30 Years as a Nurse, 2 Weeks as a Patient

I’ve started writing this post more times than I can count over the past several days.

Every time, I’ve stopped because I honestly didn’t know how to put everything I’m feeling into words.

Angry? Absolutely.

Frustrated? Beyond belief.

Disappointed? That’s an understatement.

Heartbroken? More than I ever expected.

But tonight, I’m going to get this off my chest.

And fair warning, there will probably be some colorful language involved. Anyone who knows me shouldn’t be particularly surprised by that.

I’ve been a nurse for more than 30 years. I’ve worked emergency rooms, trauma, and hospital leadership. I’ve seen some of the very best and some of the absolute worst that healthcare has to offer.

I’ve worked ridiculous hours, missed holidays, skipped meals, gone home physically and emotionally exhausted, and spent countless nights worrying about patients long after my shift was over.

I’ve advocated for people who couldn’t advocate for themselves. I’ve held hands, wiped tears, comforted families, and fought to make sure patients received the care they deserved.

And despite everything, I’ve always loved being a nurse.

But these past two weeks have changed something in me.

Because for the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t the nurse.

I WAS THE PATIENT.

On October 15, 2026, I underwent an extensive anterior/posterior L4–S1 spinal fusion.

This was not some minor outpatient procedure. This was major surgery involving both anterior and posterior surgical approaches, followed by five days in the hospital and a long, painful recovery.

I knew going into this that it wasn’t going to be easy.

I expected pain. I expected limitations. I expected a lengthy recovery.

What I DIDN’T expect was having to fight so damn hard just to get the basic care, information, and services I needed.

And quite frankly, I’m exhausted.

Not just physically.

Emotionally.

I’m tired of being frustrated. I’m tired of making phone calls. I’m tired of trying to figure out who dropped the ball and how to get things corrected.

And I’m really, REALLY tired of crying over something that should never have been this difficult in the first place.

So here goes.

OUR HEALTHCARE SYSTEM HAS BECOME AN ABSOLUTE SHITSHOW.

And calling it a dumpster fire would honestly be an insult to dumpsters everywhere.

Let’s start with my discharge from the hospital.

I had just undergone an extensive spinal fusion. Multiple surgical incisions. Significant postoperative pain. A recovery requiring precautions, assistance, and rehabilitation.

You would THINK that sending someone home after a surgery of that magnitude would involve some fairly comprehensive discharge instructions.

You know, little things like:

What are my activity restrictions?

What am I allowed to do?

What am I NOT allowed to do?

When should my surgical dressings be changed?

How am I supposed to care for my incisions?

What precautions should I be taking to protect my surgical repair?

Apparently, those details weren’t important enough to make it into my discharge paperwork.

NOT. ONE. DAMN. WORD.

But wait! There’s more!

My discharge medication list included several medications that I DON’T EVEN TAKE.

Seriously? Medication reconciliation is one of the most basic patient safety responsibilities in healthcare.

It’s not optional. It’s not something you just guess at. And it’s certainly not supposed to be a list of medications that may or may not have anything to do with the person being discharged.

Yet here we are.

And then there’s home health.

Oh, this one is particularly special.

I was supposed to receive home health services, including physical therapy, following my discharge.

Here I am, nearly two weeks after surgery, and I have received exactly ZERO home health visits and ZERO physical therapy.

Apparently, somewhere along the way, the arrangements weren’t handled correctly.

Or perhaps they weren’t made at all.

At this point, I honestly don’t know.

What I DO know is that I am sitting at home recovering from major spinal surgery without the services I was expecting to receive.

And somehow, it has become MY responsibility to make phone calls, track down information, figure out what happened, and try to get everything straightened out.

EXCUSE ME?

Since when did the patient become the discharge planner, case manager, referral coordinator, and quality assurance department?

Was that included in my discharge instructions?

Oh, wait. I barely received any of those.

My mistake.

And while I’m on a roll, can we PLEASE talk about the absolutely ASTRONOMICAL cost of this shit?

Because apparently, receiving healthcare in this country now requires either winning the lottery, selling a kidney, or taking out a second mortgage.

My surgery alone was billed at OVER $250,000.

Let that sink in for a minute.

A QUARTER OF A MILLION DOLLARS.

And guess what?

That doesn’t even include the surgeons, anesthesia, or any of the other ancillary services involved in my care. Those are separate charges.

Because apparently, a quarter of a million dollars is just the opening act.

And here’s my personal favorite.

IF YOU CAN’T PAY YOUR PORTION UP FRONT, YOU MAY NOT EVEN GET THE SURGERY YOU DESPERATELY NEED.

Never mind that you have health insurance.

Never mind that you’ve worked your entire adult life.

Never mind that you’ve spent more than 30 years taking care of other people.

Apparently, none of that matters if you can’t come up with the money before someone wheels you into the operating room.

