Help for Healing

Bitter & Sweet, living daily with grief


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Release

Phew!

After a very emotional and exhausting week, Dad is coming home tomorrow! I know it could have been a much longer time, but it felt like it was a really long road. It was weird leaving rehab today, knowing that on a Saturday morning none of them would be there when he is discharged. After a while, it feels like they are family. The physical and occupational therapy department were really great with him. They liked working with him too because he is just a nice guy and they appreciate him. It sort of reminded me of when I left Hospice after Tim died. These are people you start to see every single day, and suddenly you know you will probably never see them again.

Plus, there is the connection of feeling grateful to someone who has helped the person you love. When someone takes good care of your family, your child, whoever, there is a warmth toward them that doesn’t go away. There were obvious problems that I’ve blogged about previously, but there were many who did their jobs extremely well.

Dad is counting down the hours. They are letting him out at 9 am to accommodate my schedule because I have a hellish day tomorrow. I need to get him all packed up, transported home, unpacked, and have his meds ready for the week, all before 11 am. I appreciate them getting him out earlier for me.

My sister from Tennessee and I talked about the need for someone to keep an eye on things for the next week. The assisted living home where he resides think it’s a great idea as well. Truth be told, I think Dad does too. No more falls. He needs to be careful. Sometimes he still struggles with buttons or shoes. Someone should be nearby when he showers, just in case he loses his balance. We can hire staff to handle those things, but it’s frankly a ridiculous amount of additional money. I’m hoping we can handle it ourselves.

Monday he meets the doctor at his living complex. I’m hoping we like her. After that, I will have to buckle down and help him with all his Christmas preparations. We’ve done what we can already, but there will be plenty of last minute things. Too bad hardship doesn’t check in with your schedule. It always seem to happen at the most difficult time. But there is no one that can control that. And in a self-centered society that promotes individual happiness, the art of sacrifice is sometimes a lost virtue. I’ve been studying a psychologist who bucks that bologny and pushes for putting others ahead of yourself. It’s refreshing to read him.

Thanks to all of you for your prayers and support and visits and love and the countless hours listening to me vent. And yay to dad, who does his best to push on, even though he has been ready for a long time to be done with this side of heaven. Love you, Dad!


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More Madness

The good news from last week is that Dad was able to legitimately be in the hospital until Saturday and was transferred to Rehab. As always, there are great professionals, average, and not-so-great-at-all. It is still the policies and procedures that make me crazy because it is a set-up for nonsense.

Dad arrived with eight stitches in his head. We had been told they would need to come out in seven to ten days. I figured that wouldn’t be a problem because he is going to be in a medical facility anyway, right?

Right.

He was admitted Saturday and that is when I started asking questions about the stitches. Dad is going to need these out on Monday. Yep. Okay. I find out that “his” doctor (the one assigned) came in early Sunday morning. I asked if there was anything about the stitches. Nope, he didn’t seem to notice them. Please send a note to him because those stitches need to come out. Yep. Okay. Apparently my voiced concerns did not warrant a note in the chart so he wouldn’t overlook them.

I come in Monday and guess what? Doc doesn’t come in on Monday. Tuesdays and Thursdays only this week. Fine. Can you please make sure the note is there for him? Yes, it is.

I come in Tuesday. Doc came in the early morning. Guess what? He didn’t look at the stitches. The nurses are the ones to take the stitches out but they aren’t allowed to without “doctor’s orders.” This actually goes back to the emergency room because the doctor there should have written orders for them to be taken out, but he didn’t do his job either.

Now I’m mad because it’s twice he’s seen Dad and nothing has happened. I said I want the doctor on Wednesday to look at him then. Nope, can’t do that. Why? Because we can’t bill for more than one doctor. But don’t worry, they’ve only been in seven days. Um, no. It’s been 10. Not sure how they count, but I know they are wrong.

The billing thing royally ticks me off. I go in Wednesday and go to the social workers. I tell them that their billing protocol isn’t my problem. They agree. I told them it is shameful if a doctor can’t spend less than one minute to look at the stitches. It is merely a hoop that needs to be jumped through. The nurses know they need to come out, but they can’t do it without orders. The social worker tells me that the doc IS coming in, even though it’s Wednesday. Phew!

I go to the nurse and tell her to PLEASE not let the doc forget to see the stitches. She says that the social worker is wrong. He is NOT seeing patients today. I go back to the social worker and don’t really have to find the words because she can see the look on my face. She says she will take care of it.

A nice nurse eventually comes and says that if the nurse practitioner happens to show up, she will have her look at Dad. If not, the doc will be there in the morning. She reassures me the nurses have been checking every day and the stitches have not become embedded into his skin so it’s ok. She manages to persuade me that it really is ok.

I come in this morning on Thursday and the doc hasn’t been in yet. He still hadn’t been in when I left at noon. I had to leave for work (imagine that, I have an actual job!) so I asked the nurse to PLEASE call me as soon as the damn stitch thing is resolved. She had already told me that she agrees the stitches definitely need to come out.

As I’m writing, I still haven’t gotten a call. My niece is on her way there. I told her to text me what is going on. She won’t be aggressive with them like I am, but if it gets to be 3:00 and they aren’t out, I will have to go back for a second time today and it will be very, very ugly because I will be very, very mad.

It’s all just stupid. There is no other word for it. Continue reading