What are the colors of humanity?

How wonderful it must be to be blissfully clueless. My son was hospitalized this week due to a severe asthma attack. I live in a city where we are lucky enough to have high quality hospitals and medical care. We recently built a new hospital dedicated to the care of children. Our previous medical facility for this purpose was a bit outdated and structurally unsound. This was my first visit to the new facility.

When I pulled up to the emergency entrance at 12 midnight, the neatly dressed valet greeted us at our vehicle wearing his bright red jacket and a smile. We were efficiently escorted from our vehicle and into the building. We entered the building through brand new doors and were stunned by a visual experience that would make the Vatican green with envy. The floors are literally paved in gold and gemstones. The tile glitters and the walls are adorned with mosaic art. There was a spiral staircase that seemed to be endless swirling it's way past beautiful windows that gazed out upon the beauty of our city. There are bilious murals that guide you down hallways that are wide enough to accommodate vehicle traffic. Gracing every corner is a kiosk designed to direct you wherever you need to go through a system of color coding with "fruit" as the identifying color. Located conveniently near each kiosk is a security booth and mac machine. Everything is clearly labeled and there is always someone to provide assistance, if necessary.

We were efficiently registered and waited no longer than 5 minutes for a nurse to escort us to the emergency room. The nurses are all dressed in playfully bright scrubs and stuffed toys dangle from the stethoscopes. The room where my son was treated was instantly packed with several nurses and two physicians. I gazed around the room, amazed by the efficiency and the technology that swirled around me. Within minutes, my son was stabilized and comfortable. No one seemed rushed or panicked and the atmosphere was that of just carrying on business as usual.

Now that my son is stable and sleeping, I require coffee. I ask the nurse where I can locate the cafeteria. She provides efficient directions, but asks me if I would like her to get it for me. I declined the offer, being as I needed to take a walk. I am adorned with a visitors pass, and exit the ER. I traveled through this hospital expecting to find the typical cafeteria, lacking any luster and comfort. I was wrong. The cafeteria is a secured area. It requires a pass to open the door. I assume that this is additional security to keep our children safe from the outside threats that can present themselves in a crowded environment. I entered a nauseatingly cheerful scene. There are dried foods that decorate the counters, a vast selection of child friendly foods and snacks, and endless counters with dozens of choices in foods. The seating area overlooks a courtyard with chaise lounge chairs and brightly trimmed window panes. The landscaping is simple as to not distract from the beautiful paving of the enormous patio, complete with tables, chairs and umbrellas. That too, is a secure door. The art on the walls is that of children's shadow boxes. The frames are hand-painted and the boxes contain the imagination of a child free of illness. The light fixtures are soft and comforting, not the harsh fluorescent bulbs of the past.

After several hours, my son is transferred to the Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit. If you think that this place is over the top, you haven't seen anything yet. Upon entering the NICU, the family waiting room is located just to your left and prior to the security desk that you must visit in order for the nurse to open the locked door to the unit. Once identified as the child's family member, access is granted. One thing that impacted me immediately was silence. There was no beeping of monitors, no loud proclamations over a loud speaker, just silence and smiling faces. I wondered how it was so quiet. Then I realized why. Each room within the NICU has a sound proof glass sliding door. There is no more of the cheap wooden doors, or curtains separating patients from each other. Every room in the NICU is a private one. When I walked through the door to my son's room, I couldn't believe my eyes. I have stayed at 4 star hotels with less amenities than this room had. He had a desk in the corner, (in case he wants to start that novel that he has been putting off), there is a couch that opens into a full size bed, a coffee table, a private bathroom, a 32" flatscreen TV, a mobile data center for the nurses, all monitoring equipment is suspended from the ceiling, so as not to be obtrusive or garish. This small child lays in a bed that is fit for a king. He looked so lost in the oversized comfort of his new bed. We close the door behind us, and slide over the bright curtain that provides privacy from passers by.

Located outside of each room in the NICU is another monitor by which the nurses can watch the child's vitals without ever having to enter the room and "disturb them". Below the monitor is another desk complete with a 42" computer screen for them to do their charting and ordering meds from the on site pharmacy. This was sensory overload, for me. I decided that since my son was asleep, that I would venture out to the cafeteria once more. On this trip, I passed the gift shop. I felt as though I had located the local mall. It was enormous and carried everything imaginable. Disney would be proud.

