To: The Hospital and Emergency room staff:
Re: The death of my daughter, Maria, on January 1st, 2006.

I will never forget the cruel and insensitive treatment I received in the emergency room at the darkest moment of my life. I worked as a weekend secretary in CCU and ICU at the hospital from 1986-1988. As a secretary I treated bereaved families with more dignity. Alva Smith, R.N., will remember me since I assisted her closely on many of those weekends. In fact, I fondly remember Alva giving a pumpkin to my daughter, from her own yard; my daughter was five years old at the time.

Upon my arrival in the emergency room, I saw Alva, and wanted to tell her to take care of my little girl. It seemed like only minutes since I discovered my twenty-three year-old daughter in her bed and dying from an overdose of heroin. She had returned home from a long-term rehab on December 14th, and the entire scene was incomprehensible to me. Since my daughter was still breathing I thought she would pull through and ultimately detox in the hospital.

Ten minutes after arriving at the hospital a paramedic told me: “The doctor wants to see you.” My husband and I walked to meet Dr. Mark Larkin. He led us into a room and said, “Sit down.” I said, “I’ll stand…is she okay?” In the most abrasive tone he snapped: “NO, SHE’S NOT OKAY! She’s been clinically dead for a half hour…her heart had stopped…they worked on her all they could…and the drug we gave her to reverse the overdose didn’t work. Her pulse was low at the house and she had no pulse in the ambulance…you can go in and see her.”

I am incensed still at the way this viper spoke to me. I walked down the hall to see my daughter and Dr. Mark Larkin stopped me abruptly, put up his hands as if to bring a group of unruly school children to a halt and barked: “YOUR DAUGHTER’S GONE! HER SPIRIT LEFT TWENTY MINUTES AGO!” I went to my daughter and Dr. Mark Larkin proclaimed: “SHE WAS A TORTURED SOUL! YOU DID ALL YOU COULD! SHE’S AT PEACE!”

How dare he? He didn’t even know my daughter or what I had done. He never even attempted to address me by a name. By his brusque and crude behavior I could only determine that he was giving his rehearsed detached “this is what you say when a heroin addict dies” speech. WAS HE EVEN PARTIALLY PRESENT DURING THE HIPPOCRATIC OATH?

An equally deficient and tactless nurse said to me (when she saw me crying beside my lifeless daughter) “I’m so sorry…do you have other children?” When I answered no she replied, “Awww,” as if she just applied a band-aid to a toddler’s knee.

My husband and I also waited for over two hours before any minister of faith came to my daughter’s side. Also, couldn’t someone have taken a damp cloth and washed away the blood-spattered specks that still remained on my daughter’s neck and shoulders?

I am deeply outraged at this total disregard for human suffering and this will not go unknown in all circles.

Wishing all of you continued dispassionate success in 2006, and for many years to come. I would like to send you a plant so that you may all put it where your hearts ought to be.

Signed:
Maria’s mother.