Community Hospital - Bruising a Healthcare Brand

"Uh, what's your son's birthdate?"

This was how my wife and I learned that Community Hospital North's emergency room registration had lost my 12-year-old's online records in less than 30 minutes after we had arrived.

After a tumultuous Saturday night where my son was complaining of symptoms possibly indicative of appendicitis, I called the emergency weekend number for our primary care physician on Sunday to check in. The physician on call telephoned back a few minutes later and while I was explaining the symptoms, the doc broke in: "Look, I'm going to be rude and interrupt you. You need to take your son to the ER right now. Not a 'doc in the box,' but the ER." He then proceeded to tell me about the dangers of a perforated appendix and hung up.

I guess he must have been trying to catch the Colts game.

As it turns out, my son is fine. He didn't have appendicitis. However, it took nearly EIGHT HOURS in the Community North ER, with repeated requests from yours truly to on-duty nurses, to find out.

Back to the post-after hours callback, my wife and I were obviously alarmed. So we woke our sleeping son up (whose symptoms had subsided hours before, but I never got a chance to tell the physician on call that fact), and started out for the ER.

Of course, we had a choice: Community Hospital North in Indianapolis (where our primary care physician practices) or St. Vincent, which is home to the Peyton Manning Children's Center and the traditional hospital where the Snyder family has gone for decades.

In the heat of the moment, I selected Community over my wife's objections. I admit here now, I was a bonehead and offer apologies to my wife and son.

The decision did make initial logical sense since if he was operated on he would be near the office of our primary care physician (for follow-up rounds), but I didn't know that after the initial examination and drawing of blood for a white-blood-cell count that we would be left alone for over two hours, after the hospital lost his records. And this happened after the ER doc came in and said that my son did in fact have an elevated white blood cell count. Alarming my wife, the doc noted that surgery was probably on deck for late in the evening. So we waited. And waited.

"Uh, somehow his records got lost between here and radiology," the nurse belatedly explained some three hours after we arrived. "That happens sometimes."

So much for the urgency that our son might be on the verge of a perforated appendix.

After they "found" his records, a nurse came in with a half-gallon of fluid and proclaimed "he has to drink all of this" in order for the ultrasound to be effective.

Ever try and get a sick kid, who has already thrown up, to drink a half gallon of red-colored content all by yourself?

At 8 p.m., the designated time for the ultrasound (remember, we arrived for this urgent diagnosis before 3 p.m.), no nurse or doc was to be found, so as my son's advocate, I made inquiry. "Somebody will be around," I was told.

About 8:30 p.m., my son went off to radiology, and minus his parents, did quite well.

"You should know within the hour of the doctor's decision," the nurse told us at 8:45 when my son returned.

"Doctor's decision?" I thought we were supposed to be kept informed, shown some x-rays, and the like for a collaborative discussion. Apparently not at Community North.

An hour later, my son has fallen asleep, fitfully stirring. Nothing from the "doctor's decision."

Meanwhile, my wife keeps asking: "Can we just pull him out? Can we just go to St. Vincent's? What if there is a possibility of a perforated appendix?"

Shortly before 10 p.m., now some seven-plus hours later, the doc comes in. "He's fine. There's nothing wrong with his appendix. You can take him home. Just make sure he sees his primary care physician in the next day or so."

No apology for losing critical patient records. No explanation why it took so long when we were led to believe that this was a crisis situation. No nothing. Just: "You can take him home."

Of course we were grateful and relieved to know that our son was okay and didn't need an operation. The Community doc and nurses were never brusque or rude. Evasive perhaps, but not rude. They just left us sit for hours in what we were led to believe was an emergency.

As a long-time marketer with more than a fair amount of hospital and vertical practice work, it seems incongruous that Community Health Networks can focus on "Creating exceptional patient and family experiences" as touted on their Web site (see above) when events like Sunday occur.

It was indeed an "exceptional experience."

It was so "exceptional" that St. Vincent's is guaranteed to get all my healthcare business in the future.

The lesson? In healthcare, possibly more so than any other profession, the brand must deliver. Remembering the all-important maxim that "a brand is a promise," I think it would be safe to say that Community North's brand got a little brusied Sunday night.

I just wonder how much this "exceptional experience" is going to cost me, even though we have Anthem insurance...