Woodlen vs. Crouse Hospital


I would like to take this opportunity to publicly inform Crouse Hospital that I intend to bring the rains of hell down on them for their mistreatment of me.

I have been going through withdrawal from an opiate drug PRESCRIBED BY CROUSE HOSPITALISTS for three days and no doctor has seen me. I have been unable to eat, drink or sleep much. I have had more than a dozen bowel movements and now have continuous diarrhea. I also have two bad kidney diseases and am dehydrated. I have made multiple requests to be seen by a doctor but none has come.

The most recent word from the hospitalist is that he will make an “honest” effort to see me sometime today. Presumably any previous efforts have been dishonest.

I have spent five hours today trying to get help. If I lived in the community, I could have gone into the ER, gotten basic blood work, and been treated and out of here by now. BECAUSE I AM AN INPATIENT AT CROUSE HOSPITAL, I cannot see a doctor. Three days. Three days I’ve been asking for help.

I now am told that Dr. Ashar (?), a hospitalist whom I have never seen, is the only available doctor. When I asked who is over him, I’m told nobody else is here. When I asked who is running the hospital, the charge nurse didn’t know.

With multiple kidney damage, as well as other major medical problems, I am three days into opiate withdrawal with NO MEDICAL ATTENTION. If anyone out there knows anyone, or knows who or where or how to get proper medical attention for me, please rise up and speak.

Thank you, Anne

About annecwoodlen

I am a tenth generation American, descended from a family that has been working a farm that was deeded to us by William Penn. The country has changed around us but we have held true. I stand in my grandmother’s kitchen, look down the valley to her brother’s farm and see my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother Hannah standing on the porch. She is holding the baby, surrounded by four other children, and saying goodbye to her husband and oldest son who are going off to fight in the Revolutionary War. The war is twenty miles away and her husband will die fighting. We are not the Daughters of the American Revolution; we were its mothers. My father, Milton C. Woodlen, got his doctorate from Temple University in the 1940’s when—in his words—“a doctorate still meant something.” He became an education professor at West Chester State Teachers College, where my mother, Elizabeth Hope Copeland, had graduated. My mother raised four girls and one boy, of which I am the middle child. My parents are deceased and my siblings are estranged. My fiancé, Robert H. Dobrow, was a fighter pilot in the Marine Corps. In 1974, his plane crashed, his parachute did not open, and we buried him in a cemetery on Long Island. I could say a great deal about him, or nothing; there is no middle ground. I have loved other men; Bob was my soul mate. The single greatest determinate of who I am and what my life has been is that I inherited my father’s gene for bipolar disorder, type II. Associated with all bipolar disorders is executive dysfunction, a learning disability that interferes with the ability to sort and organize. Despite an I.Q. of 139, I failed twelve subjects and got expelled from high school and prep school. I attended Syracuse University and Onondaga Community College and got an associate’s degree after twenty-five years. I am nothing if not tenacious. Gifted with intelligence, constrained by disability, and compromised by depression, my employment was limited to entry level jobs. Being female in the 1960’s meant that I did office work—billing at the university library, calling out telegrams at Western Union, and filing papers at a law firm. During one decade, I worked at about a hundred different places as a temporary secretary. I worked for hospitals, banks, manufacturers and others, including the county government. I quit the District Attorney’s Office to manage a gas station; it was more honest work. After Bob’s death, I started taking antidepressants. Following doctor’s orders, I took them every day for twenty-six years. During that time, I attempted%2
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2 Responses to Woodlen vs. Crouse Hospital

  1. Sally fields says:

    You contradict yourself too often. One moment you say your only diagnosis is depression and other places you list a bunch of shit like chronic fatigue. Maybe you should stop being a lazy fuck and have the Foley catheter removed….use a toilet like a normal fuckin human. If you are so unhappy at Crouse hospital then leave you stupid woman and go somewhere else. You obviously do have some of these other psych issues. And you probably get treated rudely by stuff bc you are a crazy ass rude lazy slop A waste of space. You sound so awful I would have given u a pitcher of piss to drink.

    • annecwoodlen says:

      To my friends and supporters, those people with the brains and compassion to understand what I am going through: I am posting this nasty little diatribe from “Sally fields” just to let you know what I deal with all the time. I have long debates with myself about whether to delete all the comments like this because they are so ugly and ignorant, or to post them because they are, alas, a common occurrence: it is the nature of the human. I guess I do some of both–posting and deleting.

      To “Sally fields”: You are not a nice person. In what way is your life improved by attacking me? Does it make you feel good to attack others? Why do you judge? Even Jesus said he didn’t come here to judge, yet you do. Perhaps you think you are better than Christ?

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