The Coldest Place I’ve Been So Far Isn’t Outside It’s Inside This Hospital

I hate hospitals.

And yet, I work in one because I genuinely care about people.

Right now, I’m inside one of the largest hospitals in the state, not as an employee clocking hours, but as a friend, family member, and advocate. I came here because someone I love asked for my prayers to support her healing. Instead of just visiting, I packed a bag and moved into her hospital room. I became her caretaker for the duration of her stay.

What I’ve witnessed has been deeply unsettling.

Beyond the sterile walls and polished reputations, the lack of consistent care, communication, and basic human consideration is heartbreaking. The disconnect between healthcare professionals across every level of hierarchy, from surgeons to housekeeping should honestly be studied by psychiatrists. The dysfunction isn’t subtle. It’s systemic.

To be fair, there are a few professionals here who have exceeded expectations who show compassion, diligence, and genuine humanity. But retrospectively, I can count them on one hand.

During this stay, I had the opportunity to speak at length with a hospital employee someone sane, educated, and outwardly well-adjusted—who shared stories so dark, so deeply troubling, that no medical drama could ever capture them accurately. Stories of unprofessionalism. Of misogyny. Of hypersexualized behavior. Of intentional neglect. Of patients in behavioral or mental health crises being treated as inconveniences rather than human beings in distress.

The way some patients are dismissed reminds me of watching a transient person on the street, asking for help while people walk past with loose change in their pockets—assuming that person simply isn’t important enough to save.

This is especially devastating when it comes to geriatric patients.

I’ve watched doctors create rigid, one-dimensional lists of what elderly patients can and cannot do based solely on age often crushing the morale of families who came seeking answers, reassurance, or even a small measure of hope. Hope is treated like an unrealistic request rather than a necessary part of healing.

At one point, I sought out the hospital chaplain, simply to talk. To process. To understand how so many people in powerful positions could appear so indifferent. The chaplain offered something rare in this environment: empathy, honesty, and hope.

Through that conversation, I learned how many employees ranging from dietary staff to surgeons had been fired for misconduct: theft, assault, sexual violence, gross negligence, even accidental deaths. These are the stories hospitals don’t show you on television. Shows like ER can’t touch this reality.

If you believe in miracles, or the power of God, or even just the basic human necessity of compassion then faith and hope are not optional in healthcare. They are foundational.

It’s cold outside right now.

But it’s colder in here.

I long for the day when we can transfer my loved one to a place where real caretakers exist where nurses, therapists, and staff see their patients as whole people, not tasks to be managed or bodies waiting to decline.

Because healthcare should never feel like this.

I am here as an advocate.

As a friend.

As a stand-in nurse’s aide for someone who needs more than medication.

She needs someone to hold her hand.

To brush her hair.

To make sure she’s clean.

To ensure her teeth are brushed.

To remind her she is still a human being worthy of dignity, not someone wasting away under fluorescent lights.

This is a sad moment in healthcare when you realize that too many professionals are unable, unwilling, or unprepared to care properly for the people entrusted to them.

And until that changes, I will stay right here—doing the work that compassion requires.