A Warning to Patients: What Happened to Me at Salem Hospital

I am writing this as a warning to anyone who may one day place their life in the hands of Salem Hospital in Salem, Massachusetts. What happened to me there in March 2009 was not an unfortunate outcome, a complication, or a misunderstanding. It was a preventable medical injury, followed by years of denial and neglect, that permanently destroyed my health and my life.

The Beginning: A Treatable Condition

In early March 2009, I went to Union Hospital in Lynn, Massachusetts, after several days of worsening abdominal pain. Imaging revealed diverticulitis with an abscess. While serious, this was a condition that is commonly treated with antibiotics and, when necessary, drainage.

I was told I would need to be admitted for IV antibiotics. The physician advised me to return home briefly to make arrangements for my dogs and then report instead to Salem Hospital, which he said was better equipped to manage my case.

I followed that advice.

Admission to Salem Hospital

I arrived at Salem Hospital on the evening of March 13, 2009. From the moment I entered, something felt wrong. I was placed in a shared ward room with several other patients.

Within minutes of arrival, I was given morphine for severe pain. Shortly afterward, another nurse administered Dilaudid without realizing I had already been medicated, responding with “Oops” when I questioned it. I experienced visual disturbances consistent with excessive narcotics.

That incident was dangerous, but it was only the beginning.

The Procedure and the Injury

I was placed under the care of Dr. Russell Ryan, a surgeon I initially trusted due to his past treatment of my grandmother decades earlier. He recommended draining the abscess by inserting a catheter through my abdominal wall near my colon. The catheter was placed just after midnight on March 14, 2009.

The following morning, a nurse explained that the catheter would need to be flushed regularly with saline. The first flush was done gently and felt correct, with the cold saline reaching the affected area.

Later that day, the nurse who had already made the medication error returned to perform another flush. She was distracted, socializing with other patients. She forcefully injected the saline.

Immediately, I felt:

• A sudden surge of intense pain
• A distinct popping sensation inside my body
• Cold fluid spreading across my right side, not into the abscess

I told her something had gone very wrong. She ignored me.

From that moment on, every flush felt the same. I reported this repeatedly to nurses, residents, and eventually to Dr. Ryan himself. I was told repeatedly that it was “fine.”

Dr. Ryan dismissed my concerns outright and responded angrily when I questioned what I was feeling, asking, “Are you a doctor?”

Five Days of Warnings Ignored

For five days, I remained hospitalized, reporting the same symptoms again and again. No imaging was repeated. No investigation was done. No one listened.

When the catheter was removed on the fifth day, the resident performing the removal stated, “This isn’t even attached. It’s just floating.”

I was discharged with no meaningful follow-up instructions.

The Damage That Followed

What happened during those five days created a colocutaneous fistula, an abnormal tract connecting my colon to the surface of my body.

For the next three years, I lived with:

• A hole in my right side
• Continuous leakage of blood, pus, and fecal matter
• Recurrent infections
• Periods of severe illness when drainage stopped

I returned to Dr. Ryan repeatedly as the wound swelled, burst, drained, and re-infected. Each time, he insisted it was “residual matter” and would resolve. He prescribed antibiotics, lanced the area, and sent me home.

When drainage temporarily stopped, I became dangerously ill. Waste was backing up into my system.

Despite visible, undeniable symptoms, the injury was never acknowledged or properly treated.

The Truth Finally Confirmed

In April 2012, nearly three years after the original injury, I arrived at Beth Israel Hospital extremely ill and close to death. A surgeon there finally investigated properly.

My medical records from Beth Israel clearly document:

• A colocutaneous fistula
• An enterocutaneous fistula
• A tract connecting my colon directly to my skin

This confirmed exactly what I had been reporting since 2009.

Corrective surgery was finally performed.

The Permanent Cost

By the time the damage was repaired:

• I had spent years bedridden
• I had lost my ability to work
• I had lost my financial stability
• I was eventually declared disabled

I was forced to sell my home just to survive. I lost irreplaceable time with family members who died while I was too sick to see them. My physical health, independence, and future were permanently altered.

Why I Am Speaking Out

What happened to me was not a rare fluke. Salem Hospital’s own public reviews show a continuing pattern of patients being ignored, dismissed, and harmed.

Hospitals rely on silence. On patients being too sick, too overwhelmed, or too afraid to speak.

