Randolph Hospital Has Been ALL Over This Blog Today

It probably has something to do with the comments I've recently left at the Courier Tribune . . . in the wake of Bob Morrison's pathetic grandstanding (designed to one-up Sandhills Center for Mental Health - so the Bobber could get-out-on-the cheap taking care of Randolph County's in-patient psychiatric patients).

So here's a suggestion for the "non-profit" executives who LIED repeatedly UNDER OATH and the rubber-stamping/winking & nodding Board of Directors who let them:

Maybe it's time you STOPPED reading and STARTED talking . . . to the Pediatrician that you pulled the rug out from under in order to foster a cover-up and serve your greed . . . to the home-grown doctor whose life and career you determinedly, methodically, maliciously derailed because you-all were on a *&^%$#@! mill-town power-trip!

You MIGHT remember that you (meaning the Board of Directors) were not AT all interested in talking to or hearing from the doctor before.  Not even once.  There was NO review of what your executives had done.  NO hearing.  NO due process. 

Contracts and Federal agreements might as well have been signed with invisible ink. Not one gave a rat's tail about evidence.  Peer review was a joke. 

Good/responsible Pediatric medicine didn't matter.  Ethics was the LAST thing on your collective minds.  And please don't get me started on your "small-town/Christian values". 

Your fat-cat lawyers . . . paid for by the taxpayers who paid for my medical education . . . the same taxpayers who were RIPPED OFF when you ran me out of town on your rail . . . hid your executives' dirty deeds behind privacy and confidentiality and privilege. 

You just didn't care.  I was a bug to be squashed.  Even though parents pleaded and nurses/colleagues begged, you-all could not be bothered.

You put me in your damned box.  And when that didn't shut me down, you HUMILIATED me . . . and my parents. 

My Mom and my Pops.   

You did it for sport.  You thought it was funny.

And then you SWINDLED me.

For all of almost twelve years, you've only had ears for Morrison and Eblin.  And I gotta ask now, how's that worked out for you so far?

P.S.  If you do decide to talk, the VERY FIRST THING you need to say is, "We're sorry" . . .

. . . not to me, but to my Mother.

You people make me SICK.