Anne C Woodlen, Crouse Hospital, Rm. 5008, 736 Irving Ave., Syracuse, NY 13210. Email

Complaint against Crouse Hospital, 736 Irving Ave., Syracuse NY 13210.

I have been kept in an isolation room at Crouse Hospital for 93 days in retaliation for exercising my right to freedom of speech. I have been misdiagnosed, denied available appropriate treatment, and denied access to appropriate medical specialists.

1. On Tuesday, 12/10, I spoke with Ann in IPRO Beneficiary Complaints. She considered my circumstances to be so problematic that she sent me the complaint form by overnight express mail. Crouse Hospital received it, opened it, and left it for social worker Karen Mauro who is on vacation for a week. Crouse is willfully and knowingly blocking my attempt to seek relief from IPRO.

2. I have been kept in an isolation room at Crouse Hospital for 93 days in retaliation for exercising my right to freedom of speech.
On my first admission to Crouse in May(?) 2013, I wrote something in my blog and said something to another patient that Crouse didn’t like. They never came and spoke to me about it. They just put a mark against my name and forced me into a room designed for isolation. They will not tell me what I said; they will not let me question those who gave testimony against me.

CMO Dr. Ronald Stahl has set himself up as the absolute judge. He says this isolation room is “medically appropriate.” Crouse cares not one bit for my psychological well-being. I am depressed and in agony, and there is no appeal process. I told the truth, and for that I am punitively restricted.

They will tell you that I am not in isolation, that I am free to come and go. Fact: the room was architecturally designed for isolation. Fact: I have chronic fatigue immune deficiency syndrome; I am too tired to get out of bed. Fact: I also am too depressed to get out of bed.


3. I have been misdiagnosed.
They said I had uncontrolled diabetes mellitus, put me on oxycodone and sent me to die in Palliative Care at the Iroquois Nursing Home, of which Crouse is the co-owner. The conditions on the palliative care unit were substandard. On Sept. 11, I was sent back to Crouse and put on ALC (Alternate Level of Care), where I am only seen by a physician once a week.

On Nov. 11, I received information that made me aware that my primary diagnosis is CFIDS (chronic fatigue immune deficiency syndrome, a/k/a myalgic encephalomyelitis) (see attached). It was on my list of diagnoses but nobody was paying attention to it (see other attached). For a month and a half I have been begging to get off ALC and get treated.

I have queried Dr. Mikhael, Dr. Erik, Nurse Manager Laurie Fegley, social worker Karen Mauro, Director Barbara Drapola of Care Coordination, and others as to how I can get off ALC and be treated and nobody will answer me.

4. I have been denied available appropriate treatment.

The immune aspect of CFIDS has made it impossible for me to tolerate pharmaceuticals since 2001.

Believing I was dying, I took oxycodone every four hours. On Thanksgiving, my immune system rejected it. I went through cold turkey drug withdrawal; no physician saw me, despite major medical illnesses (kidney disease, etc.).

Previously, when I lived in the community, I treated with acupuncture, chiropractic, massage therapy, hypnotherapy and psychotherapy. Despite a month and a half of pleading, Crouse has failed to provide any appropriate treatment.
Dr. Mikhael consulted my private physician who recommended acupuncture 3-4 times a week. Dr. Scott Treatman, who is an accomplished acupuncturist and director of Employee Health at Crouse, has refused to do it. In 93 days he only has provided two acupuncture treatments. He only treats the staff.
Employee Health also has two part-time massage therapists. Crouse Hospital has a $366 million budget and they can’t figure out where in the budget to put $90 for treatment for me.
My own massage therapist and psychologist have been trying to get in to help me but Crouse Hospital won’t let them. Crouse has faxed them 60 pages of papers to fill out for credentialing, plus physical exam, blood work, TB test, etc.
When I needed a root canal at another hospital, a different psychologist was fast-tracked through credentialing to provide hypnotherapy for anesthesia. He was not being credentialed to treat random strangers in the hospital; he was being fast-tracked to follow his own patient.

I am being denied treatment because I have a rare disease and Crouse Hospital is utterly unable to adapt the usual to accommodate the unusual. A month and a half of suffering and Crouse provides no treatment.

5. I have been denied access to appropriate medical specialists.
No physician at Crouse Hospital ever has diagnosed or treated CFIDS/myalgic encephalomyelitis. One block away, through a closed tunnel, is SUNY Upstate Medical Center, which has a rheumatologist who treats CFIDS; three neurologists who specialize in neuroimmune diseases, and the only immunologist in Central New York. Crouse has utterly failed to bring me together with these physicians, despite six weeks of pleading.
In the past year, I have had six episodes of neurological shutdown in which I am conscious and can hear but cannot speak, open my eyes or move for about two hours. The two most recent episodes were Thanksgiving weekend. Crouse’s hospitalist, Dr. Azar, has refused my request for a neuro consult.
Entirely through my own initiative, I have gotten an appointment and transportation to Upstate’s outpatient facility next week for an appointment with Dr. Perl, the immunologist. Crouse won’t send a nurse with me.

As a result of Crouse’s grievous mistreatment of me, I am terribly depressed, cannot sleep and cry all the time. Please, please, please help me.

Anne C Woodlen

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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