All of the Commodore's Men: Just to Know Who's Driving, What a Help It Would Be!

By Brendan Murphy

Since the things discussed in this book could be dangerous to ones health or freedom in that the police these days generally shoot first and think later, it is only prudent to state for the record Do not attempt to do any of the things discussed in this book. This book in no way suggests, condones or recommends, implicitly or explicitly, the engaging in violence of any kind against any person, place, or thing ever for any reason. This book does however emphatically suggests that when a patriotic citizen is in direct conflict with a tinhorn puppet regime such as the Inyo County, Nevada regime so clearly is, it is almost unpatriotic not do all that one can to expose the criminal nature of that regime. In this instance, due to the fact that the Thomas Monroe Trust would ultimately be dragged into any attempt to silence me permanently through direct legal action, the Thomas Monroe Trust ordered their Inyo County government puppets to tolerate the things that I did against them as individuals during the last 10 years thinking that I would eventually run out of steam. Never in a million years did they realize that a book chronicling the entire conflict was being written while the conflict was happening. The characters in this book are very much real and are from the former District Attorney to the judges and police in truth nothing but useful idiots in this titanic struggle between good and evil! What is hanging in the balance is the Thomas Monroe Trusts continued presents in the region manifested as Demington Medical Center. And Demington Medical Center will only continue to exist if the Inyo valley community allows it to!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483629797

Brendan Murphy

I was physically born on the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year 1953 in Los Angeles, California. I graduated from Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles, California in 1976 and soon after embarked on a career as a staff Real Estate appraiser soon after which I became an independent Real Estate appraiser and home builder. My father died in 1988 after which I moved to the city of Palm Springs California where I have lived ever since.

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All of the Commodore’s Men

Just to know who’s driving,

what a help it would be!

Brendan Murphy

Copyright © 2014 by Brendan Murphy

Library of Congress Control Number:   2013907508

ISBN:       Hardcover       978-1-4836-2978-0

                 Softcover         978-1-4836-2977-3

                 eBook             978-1-4836-2979-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 06/12/2014

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www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

Chapter 1:   Dazed and Confused

Chapter 2:   The Journey

Chapter 3:   The Tribulation

Chapter 4:   The Rape

Chapter 5:   The Smoking Gun

Chapter 6:   The Grand Discovery

Chapter 7:   Hunkering Down

Chapter 8:   Lots of People Talking, Few of Them Know, so

Bermuda Springs Police Department was Created Below

Chapter 9:   Attempted Murder Civil Service Style

Chapter 10:   Trampled Under Foot; the Road Back

Chapter 11:   The Turning Point

Chapter 12:   The Manipulators

Chapter 13:   The Frampton Scam

Chapter 14:   I Am a Good Cop!

Chapter 15:   Getting Close

Chapter 16:   Judge Slip and Fall

Chapter 17:   A Bump in the Road

Chapter 18:   The Man Behind the Curtain

Chapter 19:   A New Lease on Life

Chapter 20:   The Flim Flamers

Chapter 21:   Kicking the Can Down the Road

Chapter 22:   The Dishonorable Less than Honorables

Chapter 23:   Where do we go from here?

INTRODUCTION

Since the things discussed in this book could be dangerous to one’s health or freedom in that the police these days generally shoot first and think later, it is only prudent to state for the record Do not attempt to do any of the things discussed in this book. This book in no way suggests, condones or recommends, implicitly or explicitly, the engaging in violence of any kind against any person, place, or thing ever for any reason. This book does however emphatically suggests that when a patriotic citizen is in direct conflict with a tinhorn puppet regime such as the Inyo County, Nevada regime so clearly is, it is almost unpatriotic not do all that one can to expose the criminal nature of that regime.

In this instance, due to the fact that the Thomas Monroe Trust would ultimately be dragged into any attempt to silence me permanently through direct legal action, the Thomas Monroe Trust ordered their Inyo County government puppets to tolerate the things that I did against them as individuals during the last 10 years thinking that I would eventually run out of steam. Never in a million years did they realize that a book chronicling the entire conflict was being written while the conflict was happening. The characters in this book are very much real and are from the former District Attorney to the judges and police in truth nothing but useful idiots in this titanic struggle between good and evil! What is hanging in the balance is the Thomas Monroe Trust’s continued presents in the region manifested as Demington Medical Center. And Demington Medical Center will only continue to exist if the Inyo valley community allows it to!

