This is so Monty Python- the machine that goes Beep! I had a mini-movie playing in my head while reading your post.
Preview- Concerned Management pulling all-nighters to solve the staffing, pt flow, and money crisis. Music somber. They are Concerned. They are Working Hard. Darnit, they're running out of starbucks!! Then- the genius! Uplifting music- we have a plan!!!
Next scene- Charley Chaplin comedy style music playing- scene played in fast motion with an areial view of everyone scurry-ing around with funny jerky movements- showing the staff pushing ICU beds, vents, IVs, and other assorted interesting things- running back and forth between units. Slows down, management is standing off to the side, smiling as they survey their wonderful creation- full of a sense of accomplishment. As scene ends, we get a shot of all the staff propped against a wall, bent over slightly, and puffing for breath. Didn't they just work so hard being busy little bees. Then a quick shot of near comatose pts drooling and little old ladies looking befuddled, but so sweet the little old ladies are, and goodness! how they appreciate all this hard work to give them the best care!
Final scene- soft music. First shot, an empty (but how clean it is!) ward with a sterotypical cop, sitting with his chair propped back on two legs drinking black coffee and eating a Dunkin Donut. Out side the closed main doors to the ward.... maybe even the very door said cop is relaxing against- a shot of an empty (but clean!!) hall, light reflecting on the buffed floors......... and families and doctors wandering around aimlessly wondering just where in the hell their loved ones/patients are. Scene fades, with a shot of everyone's favorite older-then-dirt-will-retire-upon-death-buried-with-the-beeper-isn't-he-just-sweet-bless-his-heart-he-first-started-making-house-calls-in-a-cart-and-buggy-with-a-black-MD-bag-aren't-his-specticals-cute-look-at-his-quaint-old-timey-professors-suit-with-the-suede-elbow-patches-wearing-navy-shoes-with-brown-suit standing still in the middle of the wandering and wondering confused, scratching his almost bald wispy haired head with a concerned-but-kind-and-knowledgable-you-can-trust-me-I-inspire-trust look on his face - bless his heart. This final shot, of course, slowly washes out so that the last moments are shown in old-fashioned sepia black and white. It just makes it feel like the good old days!
I do feel your pain though, amusement aside. Management either thinks way too much- or not at all.
The only thing that will save you is the sweet old doctor meeting with the concerned management, taking off his glasses, and with a stern look, sitting them all down to explain to them the error of their ways and lead them to a better, gentler path..... uplifting music......
As I was saying, the only thing that will save you is when grumpy old doc with tons of connections and more influence then GOD (and surgeons) loses it and goes postal.
How do I know? Because something similiar happened at a hospital I worked at while in and then out of nsg school. Dr. Sir-yes-sir, surgeon extraordinaire, liked the floor I worked on. A lot. He wanted all of his pts there but especially the complicated ones. He is a brillant surgeon, a bit crusty and grumpy... but Man- he can all but lay hands on someone, know what's wrong, and fix it. If you were a nurse who worked hard, knew how to do a proper dressing change, knew that not farting was to be reported at any hour, but stupid stuff wasn't- he had your back all the way. If you sucked, or would get flustered to the point of not being able to function- he simply ignored you. He knew I was a CNA but in school, and if I wasn't busy he'd kidnap me to make rounds with him, giving me little lessons on each pt. He barked, and even the cockiest CEO learned quickly to jump and jump high. It frustrated him to no end when we stared moving pts from his favorite floor to the med floor- a stinky, smelly, and germ infested place in his opinion, to 'improve staffing and control costs for low census'. As he said.... often.... there's nothing wrong with a medical floor- it has great nurses- but every pt on it is a walking bag of infection that will kill my surgical patients!
The pt musical chairs went on for a while despite his protests. After one very bad weekend- I swear, on Sat alone we must have opened, closed, and reopend the floor four times- he came in on Monday morning to find his sickest, most immune-compromised pts on the med floor- and 'walking bags of infection' on HIS floor- a result of filling up the med floor and then having to open our floor to all further admits. He walked in to chaos. We were obviously exhausted, and when he walked to the nurses station and started streaming commands and queries- he suddenly stopped and just looked at us. We were so tried, frustrated, and numb we just looked back. He asked- very quietly- where is pt so-and-so. Downstairs, we replied. With the bags of infection- added an older nurse whom he had worked with for years and was friends with his wife. It was genius, she used such a perky helpful tone of voice. I see- he said looking at her, and started flipping through charts. After a bit, he asked-- if so-and-so is downstairs, I assume because of low census, why are THESE ...um...bags of infection on this floor? So she proceeded to explain step by step and in great detail how the weekend played out and just how many times the floor opened and closed. 'By the way', she added, 'I'm afraid some dressing changes were missed or late because of all the commotion. I believe the nsg supervisor did write it up, though.' I swear, you could hear a pin drop. Not even a call bell dared break the silence. He started to flush at the neckline and we watched amazed as it creeped upwards until his face was on fire. Scared me to death. He looked at each of us, and then said "Is everyone breathing?" Yes sir. And then.... "I'm sorry you had to go through this. I can promise you, I am going to take care of this right now." I missed the rest- we gave report and promptly evacuated the impending war scene with all possible haste and few words. The rest is now legend, and I don't believe our floor ever closed for low census again while I worked there, even on Christmas when we had two patients.