When a system breaks a heart: losing my dad in a Brisbane private hospital

It’s hard to know where to start – not because I don’t have the words, but because I carry so many of them.

My dad died in a Brisbane private hospital. And while I won’t name names, I will say this: the system failed him. Not because of cruel intentions, and not because the nurses didn’t care (they were extraordinary!). But because the structure they were forced to work within was broken. Flawed. Understaffed. Quietly dangerous.

You expect, when someone you love enters a private hospital, that they will be cared for — not just medically, but humanly. You expect dignity. Presence. Attention. You expect that there will be enough hands on deck to notice if something starts to go wrong.

But when there aren’t enough nurses, even the best ones can’t keep up. And sometimes… no one is there when it matters most.

I’ve played the night over in my mind more times than I care to admit. Not to punish myself, but because I needed to understand. How does this happen? Why didn’t someone see? What systems allowed this to unfold?

And the deeper I went, the more I realised:

This isn’t just about one private hospital. It’s about all of them.

It’s about a system where private hospitals aren't legally required to have safe nurse-to-patient ratios. Where oversight is murky, and change is buried under layers of paperwork and federal-state confusion.

So I spoke up. I requested meetings. I sat across from three of the top people in the organisation. They were kind. Said the right things. Nodded in all the right moments.

And then… nothing. Ghosted.

No follow-up. No accountability. No proper apology.

Just silence — the same kind of silence that filled the room that night when my dad needed someone, and no one came.

Inside Australia’s healthcare system: when care falls through the cracks.

I’m not writing this to dwell in pain — not at all.

My dad was 81. He had motor neurone disease (MND). His future was bleak, and we knew that. This isn’t about denying what was coming.

This is about how it happened — and witnessing, firsthand, the systemic failures that allowed it.

I’m writing this because I believe that naming the truth is the first step to changing it.

We cannot heal what we’re not willing to admit is broken.

I didn’t expect this journey. I certainly didn’t want it. But here I am. And I know I’m not alone. Too many families have stories like mine. Too many loved ones slip through the cracks of a system that was supposed to catch them.

If nothing else, I hope this series opens up a conversation.

And maybe — just maybe — it helps spark something better.

B x

PS. If you want to know more about what actually happened — what led to my dad’s death — I’ve shared the story in a separate post: “What Happened to My Dad.” I didn’t include it here because I know some people aren’t ready for that kind of detail. But it matters. And it explains why I’m doing all of this.

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.