In the event the reader of this story feels that the level of detail, emotion and energy projected is a little too much for a fictional story to have, they would be absolutely right in their suspicions. This is indeed a true nonfiction story in every detail that due to libel laws and civil liability had to be presented in a fictional style. You might say that this is a story where the names of the characters and the place where the story happened had to be changed to protect the guilty.

Brendan Murphy

CHAPTER 1

Dazed and Confused

It was a bright pleasant, cloudless Friday morning in the beautiful desert paradise of Bermuda Springs, Nevada late in the month of February 2002. The sun was shining, the sky was a brilliant blue and all seemed well. I had just returned home after walking with my giant loveable but pesky golden Shin Tzu Chia. I was getting ready to step over the slump stone retaining wall that surrounded my front yard when I noticed that I couldn’t raise my leg the height needed to traverse the 18 inch high wall. This was a very strange set of circumstance as I had performed this stepping over the wall task countless time in the past without incident. As usual, Chia my dog, was briskly walking ahead of me by a leash’s length, pulling me every inch of the way to which he nearly caused me to fall as I struggled to traverse the retaining wall. I was baffled. What was happening to me? I never had a broken bone or had a significant injury in my entire 48 years of life up to this time. And now, it was like I had rubber legs under me. For a moment, I was terrified. But then I thought how could anything possibly be wrong with me, as otherwise, I felt perfectly fine? I struggled to get over the wall and bring my dog Chia into the backyard of my home.

And then for about 2 days in which I did not have to walk up stairs or use my legs excessively I noticed no difference in my lower body strength. In fact at the time, I was in the process of building a Koi fish pond which required the excavation of a very large hole in my backyard. During the next two days I actually had shoveled out approximately ten wheel barrels of diggings from the Koi pond project and dumped the dirt in my front yard spreading it out so that it would melt into the grass without significant change to the terrain.

All of this physical activity was executed without trauma, incident or noticeable weakness. And so it went. Saturday came and went without incident. Sunday came and went without incident. Then on Monday morning things changed dramatically. Rising early that Monday, I awoke to a world where not one part of my body was functioning in a business as usual mode of operation. My breathing became labored and required considerable effort to achieve. I could not move my torso very much.

That Monday morning to this day seemed to me to be that if I were to pick a day that my life started coming to an end, that Monday would be that day! I could barely move and for a moment I felt like a fish ensnared in the fishermen net without the net. I felt like a live vibrant soul trapped inside of a dead body. I finally struggled, twisted and contorted my body to a point where I was able to position myself at the edge of my bed like a log teetering on the edge of a high side of a hill. One more contortion and I went over the edge like a bag of wet cement hitting the ground. Oddly enough, I felt little or no pain or discomfort in my falling approximately 2 feet to a cold hardwood floor where I landed. It was definitely time to panic. After all, I had never suffered from any neurological diseases such as polio or any other neurological disorder. My physical decline was bilateral which pretty much ruled out the possibility of a stroke. I had not suffered any physical injury or physical trauma to the best of my recollection in recent history. I had no history of neurological disorders whether personal or in my family background to either my mother or father’s side of the family. What in the world was happening to me?

Again, it was definitely time to panic. I then rolled about the floor in an attempt to configure my body into a position where I could exploit what little strength I had left in my upper torso to at least get a grip on a door knob or other piece of furniture in the room and hopefully get to a telephone and call for help. I still had a small amount of upper body strength whereby if I could achieve some sort of a solid mooring, I could possibly lift my body and somehow, at least for now, sit up to gather my feelings into some sort of cohesive thought and formulate a strategy to confront the unbelievable situation that was now unfolding before me in living color. Thoughts of death, permanent paralysis, permanent disability plus a few other horrible things seemed to have dominated my thinking and color my judgment for the first few hours of that fateful Monday morning. I always had a bad habit of over reacting to stressful situations similar to the one at hand in which panic and terror were the emotions that clouded my judgment. Fortunately with the passage of the next few hours my panic and terror became tempered by the emotions of reason and calm. As anyone can reasonably assume, I was truly baffled, dazed and confused in that I was 48 years old at this time and barely ever had suffered a sick day in my entire life let alone I was ever in the slightest way physically impaired or disabled.

