Editor’s note: This essay is part of Mississippi Today Ideas, a platform for thoughtful Mississippians to share fact-based ideas about our state’s past, present and future. You can read more about the section here.
I now see why hospitals and rehab centers in Mississippi may be facing cuts. I started not to write this, but after spending the last month in the hospital and at a rehab center, I’ve been soul-searching in Jackson – the “City with Soul.”
For more than 39 years, I worked as a journalist. I covered everything from politics to education, Hurricane Katrina, a space shuttle disaster to George W. Bush’s State of the Union, but some of the most emotional stories I encountered were about healthcare.
Patients and families would complain about how they were treated in hospitals. Most television stations ignored those stories, and when administrators were pressed for answers, the fallback quote was always: “It’s HIPAA. We can’t discuss it.”
That response hides the truth. Yes, under federal law you can’t disclose private patient information. But you can – and should – comment on your policies and procedures. And when those policies fail patients, the public has a right to know.
When I landed in the hospital, I thought I knew what to expect. I ran to the “crosses” for obvious reasons. But what I found shocked me. I’ll be blunt: I would never go back, and I wouldn’t even take a stray or even a dead dog there in an emergency. At least he/she wouldn’t suffer.
My neurologist at the time (excluding the nurse practitioner in the office), cardiologist and attending physician were excellent. They cared. They listened. But the majority of nurses, CNAs and staff on my floor? They need either retraining, removal or termination. People enter a hospital because they are sick. They aren’t asking for spa treatment or red-carpet service. They just want to be treated with basic human dignity.
Here’s one degrading example. Patients are told: “Call for assistance if you need to go to the restroom. We don’t want you to fall.” Fair enough.
But when I pressed the call button, no one came. Not for 15 minutes. So I dragged myself to the restroom, dragged myself to the sink to wash my hands and dragged myself back to bed with IV in tow. Someone finally arrived five minutes later, only after another desperate call. Their excuse? “No one told me.”
Think about that. No one told me. What kind of communication system leaves sick patients unattended when they have to go to the restroom.
And why is the secretary — the one supposed to relay those calls — shielded from accountability? Not to protect her, but to protect a broken system that covers itself at the expense of patients.
Too often, I saw staff huddled in corners gossiping, scrolling through their phones or simply ignoring the patients they were supposed to be serving.
Managers were no better. When I reported mistreatment, one told me: “Glad it wasn’t one of mine. We were short-staffed and had to borrow from another floor.” Excuse me? Aren’t all nurses trained to care for patients? Isn’t compassion supposed to be universal? If that’s your excuse, then the system is beyond pathetic.
And then came the rehab nightmare. For days I asked when I would be transferred. The answer was always the same: “We’re waiting on a response.” Finally, I called the rehab center myself. They told me they had never received the paperwork. The next day, I learned my paperwork hadn’t been sent until 10 p.m. – days after my initial request.
In other words, I was lied to. Lied to while my health and recovery hung in the balance. And here’s the kicker: the moment I told my doctor what was happening, my transfer was suddenly approved. So the paperwork was never the problem. Honesty was.
This is not just about one hospital. It’s about a system that has lost its soul. A system that views patients as burdens, not people. A system where excuses and cover-ups are more common than compassion and competence.
Mississippi is already near the bottom of national health rankings. Our hospitals are underfunded, our nurses underpaid and our patients overlooked. But none of that excuses treating people with indifference, dishonesty or outright neglect.
Cuts may be coming. Closures may follow. But if hospitals continue operating as they do now, maybe they’ve earned it. Because a hospital without dignity is no hospital at all.
Patients in Mississippi deserve better. We deserve hospitals where care is more than a slogan, where dignity isn’t optional and where honesty is the standard. Until that happens, Mississippi’s “City with Soul” will remain a city without one.
Note: This is not meant to indict every hospital, health system or experience. But it was mine. We need more patient advocates. In the meantime, I chose to be my own advocate. If patients don’t speak up, no one will know the system must change. When lives and dignity are at stake, it’s always the right time to get into “good trouble.”
Bio: Katina Rankin, a Magee native, is an award winning journalist and founder of Katina’s Klassroom, a non-profit that strives “to improve reading skills and eliminate food insecurity in underserved areas.” She also is the author of multiple books, including “Up North, Down South: City Folk Meet Country Folk,” “Kendall’s Kitchen: Healthy and Hearty Recipes for Kids,” “Emmett Till: Sometimes Good Can Come Out Of A Bad Situation” and others.
