’s a horrible position to be in. You are so darned powerless. I had an IV in me and of course, was being watched constantly. I had no clue, at the time, what the REAL reason was, and what the heck they were so desperate to hide from me. I kept wondering if something awful had happened to Puzzle. I hadn’t heard from the dog-sitter, no reassurance that Puzzle was really okay. I felt so darned powerless and would ask, “What is it? What are you keeping from me?” What I didn’t realize was the extent of the lies.
I was desperate to know. I had no clue what the real reason was for the 1:1 “sitters,” but I knew their claim that I was a “danger to self” was completely bogus. It made no sense that there would be any need for 1:1 observation of me, a weak, 55-year-old woman who clearly was NOT making any effort to harm herself. I was eating fine and inquiring about how to eat properly to heal my body. My reasons for refusing their drugs were mostly because the drugs they were pushing I had taken in the past and I knew these would harm my body. It was obvious that I wanted only to move on, to heal. I figured maybe someone had heard me say the word “suicide” in a sentence and perhaps put the sitters on as a precaution. I never, ever stated intent to harm myself because I had no intent. But after days and days and the sitters were not removed…I knew that something fishy was going on.
These sitters weren’t put there to protect me from harming myself. They were put there to make sure I didn’t squeal on the hospital.
Finally, I demanded to know who had ordered the sitters. I asked the psychiatrist, Dr. Patrick Aquino, and anyone I could get to listen to me. Funny how the question was avoided by most doctors who claimed they had no clue and it wasn’t their concern. However, I figured Dr. Aquino would certainly know, and since they were claiming I was suicidal, it was indeed his turf.
He finally told me that he himself hadn’t ordered the sitters put on. But who? I asked. He had allowed me to believe that he was the one who had ordered them, but finally, I cornered him, because I knew it was someone else. His response? He said, “Oh, I don’t know, some nurse ordered them put on.” Really? I knew sitters were supposed to be ordered by a doctor. Yet there he was, lying to me. I was getting tired of the lies and half-truths and obvious coverups. At the time, I believed him, though. Why would I not? After I got out and asked around, it seemed impossible that a nurse had made this decision and was being a stickler, as he was insisting.
He made a gesture as if to say that he was above the nurses in status, above the sitters, above all the staff, immune to any criticism certainly. Dr. Aquino’s haughty attitude was clear. He was the only doctor who regularly shooed the sitters out of the room while he was speaking to me. He did this with a gesture toward them, as if he were sweeping away flies. All the other doctors, such as the kidney doctor and the internists were actually concerned about my physical health. Dr. Aquino sure did everything he could to assert power and power alone.
I realized, even then in my weakened state, that Aquino was in fact desperate to assert himself as a far more important member of my care team than he actually was. I felt that his attitude of “taking over” seemed unwarranted. After all, my kidneys were at stake. Of course, after I came home and found out I’d gone into full code in the ER (which they’d kept hidden from me the whole time I was there) I knew that Aquino was certainly a minor figure who was trying to puff himself up.
I was so confused. Why the coverup? Why were they simply not being honest? The medical student, named Katherine, was perhaps a weak link in their coverup scheme. It couldn’t be helped, because it was Katherine’s job to actually spend time with me and speak to me at length. She knew I was no dummy. She had a hard time keeping the truth from me simply because she was one of the few that spoke to me for more than a few minutes at a time without rudely cutting me off.
One day, she admitted to me, in the presence of another doctor who happened to be walking into the room at that moment, that the staff were having arguments over me. She finally admitted that no one really believed that I was suicidal.
So I asked her what the holdup was. Why on earth was there such a delay getting the sitters taken off? She looked extremely frustrated, knowing she had to give me some answer. So at this point, she lied. She claimed that the nursing staff, or some stickler nurse, was insistent that I was suicidal and that this person was in disagreement with the rest of the medical staff that insisted I didn’t need sitters.
I know now. I know they were all lying.
It’s clear from my records that I have received that these sitters were ordered by the “hospitalist,” a doctor with whom I had had few dealings. This was Dr. Bibek Koirala. He had ordered that the staff watch closely, and if I showed any signs of anything they could label as excuse to put sitters on, to do so.
I checked out what the heck a “hospitalist” was. It’s a newfangled type of doctor who does case management. I honestly had no clue that this management was not being done by a usual hospital social worker, but this upper-management “hospitalist.” Actually, at one point during my hospitalization, I demanded to see the “social worker.” In fact, there wasn’t one on my case. It was this Koirala who was the manager of my case, but this was kept from me, and the staff went along with my demand to see a social worker, I suppose, for show. They didn’t want me to know that this Koirala was in fact the puppetmaster. I kept asking and asking, but this vital bit of information was kept from me.
Early on in my stay, Koirala had decided to put sitters on me after interaction with my former psychiatrist, Dr. Kimberly Pearson. I had last seen Pearson in July and fired at that time. Pearson and I had parted peacefully and she wished me best of luck, but at the same time, Pearson was darned scared of my big mouth and my insistence that I had been abused back in 2011 while inpatient at Mass General. She was desperate to shut me up and had even admitted it to me in a fit of anger one day.
So as I figure it, Koirala called Pearson. I doubt they had a real conversation. Knowing Pearson as well as I do, she wasn’t one to spend much time on the phone. She rushed through every conversation. She gave airs of efficiency and acted business-like, but personally, I always felt put off by her attitude. I compared notes with patients who had other psychiatrists. They’d ask me why I couldn’t speak to Pearson over the phone. My response? Her callbacks lasted 15 seconds or less. “Take a pill,” was all she said most of the time. I got so fed up over the years that I’d habitually time her callbacks with my watch.