And now the chance of being confined to a wheelchair or being rendered a hopeless cripple for the rest of my life was a distinct possibility that could possibly be my near-term reality. These were hair raising chilling thoughts indeed. But since I had not suffered any physical trauma, I reasoned that just as mysteriously as my newly acquired ailment came, possibly if I gave it sufficient time, it would disappear as mysteriously as it appeared in the first-place. After all, I reasoned, most physicians would never attempt to remedy an upset stomach with gastronomical surgery as their first option in a strategy to heal an ailing patient, so why should I go running to an emergency room at the local hospital to try to acquire a remedy for my malady? Roll the dice I thought and give it some time, and maybe, just maybe my ability to walk and ambulate would return to me just as strangely as my ability to walk and ambulate had left me in the first-place.

And that is exactly what did. One hour passed and then two hours turned into four hours and then eight hours. With the passage of eight hours since my awakening that morning my physical condition seemed to me to be getting worse and not better. I was able to move about my house by clinging to door knobs, towel racks or any other objects that protruding from any given wall. I guess you could say that I adapted to my new disability quite well as my hands and arms seemed to take the place of my legs and now the only purpose that my feet and legs served was to keep my hands and arms off of the ground. For my initial emotion of fear and terror for that day seemed to have given way to an attitude of complacency and calm of the never-ending hope that my health would return to its normal state of being in a relatively short time without medical or physical intervention. I was always one to attempt to fix anything from a clogged sewer to an automobile that would not start to the best of my ability before I would take the next measure in obtaining a remedy for any given situation from an outside mechanic or repairman.

This attitude seemed to prevail in my medical situation as well as I had a copy of the Merck manual that seemed to describe countless symptoms for countless diseases, disorders and maladies. To my surprise, I actually did find a neurological disorder in the Merck manual that was called McArdle Syndrome. However, after reviewing countless pages in this publication, I could not find any disorders that seemed to have the same symptoms that I was suffering at this time. I did however find some evidence that seemed to indicate that my malady was possibly due to some sort of vitamin deficiency but then after reading other descriptions of other maladies, it seemed like almost every disorder could be linked to a vitamin or nutritional deficiency in one way or another. I even went so far as to call my local pharmacy and asked them to send to my home a bottle of vitamin B-12 as I read a section of the Merck manual that suggested that vitamin B-12 could possibly remedy some neurological disorders. But at the end of this Monday, I was no better or worse off for my day’s effort. I went to bed that night around eight o’clock and only slept very lightly for the next ten hours until 6 AM the following day. All that night I was nagged by the never ceasing notion that I could possibly be dead in a few days if I were to remain unable to remedy the medical problems that so profoundly befuddled me.

I awoke Tuesday morning into a physical and mental state of being just slightly worse than I was the day before. The wishful notion that my health situation was going to get better without outside medical intervention was starting to wear a little thin by this time. After a few hours into the new day, I made the determination that the only option I had left was the dreaded trip to the local hospital emergency room.

It just so happened that in the Inyo Valley of Nevada where the city of Bermuda Springs is located, there are only two health care providers of significance. One is Red Rock Regional Medical Center (RRRMC) located in the city of Bermuda Springs and other was the infamous Demington Medical Center (DMC) located in the city of Silverville City, approximately 10 miles east of the city of Bermuda Springs.

Early in the year 2002 it seemed that there were a great deal of negative news stories circulating throughout the various media outlets about Red Rock Regional Medical Center’s billing habits. Red Rock Regional Medical Center at that time was being accused of overbilling their patients at least according to the local media. When it came to selecting a health care provider so as to remedy my current malady, it only seemed logical to seek help at the nearest hospital which was Red Rock Regional Medical Center. Who was I to doubt the media reports? However, me being the gullible type, I believed the media reports about the Red Rock Regional Medical Center billing problems and since I had no healthcare insurance, I made the ill-fated decision to instead seek medical care from Demington Medical Center, a hospital whose slogan at the time was Five star care for everyone which to me implied that they would provide health care to everyone unconditionally.