I am speaking because I survived long enough to document what happened.

If you are a patient, trust your body. If something feels wrong, it probably is. If you are being dismissed, get out and seek another hospital immediately.

And if you are considering Salem Hospital in Salem, Massachusetts, understand this:

What happened to me began as a routine medical admission.
It ended with a life permanently destroyed.

The Horrors Of Salem Hospital In Salem, Massachusetts

 Photo courtesy of Marcelo Chagas

 

March 13, 2009, I had been feeling sick for several days with a really bad stomach ache and decided I needed to go to the Emergency Room.  There had been a stomach flu going around and I figured I just had that.  The pain was getting worse, so I wanted to be sure it wasn't something else.

IT WAS SOMETHING ELSE

I went to Union Hospital in Lynn, Massachusetts, thinking it would just be a couple of x-rays and maybe an antibiotic and I would be on my way.  What I was told is not the shocking part.  The treatment I received within the next five days would leave me seriously maimed and eventually completely disabled, by a negligent nurse, then the doctor whose "care" I was supposed to be in.

The news itself was disappointing, but not life-threatening or anything. I was told after a CT Scan or MRI that I had Diverticulitis and would need to be admitted and placed on IV antibiotics because in my case, the inflamed area had abscessed. 

I told the doctor that I had dogs at home and would have to go home first to speak to my two roommates, who happened to be my best friend and another more recently met good friend.  Then after making sure my friends knew the dogs were in their care for the next five days, I would immediately return.

The doctor said that was perfectly understandable but told me I should go to Salem Hospital (also in Massachusetts) when I returned.  He said they were better equipped to handle my case and he also mentioned that there was a large team of surgical residents, who would be able to monitor me when the doctor I would be assigned was not around.

When I arrived at Salem Hospital, it was already dark outside.  I remember the long corridor and the blue haze of the ward and room I was sent to.

Something felt incredibly ominous about my walk down that corridor to the ward where my room was.

 My grandmother died in 2002 at this very hospital, in the same ward, just two floors away from where I ended up.

I wish I had listened to my gut and turned around, then had gone to a hospital in Boston, like Beth Israel.  

After getting settled into my room (which I shared with 5 to 7 other men) I was given an EKG because I was breathing so heavily and the first nurse who showed me to my room thought I was having a heart attack.  After explaining that I was breathing that way because it helped with the severe pain I was in.  I was given morphine immediately for the pain and another nurse joked that it was smart to breathe the way I was, because women have been doing that since the beginning of time to help with birth pains.  The guy in the bed straight across from me rolled his eyes.

The pain medication was starting to work, and I was feeling like I could rest a little finally. I had only drunk water and a little orange juice for the last several days and hadn't been sleeping well.

And just like that, a few minutes later, the nurse that would eventually destroy my life walked in and shot something into the IV and when I asked her what that was for, she said Dilaudid for the pain.  I told her that I had just been given morphine minutes ago to which she replied "Oops".

Anyway, I was completely out of pain at that point and saw a radiating purple haze around all the lights in the room and around anything that reflected light.

So, within minutes of being admitted to Salem Hospital, I was probably close to being overdosed, but I can't even complain about that.  What this nurse would do next, would leave me bedridden for years and sicker than I've ever been, wiped out of all finances (from not being able to work), and disabled.

As soon as the doctor came in, I recognized his name, Dr. Russell Ryan.  Twenty-one years earlier, my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer, and he was her surgeon.  He was amazing and she recovered quickly and made a full recovery.  

My concerns were basically gone at this point. I trusted this doctor.  And when I mentioned her name, he actually said he remembered her and started singing a song he would sing along with my grandmother in 1988.  

He told me my diagnosis and told me that I would be having a catheter inserted into my colon, where the Diverticulitis had abscessed, in order to drain it. This procedure happened at around midnight, on March 14, 2009.

 I was sent to imaging, where the catheter was successfully inserted, and sent back to my room around 2 a.m.

I tried getting as much sleep as I could but was woken many times over the next few hours.

However, many hours later, a wonderful nurse came into my room and told me that the catheter would need to be flushed every so many hours, to clean out the infection and speed up recovery.  She did this procedure very gently.  I did feel a good amount of pain in the area being flushed but could feel that the cold saline solution was going to the affected area. 

