_______DISCLAIMER______

I was a rising third year emergency medicine resident when my life was suddenly uprooted due to Hahnemann University Hospital closing. My 3-month pregnant wife who had just finished her second masters in School Leadership also had to leave her job and we had to pick up and leave Philadelphia. This is the first of a five part series that accounts the details of the story from my perspective and is meant to be educational and informative. The images included in these posts were taken by me, unless otherwise stated. I have no ulterior motive, financial gains or any other conflict of interest in telling this story.

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 Phase 1: June 25th - July 4th

Tuesday June 25th 2019, I worked an overnight shift in the emergency department (ED) knowing the next morning I had to teach my fellow co-residents Pediatric Advanced Life Support (PALS). I distinctly remember having to do a pelvic exam on a patient who came in with vaginal bleeding and not being able to find a plastic disposable speculum. I had the unit clerk call up to the OB/GYN floor who said they have been calling up to the OR for the past week to get some with intermittent success. After finding a random unopened one in our supply closet I thought to myself, “How in the world could someone have dropped the ball on ordering disposable speculums for the entire hospital?!” and in a couple hours I was about to find out exactly how...

Fast forward to the early morning of Wednesday, June 26th. I was about to start teaching PALS until one of our administrators approached me saying “Since you’re a Hahnemann employee, go find out what’s going on at that Town Hall meeting down the hall”. As I got closer to the door of the archaic, strangely narrow and poorly designed auditorium, the site absolutely marveled me. A mass gathering of employees from all departments crowded the entrance trying to “stand in line” or at the very least be the first in the door. These were all sorts of people; environmental services, nurse anesthetists, cafeteria employees, fellows, respiratory therapists and the list goes on.

Apparently this was the second group waiting to get in and the doors were already closed on the lucky individuals who made it here early enough. To show you the power of social media, someone started yelling “everyone follow Brian, he’s live streaming”! Suddenly in a moment’s glance, white screens lit up the dim auditorium entrance and the eyes of everyone fixated on the screens of their cell phone signaling they were now present in the meeting behind those closed doors. 

“...the last date of operations for the hospital will be Sept 6th 2019...” 

Those were the last words we heard before a large audible groan and the hallway crowd’s exclamation of anger. Suddenly, you could feel the uncertainty and fear in the air. Everyone took in the news and responded differently. Fellows and physicians started making phone calls. The group of nurse anesthetists in the corner, that caught my eye upon arrival, started huddling together and crying. I immediately went back to my department down the hall and paused to take some deep breaths thinking “What the hell just happened!?” Looking back down the hall, I saw our department’s chair emerge from the crowd, lock eyes with me and gesture to follow him to his office for an emergency meeting. 

The faculty, administrators and program leadership were also caught off guard with the recent news and had to quickly improvise a plan to save our residency program. Having had experience in hospital closings before with Medical College of Philadelphia and St. Joe’s Hospital, my 44 co-residents and I put our full faith in our department’s leadership. We were told to continue working for the sake of our patients while they developed a plan to hopefully restructure our program to the other hospitals where we have some of our off-site rotations. 

I was lucky enough to be going to a conference in Texas and to get a break from all of this craziness, or so I thought. Word about Hahnemann’s closure spread like wild-fire and even followed me to the corner seat of a van while on my way to a workshop. Surrounded by fellow emergency physicians whom I had not met yet, one “breaks the ice” by saying one of her former medical students’ (and now current resident) hospital is closing in Philadelphia and is unsure what will happen to their residency. A large heated discussion with all sorts of emotions ensued while I idly watched in silence. Having been raised by an outspoken non-english speaking Egyptian immigrant father, I decided to speak up and explain what we knew of the situation. Doing so, started a chain of many “firsts”. This was my first interaction with other healthcare providers outside of our “Hahnemann-Bubble”. It was also the first of an innumerable amount of times I felt pitied. This was the first time that it really sunk in that my program was closing. The first time that I had no idea what was going to happen and more importantly that no one would be able to truly understand our situation more than ourselves.

What I didn’t fully know yet, was how truly no one would be able to understand my OWN situation then myself…

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