So the fateful decision was made on Tuesday that the next day Wednesday would be the day that I would have myself transported to Demington Medical Center by way of non-emergency medical transport. I had nothing left to do that day expect to wait for Wednesday morning to dawn. I continued to deteriorate moderately through the rest of Tuesday that slowly turned into early Tuesday night. At approximately 8 PM I again embarked upon another nocturnal session of trying to sleep while I was hounded by never-ending thoughts of possible permanent disability or worse premature death that would be the ultimate result of the mysterious symptoms that I suffered from.

Little did I know on Tuesday that this Tuesday would probably literally be my last day of being a free man for the next eleven years of my life. I am not talking about freedom from being condemned to some sort of medical bondage in terms of being disabled or being physically impaired. I am talking from a constitutional point of view taking into consideration the US Constitution’s notion of freedom. Little did I know at this time that on Tuesday February 19, 2002 I was a free man living in a free country and I was about to take a journey through no fault or desire of my own choosing into a constitutional quagmire known as the criminal justice system mosh pit of Inyo County in the state of Nevada.

Tuesday evening morphed into Wednesday morning as I was in a belladonnic sleepless exhausted daze that morning totally engulfed by nightmarish images from the night before of total paralysis, permanent disability and/or death and worse yet, the possibility of figuring out what I might say to God if I were to die as a result of my evolving and unfolding illness of this day. It is one thing to casually think about dying from time to time in a day dreaming fashion, but it is quite another thing to be afflicted with the means of achieving that death complemented by a better than even chance of achieving that death at hand by no wish or fault of your own. Based on my perception of my observed rates of physical deterioration up to that point, I was starting to think that even going to the hospital was going to be nothing more than a formality of having some doctor somewhere declared me dead later on that day because I thought for sure that I would not see the sun set Wednesday February 20, 2002.

Little did I know at that time around 5:30 AM how close to the truth my inner most thoughts were to the harsh reality that had descended upon me. In other words, as the events yet to unfold that day would clearly show that from a medical point of view, I probably had less than 72 hours to live beyond 5:30 AM Wednesday morning February 20, 2002 if I received no medical care at all. Late Tuesday afternoon I had called a local non-emergency medical transport company and made arrangements to have myself transported to the hospital the following Wednesday at approximately 9:00 AM. After getting a grip on reality Wednesday morning I pulled myself together and somehow dressed myself in clean and suitable attire that consisted of blue jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, socks and bedroom slippers. I could not even eat or drink any longer as I had virtually lost my appetite for the last few days.

9:00 AM came and the doorbell rang. It was the emergency medical transport driver. It was time to go and oh what a long strange trip I was about to embark on. I had with me a wallet full of free and clear high limit credit cards and $200 in cash in my pocket. In the Inyo Valley, Demington Medical Center (DMC) had numerous satellites urgent care medical offices in 2002, one of which was located in Greytown City which is directly east of Bermuda Springs and approximately three miles from my home. It was my initial desire to go to this facility to seek urgent care which was the logical thing to do. I was under the assumption that the driver, in order to get to the Demington Medical Center urgent care office, would proceed directly south on the street on which I lived to get to Highway 110 which was the Highway that the Demington Medical Center urgent care satellite office in Greytown City that I wanted to go to was located on.

The driver, upon securing my wheelchair that I was sitting in to his vehicle, a minivan, headed directly north on my street, the opposite direction that I had anticipated. I thought that the driver simply chose a different route to travel to Demington Medical Center urgent care facility in Greytown City. Well, I was so emotionally distraught by that time, I figured why should I care how we get to the place that I want to go to. All that really mattered is that we get to where I needed go without further incident or delay. The driver proceeded for about ten minutes in the direction of his choosing when I discovered that we were not going to the DMC urgent care facility that I had ordered him to take me to. As we passed the final turn to get to the DMC urgent care facility of my choosing, I was shocked. I said to driver you are supposed to turn here to get to the DMC urgent care facility that I want to go to. He responded in an almost rehearsed Vincent Price like voice we are not going to that facility, we are going to the main DMC hospital.