Later that afternoon, this wonderful nurse came in to say goodbye, her shift was over, and told me that the next shift would be coming in, along with my night nurse. Who of course, ended up being the same nurse that gave me the second dose of pain medication.

My life changed from that very moment she walked into my room to do the second flush.  Like the night before (I haven't mentioned this yet) she was preoccupied with socializing with all the guys in my room, who were doing their catcalls, which she ate up.  Mainly, the man across from me, who rolled his eyes over my breathing technique for the pain.

She shot the saline solution in me so fast; that I felt a huge surge of pain and a pop on my right side, below my ribs, in the area where the catheter was.  I could also feel the sensation of the cold saline solution going all over my right side, instead of the affected area.

I told her this immediately, which she ignored and went on socializing. I told every nurse and resident who came in the room what had happened and was told it was fine.

When I asked to speak to Doctor Ryan, he came in, told me it was fine, and even got upset that I dared question anything coming from a doctor, even asking me "Are you a doctor"?

For five straight days, I told them this was happening with every flush and was ignored.

On the fifth day when I went to imaging to have the catheter removed, the resident who removed it said: "This isn't even attached, it's just floating. This happens all the time". 

This was the beginning of my end.  I had what is called a Colocuaneous Fistula, basically a tract connecting from my colon to the surface, through the muscle and fat, which leaked blood, puss, and actual feces for three years.  I just recently saw this in my medical records from Beth Israel, the hospital that finally corrected this three years later in 2012.

For the next thirteen years, I would be forced to sell my home and buy something for less to survive a few years, twice and now it will be the third time when I am forced to do that again.

I would lose my health and what seems like any chance of ever having a normal life again.

I would lose family members and friends, I never got to see before their deaths because of how ill I was, and I would be denied the chance to properly mourn them when I was mourning my own death sentence, given to me by Salem Hospital.

Thirteen years of losses, because of one negligent nurse and one doctor who couldn't have been bothered to treat a patient who was injured severely, while in his care.

Doctor Ryan is a liar, and he is a manipulator. He looked me in the face many times over the next three years, convincing me that the drainage at the entrance where the catheter was inserted was normal.  And for a time, I believed him. I thought, like he said, "It's just residual matter working its way to the surface" and eventually will clear and everything will be alright.

It was a lie and that doctor that cared for my grandmother years before, was no longer the same man.

This was the first part of my descent into despair and not only losing my financial stability but losing my mind, when I realized all was lost and I was never coming back from this.

Stay Away From Salem Hospital In Salem, Massachusetts - Your Life Could Be Destroyed

 I now have all of my medical records from Salem (vile, lying, corrupt) Hospital, Hallmark Health aka Melrose-Wakefield Hospital, and Beth Israel Hospital.  It just struck me that I never got my records from Union Hospital, which  I visited a few times in those three years Salem Hospital allowed me to live with an injury they created, then ignored it, leaving me with a hole in my right side, that leaked blood, puss, and feces for the three years. As proven below in the first set of pictures. 

In the first photo, that is the hole where the catheter was inserted in March of 2009.  After a nurse shot the saline flush into the catheter, I felt a pop and the cold solution spreading across my right side. After telling all of the staff what had happened, it was ignored for the remaining five days I was admitted. This created (what I've been saying for thirteen years) a tract from my colon (where the catheter was supposed to be attached) through the muscle and fat, which leaked out of the hole on the surface.

I was told this was impossible and that would have likely killed me. In my recently attained records from Beth Israel, it is right there in black and white. 

The third photo (from this set of three) is from my medical records when this "mistake" was fixed in April of 2012). The report mentions a Colocutaneous Fistula, a very rare complication that creates a tract from the colon to the surface.

In my case, the area where the break was attached to my abdominal wall (I'm guessing) around the catheter tube that was supposed to be draining the abscess and to the surface. 

During those five days I was admitted, the "tract" mentioned in my records from Beth Israel, formed an exit to the surface, which after the catheter was removed, I lived with for those three years.

The middle picture is from my scan at Hallmark Health in November of 2011, almost three years after my injury. You can clearly see the "tract).  It looks like there is a mini digestive system coming from my colon to the surface, or what I call the second rectum this disgraceful hospital created.

For three years, this was ignored by many different doctors, at several different hospitals who did not want to get involved, and the doctor I was a patient of when it happened.
 

There is also mention of an enterocutaneous fistula from my report from Beth Israel.  

