One evening at a hospital in Bakersfield, Calif., I sat with a patient whose family was stuck in traffic on the 99. His gown had slipped off one shoulder. His hands, bruised yellow-green around the IV line, kept smoothing the same fold of blanket over and over, the one thing left for him to control.
He did not want information. He wanted noise when the silence got too heavy, so I talked about whatever muted game was playing on the TV bolted to the wall. I went quiet when he needed quiet instead.
No staffing ratio accounts for that…