On Sunday, May 19, 2024, at about 8:54 p.m., I got a call that my brother, Cleon Rodgers, was involved in an accident while riding his bicycle. He was taken to Falmouth Hospital by the police who were passing by. Because I knew he didn’t own a cell phone, I called the hospital to inquire if he was there. They said no. Around 11:23 p.m., Falmouth Hospital called, informing me that my brother had arrived. He had not been admitted, but his injuries were dressed, and he was being released. They recommended that he be collected since he had had a head injury. I was unable to comply at that time of the night, so I asked if he could remain till morning, and they agreed. I was so relieved and thought to myself that since he was attended to and released so quickly, his injuries could not have been serious.
In the morning, I called the Falmouth Hospital to let them know I’d be coming for my brother. I was a bit surprised to hear them say that a doctor had requested an X-ray to be done, as a few hours prior, they had informed me that he was released and ready for pickup. My brother’s head and both shoulders were bandaged when I arrived. Together, we waited for the X-ray, and I eventually left to purchase a cell phone for him in Falmouth. By the time I returned, they told me that he had been released, but where was he?
Eventually, I located him by the pharmacy. I returned inside the hospital to inquire about the results of the X-ray, but the doctor was not present and no one else could assist. I asked if I could take my brother home with me, to which they responded yes, since he had already been released anyway. He had been given a referral letter, which would allow him to receive treatment at any clinic, and his next check-up date was Wednesday, May 22.
My brother struggled to keep down the little food he ate that evening at home.
WHAT THE BANDAGES REVEALED WAS SHOCKING
At the Type 5 clinic in Montego Bay on Wednesday, I was greatly shocked when I saw the extent of my brother’s injuries beneath the bandages. His head wounds were most severe and required stitches. He was attended to and given another referral letter to take to the clinic located closer to my home. As we waited to fill the prescription, Cleon complained of neck pain, so I bought him a neck collar.
Friday morning, May 24, saw us attending the clinic closest to me to get his injuries re-dressed. But by the next day, things began unravelling rapidly. On Saturday morning, at about 9:30 a.m., while preparing his breakfast, I heard a loud noise. When I checked, I found my brother on the g
round, seemingly with a stroke. The left side of his mouth was drooping, his speech was slurred, and he was unable to use his left arm and leg.
A STROKE AT CORNWALL REGIONAL
I rushed with him that Saturday morning to the Cornwall Regional Hospital, and all the while, he was vomiting some yellow, watery substance. In the emergency section, I alerted the personnel that my brother might be having a stroke. A porter came over, looked at my brother, and then disappeared into the hospital, speechless. Someone explained that there were no wheelchairs available, so he had gone searching for one. Minutes later, he arrived with a wheelchair and took my brother to the trauma area, where I informed the people at the desk of what had happened to my brother. Some time after, a lady, who I later learned was a doctor, came over to us and began questioning me about what had happened.
DELAY IN DOING THE CT SCAN, AND ASTUPID RE-ENTRY RULE
She said she suspected that he had had a stroke but would need to do a CT scan to confirm. This, I thought, would be done quickly, but we waited and waited, but no one came to do the test. While the minutes passed, my brother began jerking his arms and legs uncontrollably and brought up more of the yellow substances. I asked the doctor for help, but she responded that his condition showed that something was wrong with his brain, and he could not be given any medication until he was seen by the team of doctors. Though he was now struggling to talk, he asked me for food. When I asked the doctor to assist, she replied that he would need to be fed through the nose, which couldn’t be done until he was seen by the team of doctors. Cleon had now started hitting his left leg with his right hand and would not stop.
I went outside for a while but was refused re-entry by the security guard, despite my explaining the situation to him. He said I could only re-enter at 6 p.m., the next visiting hour, so I waited. Hours later, I returned inside, astonished to find my brother in the same spot where I had left him. Still in the wheelchair, he had not been seen by the team of doctors. He had wet himself, and started drooling profusely from his mouth.
THE MINUTES AND MY BROTHER WERE RAPIDLY PASSING
I cried as I watched my brother deteriorate with each passing minute. And yet, what shook me the most was how it seemed only I could see the urgency of the situation. I felt helpless and hopeless. Cleon continued to shake, his head bowed, and he no longer spoke. And even then, no one came to help him. No one seemed to care.
I looked around in despair at the equally horrific conditions. There were so many patients in that small, makeshift emergency room. Shortage of beds, equipment, doctors, and nurses—maybe this could explain the shortage of care. The hospital itself was sick!
With nothing more that I could do, I left at the end of the visiting hour, clutching onto some hope that surely things would be better tomorrow.
STILL IN HIS WHEELCHAIR THE NEXT DAY
Disappointment. Upon arrival the following day (Sunday, May 26), for the 6 p.m. visiting hour, to my shock and horror, my brother was still in the wheelchair. His clothes and head bandages had been removed, and he was now wearing a blue disposable gown, a diaper, and a bag of clear drip was on his lap. I bec
ame more distraught as I called his name, “Cleon…Cleon…Cleon!” Though he did not respond, I thanked God, for he was still breathing!
I went over to the desk to find out if the CT scan had been done. A foreign doctor responded affirmatively but could not divulge the results as they were on a disc. He said that I would have to return in the morning around 8 a.m. for the results from another doctor. I asked if the results could not be prepared and placed on his file, so any doctor could read them. He didn’t respond. When I pointed out that the bandage on my brother’s head had not been replaced, he re-dressed the wound.
My brother remained unresponsive.
USED MY BROTHER’S FOOT TO OPEN THE DOOR
Some minutes later, they informed me that a bed was now available and Cleon would be moved to Trauma 1. A porter was called to assist in taking him there. When he came, he began shaking my brother to wake up, and I told him to be gentle because he had had a stroke. Ignoring my caution, he wheeled Cleon to the door and used my brother’s foot to push it open.
No sooner had we gotten to the bed in Trauma 1, than my brother started to vomit some brown substance, so they returned him to the Trauma area. Again, the porter used Cleon’s foot to push open the door.
I KNEW WHAT THE DOCTOR WAS GOING TO SAY
Finally, some time after 7 p.m. on Sunday, May 26, my motionless brother was moved from the wheelchair to a bed. I thought to myself that maybe he was sleeping deeply, tired from the stroke and from being in the wheelchair for so many hours.
Since the visiting hour was up, I left the hospital but planned to return in the morning for the CT scan results. However, at around 11:30 p.m. that night, I got a call to return. When I arrived, a doctor told me that the CT scan showed that Cleon had had a lot of bleeding in his brain, which probably caused the stroke.
I tried to brace myself because I knew what he was going to say next. My brother…Cleon …had passed away.
The matter is now being investigated by the Western Regional Health Authority.
See more from Lisa Dillon on pg 29. _______________________
Lisa Dillon is pastor of a church in Montego Bay, Jamaica