THE CARNEY HOSPITAL AND THE ROLE OF HOSPITALS IN THE COMMUNITY

 

When my grandfather arrived from Venezuela in 1985 and joined us settling in Dorchester, finding a Spanish-speaking doctor was among the many challenges. This was a greater challenge in the 80s (even in Boston) than it is today, but the Carney Hospital was there, and my grandfather had a dependable doctor a few blocks away. Since then, for nearly forty years, the Carney has served my family. Even for those who saw a physician elsewhere, the Carney was there if a rush to the emergency room was ever needed.

As a child my appointments were at the Neponset Health Center where I came to know not only my doctor but the nurses and staff well. When I got sick with mononucleosis at the age of seven the clinic became my second home. I refer here not only to the frequency of my visits but the comfort and reassurance my family was given here by the medical staff that had known me since infancy.

After college, when I had to decide on a regular primary care physician, the Carney seemed an obvious choice. I had been going there for years visiting or accompanying relatives and my family had history there. Apart from this the Carney Hospital existed in my psyche as a staple of Dorchester. A deterrent for me and my childhood friends from engaging in dangerous stunts was a threat to having to go to the Carney Hospital as a consequence.

 And wouldn’t you know, my doctor was the same doctor who had seen my grandfather some twenty years earlier. He remembered my grandfather, inquired about him and was sorry to hear he had passed away back in 2000. After the doctor’s retirement I chose to keep the Carney as my hospital and the place (despite obvious changes both physical and administrative) always felt like home. But, far away in Texas, where the Carney’s parent company, Steward Health Care, is headquartered, clouds were forming.

By now we know what happened. The first domino push was all too familiar. A tale of corruption, greed and embezzlement, ending as usual with the most vulnerable paying the heaviest price. There’s no need to rehash the details here. Instead, I want to focus on a lesson here that I hope in the whole saga does not go unnoticed.

When we think of community pillars hospitals rarely stand out. This is understandable, hospitals are uniquely places people don’t want to have to visit. But do they ever want one nearby. A dependable place where citizens of all means can feel secure, welcome and taken care of at an hour of need or an hour of grief is something no community worthy of the term can do without. Robbing communities, especially one in which many of the residents are of limited means, of a nearby place where they can turn to for life-saving measures is an act of unparalleled immorality.

Despite a brave fight from the community and local politicians the Carney Hospital was one of two Massachusetts Steward-owned hospitals that could not find buyers and closed its doors on August 31. Patients already facing illness and the costs incurred were devastated and the tears from staff were as heartfelt as any I have seen.

We ignore hospitals when reviewing cherished memories because the time spent in them is often time we wish to forget. But a hospital that has served a community for decades and seen the generations of a family go by plays a bigger part of our emotional development than they are credited for. For us who grew up in Dorchester, the Carney Hospital served a need but it was also a part of our collective memories. We may not have thought of it as a fun place to be, but we took comfort in knowing it was there like an old family friend.

To the staff of the Carney Hospital who offered exceptional care to myself and my family and who never wavered in their commitment to the community they served I can only offer my sincerest gratitude. They deserved far better.