For starters they didn’t feed him. And he waited three days for an MRI. Here’s an excerpt. Read the rest at Seeing Green.

The third day passed with no signs of the tests I was scheduled to
have, and no amount of inquires seemed to elicit any information.
Considering that they use a computer to keep track of when they
dispense one Motrin, you’d think that they’d have some idea when a MRI
was to be done, but, no. I finally threatened to check out if it didn’t
happen soon, and, hey, it was scheduled in an hour. Maybe they didn’t
want to lose the exorbitant amount charged for the procedure (but it
was worth it, the most fun I had, see here) or maybe, as my resident gave me a thumbs up when I was being wheeled away, the squeaky wheel got the grease after all.

I didn’t get fed that day either, not that I was coveting the stuff
that passes for food there, but it would seem that a basic requirement
of a hospital is to keep its inmates nourished. Luckily Elizabeth,
bless her heart, had been feeding me croissants from Sweet Melissa,
(the best) and falafel sandwiches. Seeing as she couldn’t provide
breakfast, I tried to get on the food distribution list. After two
presses of the nurse call (not) button, I padded over the nurse’s
station and asked my RN why I didn’t get any food the previous day.