I have spent as little time as possible on the staff of hospitals. The interface between doctors and administrators has always seemed to be dominated by petty politics. People are interested in money, and secondary to that, some vague sort of reputation or power.
A large and prestigious Midwestern hospital used to have a certain kind of meeting every few months. This hospital had only the vaguest of University associations — just enough to make it look academic and research oriented. I knew perfectly well it was neither.
It was a luncheon meeting of the medical staff and a few administrative types — uncommonly well-catered. There were about 25 folks, but only two other women who looked as uncomfortable as I was.
The meeting was to discuss certain hospital statistics, including some case details. As the meeting agenda was passed around, the head of the hospital reminded us of the meeting “rules.” We were gently reminded that no recordings were permitted and neither were extraneous notes. We each received an agenda, which were carefully counted out as they were distributed. We were told that at the end of the meeting they would be collected — and counted — before any of us could leave. Read more on Hospital Accountability Is An Ideal (Not Always Reality)…
The first thing you get when you “in-process” into the Army — at least the first thing I got — was dog tags. I had to decide if I wanted my religion on my dog tags, and tell the lady at the typewriter what kind of funeral I wanted. For all my ups and downs, I decided I would die Jewish, and get a traditional funeral, and make the Army find a rabbi. I could put that on them with no thought of guilt. I had the option of putting my faith on my dog tags. I was warned, in the most dispassionate possible way, that some enemies of the United States of America would kill me if it said “Jewish.” I chose a resolution some co-religionaries had chosen in World War II. I chose “Hebrew,” feeling more in common with the ancient faith than with the heavily politicized modern tripartite (Orthodox, Conservative and Reformed) ways of filling congregations.
Then I got my “Geneva Convention” card – Lavender and black and white, it said in 22 languages, roughly the equivalent “Don’t kill me. I’m a doctor.”