This was a bad omen as it turned out. I was hardly in a position to argue with the man as my arms and legs were totally restrained and what did it matter anyway as I was almost totally paralyzed by that time. A change in the game plan in the middle of the stream no matter who is responsible for the change in plans is always a bad omen in my world. We arrived at Demington Medical Center approximately 9:30 AM. There were a few patients waiting in the DMC waiting room when I arrived there. My driver wheeled me into the emergency room and then transferred me into a DMC wheelchair and in an instant was gone never to be seen again. This was pretty scary for me in that I was almost completely helpless, alone and in a strange place among strange people.

Where do we go from here I said to myself? Slowly I wheeled myself up to the admittance desk and simply said to the attendant that I was nearly paralyzed and having difficulty in breathing; can you help me? I was in really bad shape by this time. The attendant took my temperature, blood pressure and pulse and before I knew it, I was in a bed with an oxygen mask on my face and needles inserted into my veins and taped to my arm. About this time the panic was really starting to set in. After all, I was looking for a quick fix in the form of a bottle of pills, a pat on the back with a hardy yawl come back and see us again real soon ya hear and a taxi ride home with myself being fully recovered by the end of the day and I felt like the hospital was preparing me for open heart surgery or some other outrageous procedure. I was scared. An attendant came to fetch me and then we were on our way to the MRI and x-ray room. What have I gotten myself into I said to myself?

About an hour later a medical doctor came to my bed side in the DMC emergency room and said to me; I am Doctor Eugene Kenticott, you have GBS. My response was that’s nice; when to I get to go home? His answer was you’re not going home, you have been admitted. O shit! I do not have health insurance I responded. Doctor Kenticott then left. About half an hour later a very rude woman came to my bedside to ask me some very bizarre questions. She asked me why do have calluses on my feet? Do I have place to live? I said to her what kind of stupid questions are these. I came to this hospital for a remedy for what was ailing me and not to play twenty questions with hospital’s very own version of the village idiot." I then smartly replied that I lived in a real house with a real pool and a real new car along with a Shin Tzu dog. She then left.

About fifteen minutes later the emergency room doctor Kenticott came back to me and said you’re being transferred; here, sign this! By this time, between the illness that afflicted me, the lack of sleep within the previous three days and the unknown chemicals that were flowing in my veins from all of the intravenous tubes attached to my arm, for all I knew I could very well have signed a consent form to pull the plug on me if the opportunity were to arise. I later learned after obtaining my DMC medical record, it was shown that I was actually admitted to the DMC intensive care unit during my visit to DMC on February 20, 2002.

This admission to the DMC intensive care unit is an important fact as admission to any intensive care unit is, in effect, a legal status that implies that the patient in question is in immediate danger of death or permanent disability if the medical care provided by the intensive care unit is not made available immediately. I later had the Nevada Department of Health Services Licensing and Certification investigate my ill-fated February 20, 2002 visit to the DMC emergency room and that investigation showed that the EMTALA mandated certifications that are required with each transfer were not made. This is a violation of Nevada state and Federal law. A doctor who transfers a patient regardless of a patient’s ability to pay for services must certify that the patient is suitable for transfer, that the benefits of a transfer outweigh the risks of a transfer and there must be a benefit from the transfer for the patient. The EMTALA statutes also require that the transferring facility must verify the transferring patient’s ability to pay for services in addition the transferring patient’s informed consent to be transferred. In my case informed consent would have been a verbal statement from the attending physician to the patient who was me that would have sounded something like this; you have been admitted to our intensive care unit. This means that you are in immediate danger of death or permanent disability if you are not rendered immediate medical care to remedy your malady; we want to transfer you to another hospital but there is absolutely no benefit for you the patient that you will achieve by this transfer. In fact you may die or become permanently disabled while traveling to the new hospital that we are transferring you to because due to the severity of your malady you are in immediate danger of death or permanent disability. Now being made aware of all of these facts, do you still want to be transferred?