This was when I stopped dead in my tracks, and while staring at the bronze statue of the entire cast of the Wizard Of Oz, remembered a trip to the older Children's Hospital several years prior.

Yes, my son was hospitalized previously at the older facility. It was, again, his asthma. He was admitted to that hospital and spent 4 days total there. It was a fight on the fourth day to get my son released. I had never experienced this before, and was confused by it. From what I understood of hospitals, they were always in a rush to "get the bed emptied". My son had been off of all medication for over 6 hours, at this point. He was spunky, and playing video games on the portable game unit that the nurses had wheeled into his room days prior. I requested that physician release him to go home. This took hours of pleading after multiple excuses as to why they "hadn't processed the paperwork yet". I was beginning to become irritated. Then, the unimaginable happened. Another young boy around 8 years of age was wheeled into my son's room. This child had recently had surgery on his spine and brain stem. He was fastened into one of those horrible head halos that bolt to the child's shoulders. He was moaning in pain when they wheeled him in. There was only a curtain to separate us, so I was privy to all discussions on the other side of that curtain. After approximately an hour, the nurse entered the room to speak with that child's parents. She informed them that they were discharging their son. Both parents were upset and questioned why. They were told, in no uncertain terms, that their child's insurance would not pay for any longer stay in the hospital, and if they wanted him to stay, they had to sign a form stating that they would be financially responsible for the medical bills.

Read that one more time, and let it sink in. I want you to realize that this child was no more than 4 hours out of major surgery and they were discharging him, moaning in pain. His mother was in tears and pleading for another option. the nurse told her that if she wanted to, she could take the child home for 24 hours, and then return and the insurance would pay for another 48 hours total. They were out of options, and had no choice but to begin to pack their son's things to return home. By the way, they wouldn't even validate their parking because they did not enter the hospital via the ER.

At this point, I am enraged and appalled. My son has been NOT receiving treatment for over 7 hours, yet my insurance is being billed ONLY because they are willing to pay. This little boy is being booted out on his backside because his insurance will not pay any further. I stated to the nurse that she could just bill my insurance for that kid because they are defrauding my insurance company anyway by keeping my son there. I then asked her to give the video game console to the other boy so that at least he had something to keep his mind off the pain. She callously stated simply, "no."

So, I look around at this monstrosity of a hospital, and even though I am so very thankful that it is here, I can't help but ask myself a question. What do these beautiful walls have to hide? Does it really matter if the walls and floor are paved with gold, when young children are suffering because their parents cannot afford a stay at a 5 star resort? This thought saddens me, and makes me see this building as Pandora's box. I return to the NICU floor, and as I walk past the family waiting area, I see a grandmother with tears streaming down her face. I see another younger woman sobbing and her mascara rolling down her cheeks. That is the real colors of a child's hospital, people. They are the colors of human suffering and pain. That woman's son will never leave that palace. He will take his last breaths in a brightly colored room full of all the comforts of modern medical technology. How easily we forget how lucky we are. My son will leave there, and remember his stay there as one of fun and safety. But there are others who will never leave, and even more who will never even get the chance to see it.

So, to the administrators, architects, interior designers, and consultants, I make you an offer. I am willing to forego the glittered tile, remove the desk from my son's room, tone down the paint and decorations, and then take that money and donate it to the care of children who cannot afford what my son is lucky enough to have, HEALTH CARE! Goddamnit! You are a hospital. Where the hell have your priorities gone? Do you really think that your lavender paint and big screen tv give any comfort to the families of dead children? Do you think that your beautiful window dressings give comfort to those who cannot afford the thousands of dollars that a one night stay and some antibiotics will cost them? I cannot be bought with a pretty book cover, ladies and gentlemen, because I have seen the pages, and I have read your book. You may have fooled the blissfully clueless, but honestly, do you really care about the health and well being of your community, or just your bottom line? Prove it. Make THAT your priority, and see the colors of humanity for a change. They are more beautiful than your walls can ever hope to be.