Therefore, would her callback to Koirala be any different? Apparently, she gave no important information to Koirala about my medical status or anything that would help me get well. Instead, the content of this message (again, I assume there was no real spoken interaction, just traded voicemails) contained one essential bit of information which isn’t revealed in my records but was the cause of Koirala’s insistence that I be monitored 1:1.
Of course, Pearson told Koirala that I was a squealer, a whistleblower, a potential liability problem because whatever went wrong I was going to be rather vocal about via my blog, so they’d better keep me quiet. I had no reason to believe otherwise. Pearson was emotional enough about shutting me up right in my presence, so of course, as soon as she was contacted this was most likely what she told them.
What better way than to put sitters on me? Having those sitters in the room would keep me from causing trouble, from contacting anyone on the outside that mattered and stirring up a problem for the hospital.
You can imagine what it was like for me to have constant monitoring. I had no clue why. The sitters violated my rights in so many ways I cannot even begin to list them all. I felt helpless and powerless. Not only that, but I didn’t have any clue if I’d ever see my wonderful Puzzle again, or breathe fresh air and be under the sky. I had no clue if I’d end up institutionalized forever. It seemed like they all had too much power.
I was physically weak and at their mercy. Just being in that position and being treated deceptively in that manner…this has caused long-lasting trauma in me. I have suffered terribly since leaving the hospital from a trauma reaction due to the abuse.
It’s evident that Pearson told Koirala little else than her fear of my big mouth. I had told her I had a new PCP at our last appointment at Harvard Vanguard. She had written it down. I had told her I indeed had arranged followup appointments and that these were already scheduled. I told her the dates. I kept the name of my future psychiatrist at Harvard Vanguard secret from Pearson. I faked that I was unable to recall the name of the therapist I was scheduled with as well. Can you blame me? I believe I told Pearson the name of my new PCP, however. I may have mispronounced it because it’s a difficult name. Of course, Dr. Pearson must have had SOME record of what she was prescribing to me. Also, Pearson recognized even in our last appointment that I was an “excellent historian” who remembered every med I’d ever been on, and all the therapists I’ve ever seen and the dates as well. However, she failed to tell Koirala any of this. I’m sure she left one of her typical voicemails, that 15-second efficient business-like type she generally left.
So Koirala got scared. He ordered the sitters put on as soon as I did anything, any excuse they could find. Not one educated person on the team believed I was truly suicidal, no one did who had any real contact with me. Perhaps a few nurses may have been swayed, assuming that Koirala put the sitters on for a real reason, and that maybe I was truly “dangerous.” Notably, the nurses that literally seemed scared of me and my supposed “danger to self” would more often than not cut me off mid-sentence and were excessively rude. I never understood why they were so impolite.
I got out of there by the skin of my teeth. The main reason they let me go was because it was getting increasingly difficult for them to keep up the deception. I was gaining physical strength and I wasn’t as “out of it” anymore. So it was harder to pull the wool over my eyes. Finally, they said they were going to attempt to transfer me to a psych ward.
It’s rather understandable that since the psych wards are overcrowded as it is, they’d only accept someone that truly needed psych treatment and by all means the local psych wards didn’t want someone whose chief reasons for hospitalization were mostly medical. So to get me “placed,” Mount Auburn had to call in the BEST Team because this job of where I was to go next was too much for them to do internally.
The BEST Team is a local psych placement team. They have a crisis place you can go if you actually want to be evaluated and not have to go to an ER. Their people are crisis-oriented. I actually have a great deal of respect for these folks, anyone highly trained in crisis management. They are intelligent and insightful and not slackers. Of all the types of mental health professionals out there, I’d say the crisis people do the best work nowadays, the good ones, that is. These are the only ones I’d say really save lives, and get folks out of tough situations. Also, they are trained to recognize trauma. Even ER personnel aren’t as well trained. Not only that, the BEST Team workers actually spend time speaking with patients.
After I spoke at length with the BEST Team person, it was all over for Mount Auburn. Their claims were blown to bits. I spoke with the BEST Team on Tuesday. There were some delays getting the report faxed into my chart. I myself made sure that fax went through. On Wednesday the 21st, that fax went through around 11am. The sitters were taken off right at the end of that day shift, at around 3pm. Not only that, but the BEST Team person insisted that since the hall noise was so loud I was by all means entitled to keep my room door shut. The BEST Team person was brilliant. He told those nurses they were wrong about me, and that I wasn’t going to “off myself.” The following day, they released me.
I now realize that this was an amazing victory for me. It’s amazing that I got out! These doctors are POWERFUL! Far too powerful. They have the power to make it or break it for someone based on their whims.
It was in their plan to see to it that I was forcibly drugged to render me incapable of writing. They didn’t succeed and I am FREE to be the writer I am meant to be.
What happened to me while inpatient was flat out wrong. I felt cheated by Mount Auburn and all its personnel. I now know that they indeed did some rather crooked stuff, at my expense. What resulted was that I have lived in fear ever since leaving the hospital. I felt for a long time that Mount Auburn ruined my life because they stripped me of every last bit of dignity I had, and had crushed my soul.
They can’t touch me now. I am telling the truth and they won’t be able to retaliate.