Of course, no person in their right mind would ever consent to such a transfer if they knew all of these facts unless of course they were suicidal and wanted to die. My case was in fact the classic emergency room perfect storm. Due to the fact that I was admitted as per the DMC medical record to the DMC ICU they could not have transferred me without informing me that I was in immediate risk of death or permanent disability if I did not receive immediate care and that there was actually no benefit for me to be transferred in the first place but instead I would be at great risk if I was transferred plus I was more than capable of paying in cash for services up to approximately $35,000 due to the fact that I had with me credit card whose available credit line was tied to the value of my stock portfolio that was on deposit with a local broker in addition to other credit cards that I had in my possession. Demington Medical Center as per the Department of Health Services Licensing and Certification investigation had never bothered to confirm my ability to pay for services rendered. In other words, from a purely legal point of view, transferring me for any reason on 2-20-2002 was a very very bad thing to do. As this story unfolds the reader will come to appreciate the significance of this criminal dereliction of duty made by Demington Medical Center as it pertains to my medical care and their legal obligations to provide that care. Needless to say, the individual DMC employees that were making the decisions on behalf of my case would be in significant danger of being fired if their derelictions of duty ever became public record. Not only this, but DMC’s ability to be reimbursed by Medicare for services rendered to Medicare patients is contingent upon DMC and any other health care provider obeying all EMTALA emergency room statutes for all patients which clearly in this case they did not. And in a more sinister way, the fact that the DMC employees clearly disobeyed the EMTALA statutes in my case gave those employees as individuals a significant motive to do harm to me in the future any way they could so as to protect themselves. Also, it is important to realize that any hospital who transfers a patient without that patient’s permission has committed the crime of false arrest because the hospital committing the false arrest has for a moment taken control of the destiny of another person’s body without that person’s permission.

CHAPTER 2

The Journey

About 30 minutes after the DMC emergency room doctor told me that I was being transferred, the ambulance crew providing that transfer arrived and I was placed in the back of their ambulance for my next destination which was unbeknownst to me, the parking lot of a popular fruit stand located somewhere in a town called Durington, Nevada which is about halfway between Demington Medical Center and Inyo County Regional Medical Center, the hospital that I was transferred to. It just so happened that the Snowy Mountain Emergency Medical Transport ambulance crew was apparently hungry so they thought it would be nice to park their ambulance at this popular food vendor’s parking lot and have lunch for about twenty minutes while I was literally dying in the back of their ambulance.

You see, GBS which is Guillain Barre Syndrome is a progressive auto immune neurological disorder in which the victim’s nervous system is consumed by the victim’s immune system. There are very few doctors who are even aware of this disorder as it only affects two people per hundred thousand people of population in the year 2002. Guillain Barre Syndrome is a progressive neurological disorder that only gets worse only ending ultimately in death without effective treatment. This simply means that if you do not receive the appropriate medication as quickly as possible, the only outcome is death usually by suffocation as this neurological disorder prevents the breathing muscles of its victim from actuating thereby causing the victim to suffocate usually within 4 to 7 days from the onset of symptoms of this disorder.

We arrived at Inyo County Regional Medical Center (ICRMC) approximately 4:00 PM on February 20, 2002 where their Emergency staff promptly ignored all the work that was done by Demington Medical Center the results of which accompanied me on my gurney. I later learned that the primary goal of ICRMC was not necessarily to heal their patients of what ails them but instead to generate a medical bill that was as high as possible to maximize revenues to the hospital and the county. In any event, ICRMC preformed exactly the same procedures that I received from DMC except ICRMC took an additional 60 hours to perform that work. One MRI, one set of x-rays, and about 30 blood tests in all were performed on me at ICRMC, all of which were redundant and preformed earlier that day at DMC. Of course, all of this time my condition only got worse which meant I was even closer to death than ever after ICRMC accomplished their primary goal of generating as large a medical bill as possible for the work that was ready done at DMC emergency room that day. All of this time when all of these things were happening to me, I had actually no idea what was going on as ICRMC made a point of keeping me intoxicated with morphine and other sedatives which were totally inappropriate. There was no ethical reason for me to be injected with so much pain killing medication when there was no reason for this pain management in the first place. I could feel no pain!

According to the ICRMC medical record obtained by me under intense political pressure 9 months later, I had a spinal tap at approximately 8:00 PM 2-20-2002. A spinal tap was necessary to determine if there was an increase of proteins in my cerebral spinal fluid. By 9:00 PM 2-20-2002 ICRMC had enough data to confirm a diagnosis of Guillain Barre Syndrome for me but not enough medical tests to generate as high a medical bill for their bottom line as possible.

The following day a strange ICRMC neurologist conducted a nerve conduction study on me. A nerve conduction study is a medical procedure that is similar to a classic high school biology experiment where one applies an electrical charge to a dead frog’s leg that makes the dead frog’s leg move.