An enterocutaneous fistula is an abnormal connection that develops between the intestinal tract or stomach and the skin. As a result, contents of the stomach or intestines leak through to the skin.

I have been paying close attention to Salem Hospital's online reviews for several years now. Nothing has changed and that is right there for you to see in black in white. People are still being harmed, and they are still being protected against having just lawsuits filed against them, probably because of The Mass General name behind them.

What happened to me while in their care, was not an accident, it was not a mistake, it was a negligent injury that was ignored and covered up, while I withered away and lost any chance of having a normal life again. 

A life has been destroyed for thirteen years now. Even though I continue to fight, it has not gotten easier. 

Some physical problems have lessened lately as I am still fighting, but I have been financially destroyed, being declared disabled now, because of all of this.

Let's Talk In Depth About The Doctor That Allowed Me To Live Like This For Three Years

 

 Photo Courtesy of RF._.studio

 

My first experience with Dr. Ryan was in 1988 after my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer and Dr. Ryan was her surgeon.

  All of my family really appreciated the care he gave to her. He would laugh, joke, and sing to her, to which several nurses told us how unusual it was for him to act like this because he usually had a "cold/terrible bedside manner." Of course, those things were said when he was not around.

I would get the same reaction 21 years later from a couple of the nurses when he started singing her name after I told him I was her grandson. 

My experience as his patient was nothing like the one my grandmother had. 

From the moment I dared to say that something went seriously wrong, he became cold. He didn't want to hear about what had happened (ignoring what I already knew what was going on inside me), telling me everything was fine.

I probably had a dozen or more saline flushes during my five-day stay at Salem Hospital, and only the first one actually flushed the affected area. After the nurse blew a hole in the abscess and my colon, I could feel the cold fluid spreading all over my right side, around the affected area. 

I saw Dr. Ryan three times during my five-day stay. When I was first admitted he was a pleasure and I trusted this doctor because of the history.

I saw him again when the break happened and he was much more snippy, especially when he asked me if I was the doctor or knew better than a doctor when I told him I could feel what was going on in my body during those flushes. Well, no, I am not a doctor, nor have I ever been one... But, YES, I did know better than YOU a doctor, when I said that I knew what was going on in my body. After finally getting my medical records from Beth Israel Hospital, what I've been saying for thirteen years was confirmed. This mistake to correct what the nurse had done, had created a connection from my colon to the surface, basically a man-made rectum, that leaked blood, puss, and fecal matter for over three years. In Beth Israel's report, I had a Colucutaneous Fistula - a tract connection from my colon to the skin/surface.

On the last day when I was released, I saw him one more time when he discharged me. There were no special instructions, barely any communication, just "You're fine - we'll call you for a follow-up colonoscopy in a month". 

Around a month or so later, I had a colonoscopy with doctor Ryan at Salem Hospital. My mother who wasn't driving as much came with me, since she would be the one who had to drive home, after the procedure.

I went to the procedure room, escorted by a male nurse, who was very friendly.  Doctor. Ryan was already in the room.  I was given whatever the drugs that relax you are and the next thing I knew, I was in the recovery room. 

I have to say, other than Dr. Ryan and the nurse who broke my colon, I had no problem with any of the other Salem Hospital Staff. 

I really want to mention Dr. Butler, who was my main resident doctor, during the five days I was admitted.  She was wonderful, she explained things to me and she had a great bedside manner.

Back to the story of my colonoscopy. Dr. Ryan came in after my procedure, and told me it wasn't really a severe case of Diverticulitis, but was Diverticulosis and everything would be fine.  He then asked me how I was doing after the procedure, to which I answered that I was fine and must have been completely out because I didn't remember a thing about the procedure. He answered, no you were not out, you were talking throughout the whole procedure. And then he left.

I'm not sure what was said during the procedure, but wonder if this is where Doctor Ryan might have held something against me.  It's the only thing I can think of when thinking about what hell I would go through over the next three years and one month.  

My first minor flare-up with this "mistake" made at Salem Hospital was mild compared to all the rest to come.  I called Dr. Ryan's office and was told he was now at North Shore Physicians Group, just down the road in Salem, Massachusetts. An appointment was made and he clearly could see there was some puss, blood, and a slimy yellow liquid coming from the wound. He told me that it was just some residual matter coming from the affected area and would be fine. Gave me more antibiotics and sent me on my way.

