Run Death Is Near

Our Trust Has Been Violated. Nothing Seems Safe Anymore.

I'm Shane Shipman, and this isn't some abstract rant—it's what I lived through recently, and it's why I can't shake the feeling that hospitals aren't the safe havens we thought they were.

My Own Wake-Up Call in the Hospital

On my last trip to the hospital, I was handed medications without a single person asking what I was actually taking at home. No one pulled up my current list, no one cross-checked allergies or interactions—they just went off an outdated record that was way off base. It was like they were operating on autopilot, dispensing drugs based on old data while I sat there wondering if I was about to get something that could interact badly or worse. In a place where one wrong pill can kill you, that kind of basic failure hit hard. If they can't even get the simple stuff right—like updating a med list—how can I trust them with bigger decisions about my life?

This wasn't during the height of COVID chaos, but it echoed everything I saw and heard from that era. The pandemic exposed cracks that were already there, and my experience proved those cracks haven't been fixed.

What COVID Protocols Taught Me About "Healing"

During COVID, we watched rigid protocols take over: remdesivir pushed hard despite kidney risks and questionable benefits in many cases, heavy sedation with midazolam and fentanyl that suppressed breathing instead of helping it, and ventilators applied early and aggressively, sometimes damaging lungs more than the virus did. Families shared stories through places like the COVID-19 Humanity Betrayal Memory Project (CHBMP)—patients going in with manageable symptoms, getting remdesivir anyway, then escalating to sedatives and vents, isolated from loved ones, and dying in ways that felt preventable.

I read testimonies of widows describing husbands developing kidney failure after remdesivir, then pulmonary edema on vents—ending the same way over and over. Critics called it assembly-line medicine, with financial incentives from the CARES Act (20% Medicare bonuses for COVID codes, extra payments for remdesivir courses and ventilators) turning hospitals into profit centers. Base payments jumped from around $3,200 to $39,000+ for ventilated cases, and lawsuits in states like California and Minnesota allege wrongful deaths from protocols without real informed consent. Some even nicknamed remdesivir "Run, death is near." Official guidelines defended it for certain patients, but in the real world during surges, risks got ignored for uniformity and bonuses.

Basic safety fell apart too—medication errors spiked with understaffing and burnout. Studies showed discrepancies in up to 92% of post-COVID patients in some places. My outdated med list fiasco? That's the same negligence in action: home lists unchecked, high-risk meds overlooked, errors slipping through because the system was overwhelmed and never fully recovered.

The Deeper Betrayal That Lingers

What hurts most is how systemic it felt. Early treatment debates got censored, whistleblowers pushed back or silenced, families labeled "disruptive" for asking questions. Federal agencies called protocols evidence-based, but many of us see foreseeable harm brushed aside for control and cash. Accountability? Still slow—lawsuits drag on, reforms lag.

Nothing feels safe anymore. I used to think hospitals were where you go to get better. Now, after my own brush with careless med handling and knowing what happened to so many during COVID, trust is gone. Power imbalances, profit pressures, rigid protocols that can turn deadly—it's not one bad doctor; it's a culture that discourages questions and puts systems over people.

Moving Forward—But With Eyes Wide Open

My story isn't unique—thousands share similar experiences. Document your records, get independent reviews if something feels off, connect with groups like CHBMP, or talk to attorneys who handle medical negligence and protocol cases. Voices like ours expose the cracks and push for real change: patient-centered care, better med reconciliation (pharmacist-led), transparent incentives, and actual protection for speaking up.

Until then, blind trust is off the table. Vigilance is the new normal. In hospitals, safety shouldn't feel like a gamble—and it shouldn't take a personal scare to realize that.

—Shane Shipman (@shaneman007)
If this hits home from your own story, you're not alone. Share safely—it's how we force change.