And before anyone assumes that being a nurse means I have some magical insurance policy that covers everything, let me assure you, IT DOES NOT.

I pay for my health insurance, just like millions of other working Americans.

And I still have deductibles, coinsurance, and out-of-pocket expenses.

So what did I have to do?

I USED MY ENTIRE LAST PAYCHECK TO PAY MY PORTION OF THE SURGERY.

Every. Single. Penny.

Which meant not ONE of our household bills got paid.

Not one.

Because apparently, I had to choose between paying my bills and getting the surgery I needed.

And now, while I’m trying to recover from major spinal surgery, I’m also worrying about how we’re going to catch up financially.

As if the physical pain, emotional exhaustion, and complete lack of coordinated postoperative care weren’t enough.

And here’s what really gets me.

We’re talking about a healthcare system that can generate hundreds of thousands of dollars in charges for a single surgery, yet somehow can’t manage to provide accurate discharge instructions, reconcile a medication list correctly, or coordinate home health services.

OVER $250,000 IN SURGICAL CHARGES, AND WE CAN’T EVEN GET THE BASICS RIGHT?

Are you KIDDING me?

For that kind of money, I’d at least expect somebody to know what medications I actually take and make sure the services I need after discharge are arranged.

Apparently, that’s asking entirely too much.

And before someone tells me that healthcare is expensive because it’s complicated, believe me, I KNOW.

I’ve worked in this industry for more than three decades.

I understand the technology, staffing, specialized equipment, medications, and expertise involved.

I’m not suggesting that healthcare should be free or that the professionals providing it shouldn’t be compensated.

I’m asking a much simpler question.

HOW IN THE HELL DID WE GET TO A POINT WHERE PEOPLE CAN HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE, WORK FULL TIME, AND STILL BE FINANCIALLY DEVASTATED BY GETTING SICK?

When did that become acceptable?

When did we decide that people should have to drain their bank accounts just to receive medically necessary care?

And when did we become so comfortable with a system that can demand thousands of dollars before treatment but apparently can’t guarantee that basic discharge planning is completed correctly?

I didn’t choose to need spinal surgery.

I didn’t choose to be unable to work during my recovery.

And I certainly didn’t choose to spend my entire paycheck on medical expenses instead of paying our household bills.

But here we are.

And I’m one of the fortunate ones.

I have a career. I have insurance. I have medical knowledge. I have family supporting me.

What about the people who don’t? What happens to them?

BEING SICK SHOULD NOT MEAN GOING BROKE.

And paying an astronomical amount of money for healthcare should not leave patients fighting for the most basic elements of safe, coordinated care.

And that brings me to the bigger problem.

When did we become so comfortable accepting mediocrity in healthcare?

Patient care? Apparently optional.

Housekeeping? Since when did a clean hospital room become a luxury accommodation?

Communication? I’m seriously considering investing in carrier pigeons.

Collaboration? Wonderful concept. Apparently no longer in practice.

Teamwork? Must have been eliminated during the latest round of budget cuts.

Accountability? Missing in action.

Common sense? On indefinite backorder.

And urgency?

GOOD LORD.

Don’t even get me started.

After decades in emergency and trauma nursing, I understand better than most that not everything is an emergency.

But there’s a HUGE difference between something not being an emergency and something not being important.

And somewhere along the way, we’ve apparently forgotten that.

PATIENTS ARE NOT AN INCONVENIENCE.

They’re not room numbers.

They’re not charting requirements.

They’re not discharge statistics.

They’re not interruptions to someone’s shift.

They’re human beings.

Someone’s mother. Someone’s father. Someone’s husband or wife. Someone’s entire world.

They’re hurting. They’re frightened. They’re vulnerable.

And they’re trusting us to take care of them.

That trust should mean something.

And can we PLEASE stop acting like doing the bare minimum deserves a standing ovation?

You answered a call light?

Congratulations.

You followed through on something you were responsible for?

Outstanding.

You communicated important information to the next person involved in a patient’s care?

Somebody get this person a trophy.

Seriously.

THE BARE MINIMUM SHOULD NOT BE CONSIDERED EXCEPTIONAL HEALTHCARE.

And don’t even get me started on the complete lack of accountability.

I’ve spent YEARS watching the same pattern repeat itself.

The people who genuinely care are expected to carry everyone else.

They’re the ones answering the call lights, catching the mistakes, cleaning up the messes, advocating for patients, and doing whatever needs to be done.

Meanwhile, others have apparently mastered the art of looking incredibly busy while accomplishing absolutely nothing.

And somehow we’re supposed to call that teamwork.

I’m sorry, but three people busting their asses while everyone else plays hot potato with responsibility is NOT a team.

It’s a recipe for burnout.

And I’ve watched far too many excellent healthcare professionals burn out because of it.

Now, before somebody gets their panties in a wad, let me make something VERY clear.

