Ghosted by the system: when saying the right thing means nothing

After my dad died, I didn’t go in with anger.

I went in with hope — and a plan.

I asked for a meeting with the hospital’s leadership — not to accuse, but to collaborate. By then, I already had the coroner’s report and over 200 pages of the hospital’s own medical records. I’d gone through everything, line by line, and had clear notes outlining the issues I’d observed — along with practical solutions drawn from my background in tech, innovation, and systems thinking. I even had people ready to help research and test new models to improve safety, communication, and staff wellbeing.

I wasn’t there for revenge — I genuinely wanted to approach this with integrity.

I was there to ask: Can we do better?

I also told them about my idea to set up a not-for-profit in my dad’s name — a fund to support nurses and teachers, the very people holding this crumbling system together with compassion and grit. And yes, I did say I’d take it further if I needed to, because I believed — and still believe — that this can’t keep happening.

But I also offered something rare: a way forward.

I sat across from three senior leaders at the hospital. They were polite, composed, and seemingly open. They nodded at the right times. Said the right things:

“We’re grateful you brought this to us."

“We’re committed to change.”

“We’ll be in touch in a few weeks after we've spoken with the Board.”

I walked out of that meeting hopeful. Not because I trusted the system — but because I wanted to. I believed that if you present something constructive, if you show up respectfully and with real solutions, people might listen.

But they didn’t.

No follow-up. No action.

Not even a thank you.

Weeks passed. Then months.

Just silence — until, four months later, I received a brief email.

It thanked me for coming in and politely confirmed they wouldn’t be involved in the non-profit I am building in my dad’s name. It also mentioned that they were embarking on a broader systems review to address potentially preventable harm for high-risk patients — which I hope leads to something real.

But after everything, it felt like a line in a letter — not a commitment.

It was too little. Far too late.

And it confirmed what I already knew: systems don’t change because they should. They change when people outside of them decide to build something better.

When hospital leadership listens, nods — and then disappears.

And that kind of silence is loud.

Even with the best intentions, it’s hard to engage with a system that prefers to manage things behind closed doors, even when people offer support.

It’s performative care. And it’s happening everywhere.

I know there are people inside the system who do care.

But they're tangled in bureaucracy. Trapped under outdated structures and legal shields that protect institutions — not people.

So yes, I was ghosted.

But no, I won’t stay quiet.

Not because I want to fight — but because I want to build.

Better systems. Better care.

A better future for the nurses, families, and patients still caught in the machine.

And for my children.

B x

Just a note: Everything I’ve shared here is based on my personal experience and views. I’m not naming names or pointing fingers — just being honest about what I saw and felt. It’s not about blame. It’s about trying to do better. This is shared in the hope of encouraging conversation, not conflict.