Don’t get high off the false hope management tries to sell you.
Because if you do, you’ll miss the glaring red flags waving like a damn parade.
When I was first contacted by a man named Steven from Shics Healthcare, I was sold a dream.
White picket fence, compassionate care, the works.
We had what I thought was a heartfelt conversation… tears might’ve been shed (mine, obviously).
I asked the hard questions. Shared my fears. Laid out my expectations.
I left that call feeling hopeful.
Feeling like this was the change I needed.
Spoiler alert: I was wrong.
Red Flags, Neon Bright
Looking back now, I can’t believe I ignored the flashing signs screaming:
STOP. ABORT MISSION. DO NOT PASS GO.
But I did.
Because my dumb optimistic ass wanted to believe it would all be okay.
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Day One: A Rocky Start
The first morning under Shics?
I was already running on fumes… physically and emotionally wiped from the hell I’d gone through with the previous company.
My spasms were out of control.
The stress had triggered a full-body revolt, so I took muscle relaxers and an over-the-counter sleep aid just to get a few hours of rest.
I was panicked no one would show up.
But surprise! Someone did.
A young woman arrived.
She wasn’t terrible.
But she was in early pregnancy.
And anyone who’s ever been pregnant knows… morning sickness doesn’t care about your shift.
She was nauseous, exhausted, constantly running to pee, and moving slower than a dial-up connection in 1999.
And the lateness?
Three to four hours late, multiple times.
With babysitter drama to boot.
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Reality Check: I’m a Full-Time Job
Let me be clear.
I’m a busy quadriplegic with 8 hours of PCA help each day.
It takes 3 solid hours just to get me out of bed, showered, dressed, and ready for life.
That’s before emails, work, or mom duties even begin.
I don’t need pity.
I need competence.
And as sweet as this girl was, she didn’t have it.
She had no training.
No client file.
No heads-up about who I was or what I needed.
They literally texted her my address and told her to show up.
Fed. To. The. Wolves.
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Round Two: Who’s the Patient Again?
Next PCA?
A 57-year-old woman who, not to be mean, had more health issues than I did.
And no, this isn’t about age.
My best PCA ever was 80 and sharper than most 30-year-olds I’ve met.
But this one?
She had gout in both legs, could barely bend, hands shaking like a washing machine, and couldn’t see.
Like, literally couldn’t read my med labels.
Oh… and she had just lost her husband a week before.
I didn’t know if I was the patient or the grief counselor.
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The Bigger Problem
This isn’t just about a couple of bad hires.
This is about a broken system that treats disabled people like afterthoughts.
That sends strangers into our homes with no training.
No preparation.
No respect for what our lives actually require.
And then when it all collapses, we’re left picking up the pieces… again.
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Final Thoughts
If you work in healthcare and your clients are disabled, we are not checkboxes.
We are people.
People whose entire lives depend on systems that keep failing us.
And we are tired.
Do better.
Or stay the hell out of people’s lives you’re not equipped to care for.
Because this story?
It’s not the exception.
It’s the norm.
Speak Up. Share. Demand Better.
Let’s hold these companies accountable… together.
By: Krystina | #WheelStrong
If you’ve had your own healthcare horror story, drop it in the comments or send it to me privately.
We deserve better than being afterthoughts in the system we depend on.
Tag this post. Share it. Raise hell.
Because silence doesn’t change anything… but collective voices? They shake systems