In my case, given the fact that I was almost completely paralyzed and experiencing great difficulty in breathing and that all of the other tests gave positive results for a diagnoses of Guillain Barre Syndrome, conducting a nerve conduction study on me was like conducting a study on how many board feet of lumber were burned in a house that was just burned to the ground. But this nerve conduction study was not performed for my medical benefit. The crooked ICRMC neurologist who conducted the nerve conduction study attempted for a year after I was released from ICRMC to collect $2000 from me outside of the main ICRMC bill when the ICRMC medical record clearly stated that the nerve conduction study was incomplete due to patient discomfort! How a paralyzed patient can have patient discomfort is a mystery to me, but at ICRMC anything is possible. I received countless demands for payment of the $2000 from this crooked ICRMC neurologist until I sent him a letter stating that I would have his green card revoked and have him deported back to Bangladesh if he continued to harass me and I never heard from him again. There are very few people who have ever had medical bills discharged in this fashion but when one is dealing with a criminal element, a prudent choice of words will always work wonders!

On February 21, 2002 I had some family members visit me in my ICRMC room. The doctor who was rendering care to me at ICRMC was making rounds and entered my room while my family members were there. He was startled when he saw that I had visitors. He exclaimed who are these people? I responded they are my witnesses. The following day, February 22, 2002, that same doctor came to see me at approximately 10:30 AM. He said I have been going over your numerous tests and it is our determination that you are afflicted with Guillain Barre Syndrome. I responded that funny, they told me that I had Guillain Barre Syndrome at Demington Medical Center two days ago. I guess the doctor did not appreciate my sarcastic temperament but then I did not appreciate his lack of honesty, timeliness and credibility as to my diagnoses.

I believe what the problem was is that most of the patients who were ever admitted to ICRMC were second and third class citizens at least from the point of view of ICRMC management like those folks on welfare, Medi-Cal or some other form of healthcare subsidy by way of transfer payments from the government. I later found out what the fundamental reasons were for ICRMC’s lack of respect for their patients which was that these patients were receiving from ICRMC exactly what they were paying for. They were not paying much and they were not receiving very much either. I was not one of those kinds of people as I paid my own way up to that time and made my own decisions for my entire life as I was a philosophical believer in the concept of total self-sufficiency. I now found myself in an environment where I had complete loss of control of my ability to ambulate, make decisions, and otherwise engage in self determination as to where I wanted to be and when I wanted to be there and how I was to be treated when I was there. Now between the notions of losing control of my destiny, lack of confidence in a medical staff that was rendering care to me and my fear that I may well become permanently disabled or worse yet dead in a short while as a result’s of the obvious incompetence of the medical staff of ICRMC, I thought that for the first time in my life, I experienced the horrible mental condition of helplessness and hopelessness. I couldn’t move, I could not help myself and if I complained too much I would get a large dosage of Dilaudid which was morphine.

At ICRMC, morphine was used to silence complaining patients as opposed to managing their pain as in a normal hospital. I was not experiencing any pain at ICRMC due to the fact that I was paralyzed and yet every night around 10:00 PM the morphine Goddess would float into my room for that, by then, increasingly desired hit of morphine that generally caused complete unconsciousness within approximately 45 seconds of infusion. I have had subsequent surgery since my ICRMC extravaganza. I had appendicitis in 2003 at a different hospital which was considered significant surgery and was on constant morphine sedation by way of a PCA machine (personally controlled analgesic) more commonly known as a morphine pump. A PCA machine gives the patient limited personal control over how much morphine is administered to him to a certain degree. I was under the influence of this PCA machine for three days in 2003. I slept very little during this hospital stay. At ICRMC if I groaned too much they would send me to La La land courtesy of the morphine needle instantly, pain not required.

And if the forced drug abuse and failure to treat critical progressive ailments in a timely matter was not enough, it seemed that the apparent official policy of ICRMC regarding the most basic services such as being able to go to the bathroom or being assisted to go to the bathroom when one was in need of going to bathroom was considered a luxury rather than a necessity. Due to my increasingly deteriorating ability to ambulate, I could not use a bed pan to relieve myself. I asked countless times to be assisted by the staff of ICRMC