There are absolutely PHENOMENAL people working in healthcare.

Nurses, physicians, nursing assistants, therapists, respiratory therapists, housekeepers, and countless others who show up every single day and give everything they have.

I’ve had the privilege of working alongside many of them.

And despite the problems I’ve experienced these past two weeks, there have also been some genuinely wonderful people who have shown me kindness, compassion, and excellent care.

I am incredibly grateful for them.

THEY ARE NOT THE PROBLEM.

In fact, they’re often the only reason this completely dysfunctional system manages to function at all.

But here’s something we need to understand.

Being grateful for the good people doesn’t mean we have to remain silent about everything that’s wrong.

And loving healthcare doesn’t mean blindly defending it.

I’ve dedicated more than 30 years of my life to this profession.

I KNOW how difficult it is.

I understand staffing shortages, impossible workloads, competing priorities, and the ridiculous demands placed on healthcare workers.

I’ve lived it.

But those challenges cannot become a blanket excuse for every failure.

There is a difference between being overwhelmed and simply not giving a damn.

There is a difference between making an honest mistake and repeatedly failing to take responsibility.

And there is a difference between a system struggling under pressure and a system that has become comfortable accepting unacceptable standards.

PATIENTS DESERVE BETTER.

And here’s the part that’s been the hardest for me personally.

For more than 30 years, I’ve been the person standing beside the hospital bed.

I’ve been the one reassuring frightened patients.

I’ve been the one explaining procedures, reviewing instructions, answering questions, and making sure people understood what was happening.

I’ve been the one telling families, “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of them.”

And I meant it.

Every single time.

But now I’m the one in the bed.

I’m the one hurting.

I’m the one frightened about whether I’m doing the right things during my recovery.

I’m the one wondering why my discharge instructions were so incomplete.

I’m the one trying to figure out why my medication list was wrong.

I’m the one waiting for home health and physical therapy that still haven’t materialized.

I’m the one worrying about how we’re going to pay our bills after spending my entire paycheck just to have the surgery.

And I’m the one sitting here crying because I’m physically exhausted, emotionally drained, and completely overwhelmed by everything that’s happened.

And you know what?

I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO BE MY OWN DAMN NURSE RIGHT NOW.

For once, I just wanted to be the patient.

I wanted to trust that the people responsible for my care would do what needed to be done.

I wanted to come home, rest, follow my instructions, work with my therapists, and concentrate on getting better.

I didn’t want to spend my recovery making phone calls, correcting paperwork, chasing referrals, and worrying about whether something important had been overlooked.

I just wanted to heal.

That’s it.

That’s all.

And I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

What breaks my heart is knowing that I’m not the only person experiencing this.

This happens to patients and families every single day.

People who don’t know what questions to ask.

People who don’t know when something is wrong.

People who don’t have the energy, resources, or knowledge to fight for themselves.

And that absolutely infuriates me.

Because healthcare should NEVER be something you have to fight to receive.

So here’s my message to anyone working in healthcare.

DO. YOUR. DAMN. JOB.

Take pride in what you do.

Communicate.

Follow through.

Take responsibility.

Help your coworkers.

And for the love of God, remember that the person lying in that hospital bed is somebody’s entire world.

Treat them the way you would want someone to treat YOUR family.

Because someday, that person in the bed might be you.

Trust me.

It changes your perspective.

I still love nursing.

I still believe it’s one of the most honorable professions in the world.

And I still believe there are extraordinary people doing extraordinary things in healthcare every single day.

But after more than 30 years, I think I’ve earned the right to call bullshit when I see it.

And right now?

I’m seeing a whole lot of bullshit.

Our patients deserve better.

Their families deserve better.

And the healthcare professionals who still genuinely care deserve a HELL of a lot better.

I’m not writing this because I want sympathy.

I’m not writing this to attack every healthcare worker or pretend that I have all the answers.

I’m writing this because I’m angry.

I’m disappointed.

I’m exhausted.

And quite honestly, I’m heartbroken.

Because the healthcare system I’ve devoted most of my life to is the very system that has left me feeling so incredibly let down.

Thirty-plus years as a nurse.

Two weeks as a patient.

And a perspective I never wanted, but one I’ll never forget.

At the end of the day, healthcare isn’t about patient satisfaction scores, productivity reports, staffing grids, insurance reimbursements, or checking boxes on a computer screen.

It’s about PEOPLE.

Real people.

With real fears.

Real pain.

Real families.

Real financial struggles.

And real lives.

WE HAVE GOT TO DO BETTER.

Because the bare minimum should NEVER feel like asking for too much.

And nobody, absolutely NOBODY, should have to fight this hard just to be cared for.

For more than 30 years, I’ve given my heart to healthcare.

For once, I just needed healthcare to give a little of that heart back to me.

And I never imagined that would be so much to ask.

~ Lisa Johnson

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