Mother Forced to Sleep Under Her Sick Child’s Bed – This Is the Situation at a Hospital in Jelenia Góra

Below we present the letter addressed by Gniewko Oblicki to the Minister of Health, Konstanty Radziwiłł:

Minister Konstanty Radziwiłł, please explain a few things to me, because I just don’t understand… Please tell me why, in the 21st century and in a country located in the very center of Europe, my wife—the mother of two children, and at the same time a woman who pays THOUSANDS OF HARD-EARNED ZLOTYS into this state’s coffers every month in various taxes and fees—had to watch over her sick 1.5-YEAR-OLD SON, who required urgent hospital treatment, in conditions like those shown in the attached picture? Could you also tell me why my 1.5-year-old son, who required a neurological consultation after being admitted to the Pediatric Ward in Jelenia Góra (because there is no pediatric neurology department here…), had to wait A FULL DAY for a neurologist’s examination, because the ONLY active pediatric neurologist in the city was probably busy at that time treating children in the pediatric emergency department, which had been set up provisionally in THE SAME WARD?? Could you also tell me why, in a county-level city such as Jelenia Góra, in the Pediatric Ward, in a place where there should be a children’s playroom, there is currently a storage area for beds and mattresses from the Admissions Room, which was temporarily moved there—and why the children staying in the ward have thereby been deprived of the last remaining piece of space that would allow them, even for a moment, to get away from their beds and enjoy playing together? Besides… it is not even particularly advisable for them to leave their rooms, because the people seeking help at the emergency department operating in the same place bring so many viruses and bacteria into the ward every minute that it would probably be enough to knock down a HORSE, let alone a small sick child…

During the two days spent in this hospital, the so-called “health service” run by you put us through so much that when we were finally transferred to a properly equipped children’s hospital 100 km away, my wife nearly burst into tears at the sight of smiling staff, colorful surroundings and new rooms adapted for small children.

You and your entire governing team like to boast about how you keep introducing more “pro-family” programs. Meanwhile, reality in smaller towns looks like the picture attached. Sometimes I think politicians like you should be put on buses, driven to smaller towns and made to spend at least three days lying in a hospital there, so that you could understand what a MESS YOU HAVE THERE!!! But first your phones would have to be taken away, so that you wouldn’t happen to call your fellow chief physicians, who, knowing your kind, keep the best places in their wards reserved for you…

Warmest UN-GREETINGS!

The situation at the hospital in Jelenia Góra was also described by the child’s mother:

My husband has already written a few words on this subject, but here is something from me as well. This matter is very personal to us, but at the same time so common and painful that I could not refrain from writing about it publicly. Thank you for the support we have been receiving. The little one is feeling well; we still have the entire diagnostic process ahead of us, but everything is under control.

“So, we’ll be on our way now. Don’t worry, ma’am, everything will be fine,” one of the paramedics transporting us to the hospital in Wrocław says as he leaves. 100 km, a little over an hour, and I feel as though I have landed on another planet. After a few minutes, a kind female doctor comes to us and takes our medical history; another leads us to the first floor, until we reach the pediatric neurology ward. I walk as if in a trance, trying to remember as much information as possible, but I focus most of all on not bursting into tears.

Space, empathy, smiles, calm. As we pass the children’s playroom, I turn to my husband and see that we both have tears in our eyes. Oh, and I’ll get a bed. It is folded away during the day and comes at a cost, but all I have to do is go back a few hours and I feel like hugging the woman out of gratitude. I repeat to myself: finally, someone is going to help us.

Two days earlier, in my beloved Jelenia Góra, a county-level city whose decline I had failed to notice—or perhaps I simply did not care—it was completely different.

The clinic, a decision to provide hospital treatment, the emergency department, then upstairs, because the pediatric emergency department had temporarily been set up in the corridor. Yes, in the corridor of the pediatric ward. The line for the single elevator winds along the corridor, so we take the stairs; suddenly, the stench of cigarettes hits us. Sixth floor, pediatric ward. This is it. We know nothing. What I remember most from that day is how incredibly hard I had to hold my son while they inserted an IV cannula. I squeeze my way in with a sleeping mat between the crib and the radiator and spend a broken night there. The next day brings even more uncertainty and irritation. You must not ask questions; you have to wait. He is conscious, so it is not urgent. I feel awful and do not have the strength to make a fuss. The woman in the neighboring bed does not complain either: “I don’t want to make the situation worse.” On the second day, I try to entertain my one-and-a-half-year-old child in the space between another bed and the radiator. The makeshift play corner has been converted into a storage room, and it is better not to go into the corridor because that is where the emergency department is, along with its entire range of viruses. Eventually, a decision is made to transfer us, because in my beloved city there is neither the equipment nor the staff to perform basic neurological tests. Just one more night on the sleeping mat.

I felt furious, helpless, and finally simply terribly sad. The kind of terrible sadness that takes away your strength and your faith that things will get better. My own sadness, the sadness of other parents sleeping under their sick children’s beds, but also the sadness of the staff, who sometimes genuinely wanted to do the right thing, but whom the system had burdened with too much.

We are currently receiving good care, although far from home. We appreciate it greatly, but the sadness still pierces our hearts. Are these European standards? Does this entire pro-family policy have the face of a mother sleeping on a hospital floor?