Three years and counting...But not down for the count

I have been in a funk for the better part of the week: I haven't slept as well as I usually do (which really hasn't been great of late, but now it's more disrupted), I've felt somewhat unmotivated, I'm having trouble concentrating. But I know what's happening: today is the third anniversary of when P__ went into the hospital. Saturday, the 24th, will be the third anniversary of his death.

Last year, I met someone who had lost her husband. Not in that hospital, mind you, but she did mention that while it had been several years since she'd lost her husband, she still found herself withdrawing a little at the anniversary time. (She also said that she started dating about two years after her husband died.) I'm not sure how long it had been that she'd been widowed, except that it was only a few years longer than I've been there.

In some ways, I envy her. She has gotten on with her life. But I feel like my life is in a holding pattern. Why? Because of the lawsuit.

Do I regret bringing on the lawsuit? No. I'd file it again in a heart beat if the circumstances re-presented themselves. What I am angry about is why I had to file: because of blatent disregard for human life by those in the medical field. If others--enough others--had fought when their loved ones had been harmed at this particular facility, then maybe P__ would still be alive.

Which is why, after three years, I'm still fighting, so that others might have a fighting chance.

Bills...

Unbelievable.

I received a notice from Northside Hospital for P__'s stay from October 18-23. I had already received a bill for the 23-24 ($250 for our part of the bill), but no bill for the 18th through the 23rd. The notice stated that "since your insurance hasn't paid this bill, would you please contact them and request payment? If not, you'll be responsible for the full bill," after which, they listed an exhorbinant amount.

So I call the insurance company and ask what the problem is. Turns out, they not only have sent a check out to Northside, but the check has been cashed.

This same insurance company did not have a contract with Northside for the better part of a month. I remember mentioning an article that was in the St. Petersburg (FL) Times about the lack of a contract between our insurance companies and the HCA chain to P__ before his/her hospital stay; a contract wasn't reached until after P__'s death. While I had the insurance company on the phone, I mentioned that I really felt that they should not have renewed the contract. The gentleman on the line asked why, and I gave him a brief rundown.

"Oh, really," he said. "Let me bring up another screen on my computer. Do you mind if I write up a report on this and give it to my supervisor?"

"Give the report to the CEO of your company, too, if you want. I think that would be great."

I gave him the info he needed (as well as the address for this blog), after which he said that he would be passing on the information. (Thank you, sir, if you're reading this.)

I then called Northside, informed them I had just gotten off the phone with the insurance company and was told, "Oops. Our mistake. Sorry."

Yeah, right.

This past week, I received a bill from Northside. They wanted $1,250.

So, I called the number on the bill and was told by a woman that she couldn't talk to me without P__'s permission. "S/he died. You'll have to talk to me."

"Okay." No "I'm so sorry for your loss" or any of the other canned phrases used for times like this. Just "Okay."

I offered to pay $10 a month, but was informed that I had two choices: 1) I could pay the entire amount in one lump sum or 2) they could graciously break the bill down into four easy payments. Those were my options.

Excuse me. The hospital staff (at least the ones on the floor) kill my spouse, my monthly income is lowered by the amount of P__'s monthly checks, and I'm suddenly offered the chance of paying off a $1,250 in four easy payments.

Again, I offer to send in monthly payments of $10, but am informed that "that is totally unacceptable", at which point, I inform the woman on the phone that I'd be sending the bill to my attorney for him to handle.

Dead silence, then, "Your attorney? Why do you have an attorney?"

"I'm sorry, but that's all I'm able to say at this time."

"Are you planning to file suit against Northside?"

Again, I responded that I was not at liberty to say. "However," I did inform her, "considering that, while P__ did get good care in the CCU, the fact that s/he was transferred to the floor rather than Bayfront after being stablized, and s/he subsequently died in part because of incompetent care disturbs me."

That got her attention. "P__'s dead? As in...Dead?" Well, last time I checked, dead was usually dead. And very pissed off is, well, not a happy camper.

"Yes, P__ died in Northside."

"And you have an attorney."

"Yes."

If backtracking were an Olympic sport, I'd be willing to bet that I heard someone in contention for a Gold Medal. "You know, I think we can forget about this bill. I feel that that is the least we can do."

After ascertaining that yes, indeed, the bill no longer needed to be paid, I asked her what her name was. I figured that, should the bill show up again, a name would be nice.

"I don't think that my name is needed," was the last thing I heard before the line went dead.

And, yes, dead is usually dead.

And the bill is on its way to the attorney's office. The same attorney's office I informed about the bill.