Not long after, when all of the antibiotics must have left my system, my right side, where the catheter was inserted, rapidly filled with fluid, which eventually came to a head, like when any infection/cyst-like flare-up does.  At its fullest, it looked like an elbow was sticking out of my side in that area.

The area was still pretty tender and where it came to a head, broke open, and blood, puss, and fecal matter (that matched my regular bowel movements) came from the wound.

I again called Dr. Ryan's office, and this time was told that he was now at Mass General North, in Danvers, Massachusetts. I got an appointment immediately and he basically blew off the huge swollen area on my side. I told him the discharge matched my bowel movements, which he ignored, and told me he would lance the area, even though it was open and still seeping several different fluids. When he cut into it, he told me he was going to open it as much as possible thoroughly clean it out, and pack it with antibiotics and some solution to prevent infection, and that I would have to come back in a week or so to have him remove it.

Once again, everything was fine for a little while on the antibiotics, until the same thing happened again.  The area filled with fluid and infection, then came to a head, broke, and then started leaking blood, puss, and feces all over again.  

The same month this all happened to me, my father was diagnosed with cancer and it was terminal. I ended up seeing Dr. Ryan one day in the summer of 2009 when my father was to start his radiation and chemotherapy treatments. My father was sitting with a couple of my aunts and me in the waiting room of Mass General North in Danvers, Massachusetts.  The lower level in the back was the cancer floor. Dr. Ryan walked by and I explained to him what my father was going through and this WAS NOT the time for me to be sick.  I told him the wound was still leaking, and he replied with a big smile, that everything was fine, and once again, said it was just residual matter working its way to the surface, around four or five months after the injury.  I introduced him to my father and aunts and told them he was my doctor back in March. He was pleasant with all of them and shook my father's hand, never acknowledging that I basically begged him to help me once again.

My very last appointment with Dr. Ryan was towards the end of 2011. Everything had started all over. I covered the area with Neosporin at all times, so the skin surface stayed soft, and kept draining. Now, almost three years later. When the drainage stopped, I started getting very sick. The waste from my broken colon was getting into my system. When I walked into his office, he actually threw his hands up and said, "What are you doing here now"? I knew I was done at that moment, but stayed because I was very sick. He gave his usual empty words about "residual matter", smiled like everything was fine, and was snippy when I would tell him it wasn't. He once again lanced the area, cleaned it out, and gave me antibiotics, which gave more more time. At least there was a large opening again, for everything to drain.  At this point, it would be around 4 or five months before the corrective surgery would be done at Beth Israel Hospital. 

When I left Dr. Ryan's office that day, I called my primary care doctor and said that I didn't care about where the insurance wanted me to go, find me another doctor at another hospital out of this network. I was assigned another doctor at Hallmark Health in Melrose and he was a wonderful man, but could tell pretty soon after seeing him, he was not equipped to fix what had been done to me. He did give me enough Cipro and Flagyl to keep the infections down until my corrective surgery in April 2012. After a colonoscopy-type procedure, when I was given something to drink to clean out, (the Colucutaneous Fistula created by Dr. Ryan and Salem Hospital) began spaying liquid feces non-stop. It was honestly spraying out of me continuously. After that, I would call for appointments and never get calls back. When I told my primary doctor about this, and said it was time to find another surgeon to fix this, he contacted the doctor's office and he saw me one last time. He lanced and cleaned the wound thoroughly and said there was a foamy substance in the affected area and thought it might be something synthetic, left behind from the catheter, and would send samples to the lab. I only had one more appointment with him after that, when he told me it was various types of bacteria and sort of acted like the doctor from Beth Israel like he was keeping something from me. 

At this point, I thought I would live like this for the rest of my life until it finally killed me. 

The prescriptions he gave me for Cipro and Flagyl did keep me alive until April 2012, when I walked into Beth Israel, this time close to death, and begged for help from a young surgeon, who would save my life. But my nightmare was not over. Years in bed and sick took a toll on my body and I've never been the same.

I don't remember exactly how many times I went back to Dr. Ryan in those three years, but it was quite a bit. I still held the hope that what he was telling me about the residual matter would eventually go away until I didn't. I knew what had happened during those days I was admitted, so I basically knew what was going on, just terrified to acknowledge it, because I knew that if it was ignored, my life would soon be over.