Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Dad At Colusa Regional Medical Center

When I was a little boy, my father would always tell me, "Life isn't fair."  But he was wrong, like he proved to be wrong about everything.  Life is exceedingly fair, and no one gets away with anything for very long.  My mother was more correct:  "It always catches up with you in the end and kicks your ass."  Whose to say?  It's not about naivete or cynicism, delusion or realism.  It's beyond blame and fault.  It's about memory.  How does our memory serve us?

In most non-sociopaths, memory is a faulty thing.  Better to rely on faith than on memory.  I personally have a memory like that of an elephant.  I can't remember specific calender dates (making me a bad plaintiff), but I can remember the tone and gist of what's come to pass.  I'm kind of unique.  (Also, I smell funny to some people, but that is a nonsequitur...)

If memory serves, I was subject to abuse at the hands of those who had me as their charge to keep.  I was mistreated, invaded, assaulted, constrained, and tormented.  I was subjected to chemical restraint at Saint Francis Medical Center in San Francisco -- illegal in the state of California.  I was told by the property management at 230 Eddy, "I don't want to know why you're qualified to live in subsidized housing.  Then I'd be guilty of discrimination."  I was told by my social worker at San Francisco's General Hospital's Ward 86 (get it?  You're 86'd:  the last bar you can be thrown out of in San Francisco) -- I was told this:  that in the case where I was powerless against the powerful, I was to blame for the situation in which I found myself.  The only defense those who did these things had was that it left no physical mark besides the cigarette burns I inflicted on myself in order to obey the voices, using pain to anchor myself in reality to save myself.

But this is not about me.  A lot has been about me, but this is about everyone but me.  I've never needed a boyfriend I could cuddle with more in my life.  I'd even sleep with Matthew Barney right now if it meant a modicum of comfort and a transient moment of bliss.  I'm so blind to the world of cause and effect sometimes, no matter how in it I am mired.

So my dad left the hospital against medical advice.  At least, that's their story and he's abiding by it.  There's only these key pieces of evidence I have:  he was non-ambulatory patient who for months had threatened to leave, and had accused staff of holding him against his will, but only last night did they call and say, "He's threatening to leave against medical advice."  I told them, "So all you have to do is refuse to assist him in leaving.  No sweat."  Then this morning, I got a call from dad saying he was at the casino and needed a ride home.  I assumed it was a bullshit call.  I phoned the medical center's skilled nursing facility and asked the nurses station, which is right next to my dad's room,, "Is he still there?"

She put me on hold.  Big tell.

She came back on the line to say he left AMA.  I swear to God (of whom the sociopaths have a certainty -- bless their hearts -- and in whom the rest of us have to gin up faith), I'm going to get a lawyer (possibly via this blog post) and have a case.  We are a poor, well-educated family which has always turned it's nose up at litigation.  But this smells like an out-of-court settlement situation.

What do you, the Perry Mason fans at home think?