A major scandal has erupted on the Gold Coast, where doctors, nurses and administration staff at the Gold Coast University Hospital have been suspended over an alleged scam involving hundreds of thousands of dollars.
The mainstream media aren’t telling you what it’s all about, but as usual the fearless – and penniless, and therefore lawsuit proof (funny about that) – Archie Butterfly will.
It’s a con of the highest order known as the Patient Referral Scam, and it’s being practiced far and wide across Sunshine State, and indeed across the Wide Brown Land.
The scam involves privately insured patients who have suffered heart attacks and been rushed into the emergency departments of state-funded public hospitals being pressured to sign authorization forms for their admission to the public hospital, and subsequent treatment in shared public wards, despite the fact that their private health insurance policy promises that they will be treated as private hospital patients in single, private rooms any time they fall ill, or have a cardiac arrest, and don’t you worry about that.
The Private Health insurer saves a fortune by paying the public hospital a reduced rate for admitting the desperately ill punter as a ‘private’ patient; the public hospital gets private health fund cash it otherwise wouldn’t have had; and the doctors/nurses/admin staff involved in the scam get paid under the table cash and in kind kickbacks from the health fund that is more crooked than the Story Bridge bend of the Brisbane River.
Everyone’s a winner.
Except of course for the poor old usually elderly patient gasping for breath on a stretcher as the pen and the ‘Admit Me Now as a Private Patient in Your Public Hospital’ pen is thrust into their trembling hand.
Of course being frightened, confused and desperate for urgent medical attention the punter who has paid upwards of 4 grand a year in private health fund premiums during the past 4 decades signs on the dotted line, and then gets shoved in a shared room with 5 or six junkies who’ve overdosed on crank, and is thus exposed to risks of infection that are at shorter odds than Chautauqua winning the Lightning Stakes.
And when the sick sportsfan regains their breath and asks if they can be moved over to the private hospital next door that they have moved mountains to pay health fund premium for years for, just in the event they find themselves in the cardiac arrested state which brought them to the overcrowded ward, they are told that if they do they will have to wait weeks or months to have their valves fixed, and may die in the process, and oh gee patient punter you are far better off here because Dr Con will get you an operation the day after tomorrow.
What’s a sick punter who’s not awake to the scam to do? Why, cop it sweet of course, and in the process pad the pockets of every pernicious prick that has just played with their health and lives so that they can scam them for a few quid.
It’s an outrage, an absolute f*cking disgrace, and don’t for a moment think that it is confined to the Gold Coast Hospital, not for a single second.
Oh no sportsfans, it’s going on right here at the Prince Charles Hospital at Chermside, on the North of BrisVegas, just 10 minutes up the road from the Geebung RSL, although of course on the other side of Downfall Creek where all the crooked clinicians and their friends live.
And how does Archie know all about such things you ask?
Why, it’s simple – an imbecilic head nurse on the take tried to pull the scam on me just last month. Well. to be more correct, she tried – and for a short time succeeded, or so she thought – in pulling the con on a cardiac patient who just so happened to be my old man, and who under duress and when totally disoriented due to his blocked valve causing him to black out every minute or so, signed the forms that were hurled at him with a hundred promises, and ended up as a private patient in a room full of penniless punters hidden behind cheap curtains in the Cardiac Ward at old Bonny Prince Charlie’s State-Funded Sick House on Rode Road.
Meanwhile a dozen poor punters without the benefit of private health insurance were being turned away from the joint or sent home, including a young bloke with his whole life ahead of him but a hole in his heart, who was lying prone in the bed opposite the 71 year old man.
The young fella was told to f*ck off home, and don’t call us, we’ll call you when we have a bed and a heart surgeon free – which means when we have no privately insured patients that we can pull the swifty on in order to pay for our Caribbean cruise to the cardiac con conference being held next month in Barbados.
Of course I sussed the scam the minute I spotted it, and screamed like a stuck pig about my well-insured old man being stuck in a shared public ward, and soon the nurses were scurrying everywhere and the head honcho in her colored glasses sailed along and started to put the matronly heavies on me, of course making the mistake a myriad of others have and misreading the bearded, long-haired Hawaiian-shirt wearing weirdo in front of them for a f*cking moron.
Every excuse in the cardiac-con conference handbook was rolled out, but you’ve got to be a better bullsh*ter than that to con a Bunger boy, so I stood my ground and insisted on the transfer of the only man I have ever willingly kissed on the lips to a private ward in the private Holy Spirit Hospital co-located just 50m away, where his ever loving bride – my Mum – lay near-death after having a stroke in the wake of the old man’s collapse.
A public-private partnership between Archie and the Thieving Fraudsters
And then the colored-glasses wearing b*tch did something she is going to regret for the rest of her days, an act that directly precipitated the complaint that I will this morning be lodging with the CMC, one that will end her career, land her in a courtroom and with a smidgen of luck see her sentenced to a shared cell in a state-funded slammer.
She went and told the old man that her son was causing trouble, and that if he continued then his (Dad’s) operation would be delayed, and that if that happened he may well die.
When my father summonsed to his bed and begged me to stop, telling me with tears in his eyes that all he wanted was to live long enough to hold Mum in his arms once again and for as long as the Lord allowed, what the f*ck was I supposed to do?
Wait, and have my revenge dish served the best way it can be.
That’s all I could do, and that’s what I did.
And now, cometh the hour, cometh the man.
The Private Health Patient Referral Kickback Con is about to be well and truly exposed, and all the greedy bastards with dead patients blood on their hands are about to be exposed.
Don’t you worry about that, unless of course you wear colored-glasses and work in the Cardiac Unit at the Prince Charles Hospital.
Then you should be afraid, very afraid, for your sins are about to come back to haunt you in spades.
Good onya Son! Take the bast*rds to town! Someone’s gotta keep ’em honest.