A Hospital Stole My Son’s Financial Future
Eight years ago this week, we held my son’s funeral. He was 24.
I have written about his death. He had an undiagnosed disease or condition. (If you or anyone you know has these symptoms, take whatever action is necessary. The outcome of doing nothing is fatal.)
The local hospital had given him full tests, and had given him a clean bill of health. The hospital was wrong.
A few months earlier, he had suffered a seizure. He was in the library. Somebody called an emergency ambulance, and the ambulance staff loaded him onto a gurney, put him in the ambulance, and took him to the hospital. He had told them he felt all right, but they took him anyway. He did not demand that they release him. Big mistake.
The meter began to tick.
At the hospital, they took away his clothes. Then they ran him through a barrage of tests. When the tests were over, and he was declared fit as a fiddle, he wanted to get out of the hospital. He was told that if he did not sign a piece of paper, the hospital would not return his clothes. Putting it bluntly, they threatened him with kidnapping. He would not be allowed to leave. Having gone through a seizure, and having gone through the tests, he did not read the paper. He signed it. Financially speaking, that was his death warrant.
The meter was now ticking legally.
The hospital then sent him the bill: a small fortune that he did not have. He was a college student. He lived very frugally. He had no savings. He was a legal adult. He had no job. My wife and I paid his tuition and basic expenses. I did not like to do it, because I did not think he could finish. He kept having the terrible spasms that disrupted his sleep and his work. But I went along with it.
The hospital began pressing him to pay his bill. He did not have the money to pay. I recommended that he go to a public interest law firm that helped the poor. I don’t know if he did it. He died before it was settled.
As my wife and I drove to the funeral eight years ago, she received a telephone call on her cell phone. It was some woman working with the hospital, demanding payment. My wife informed the woman that we were on the way to my son’s funeral. The woman said this to my wife: “Then who’s going to pay this bill?” Ah, the tender mercies of hospital bill collectors! My wife gave a perfectly good answer: “I have no idea.” That was the last we ever heard from the hospital.
I wrote about this in 2009. You can read my more detailed account here.
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