Visiting hours are 9 to 9, which seems quite generous. The other rule, however, is not.  Only two visitors at a time.    Despite the three-person couch and other chairs and the spacious room.  So, my saintly 83-year-old mother, who has gone to the hospital for eight days straight, must leave her sick husband’s side for two neighbors, or two siblings, or two children, or two grandchildren to visit.  Or Mom stays in the room and only one other visitor is permitted.  I had seen the rule on signs in the elevator, nursing station, and the patient room doors.  But since none of the staff had troubled us over three visitors, or four, for five consecutive days, and since we are quiet, peaceful, clean, and helpful people, I thought perhaps the hospital did not mind so much.  Not so.  On day six Big Meanie nurse instructed all but two family members to leave.  It’s IMC’s rule.  I did not argue or accuse or abuse, but I did inquire, in an effort to understand, and to explore flexibility.  Did it make a difference that I am Dad’s attorney in fact and have his advanced directive in my briefcase?  I’m sorry, but no.  Did it change things if I am the authorized physician contact for when the doctors stop by to explain their diagnostic and treatment efforts?  No.  What about the fact that we are all Covid-19 vaccinated and boosted?  No.  Did it make a difference if immediate family were gathered bedside to perform my Church’s religious ceremony of invoking the power of faith and pronouncing a blessing of health and healing on the sick?  No, and that isn’t the case here anyway.  Well, it was the case when Dad’s three siblings and their spouses, and my brother and sister and me, gathered around him to give him such a blessing.  A beautiful thing for loving, spiritual family to do, perhaps the last opportunity to do such a thing for Dad, to offer this expression of faith and hope and love, and perhaps of good-bye.  Did you know that we have been very helpful to the nursing and therapy staff, adjusting the bed angle and height, feeding Dad, sponging him off, helping slide him head-ward when he had slipped down the sloping mattress, brushing his teeth, shaving his chin, helping him stand, pivot, transfer, use the toilet, take a seated shower, stand, pivot, transfer back to the bed?  For all her strength and grace and experience, Heather could not have done it all without us, and thanked us for our contribution and learned expertise.  So, I left Dad’s room and walked down the hall to sit uselessly on a cracked and stained sofa, where I could not help or comfort or observe.  I felt angry at the rule, and thought it inhumane—a bureaucratic pronouncement out of context.  (I learned later that the two-visitor limitation was not IMC policy, which was, instead: Maximum number of visitors at the bedside is determined at the discretion of the care team.  Discretion was allowed, after all.)  I felt angry at Big Meanie nurse who enforced the rule so militantly.  And after two days she went off shift and the familiar smiling nursing staff welcomed us all back to be helpful and complimentary and appreciative.  To be present.  For our father.  For each other.

(Photo from intermountainhealthcare.org, use pursuant to the fair use doctrine.)