The Long Version Part 1

Let's get everyone caught up, shall we? Dad moved into the nursing home on January 6th this year. The social worker there was pretty much a bitch from the start. She tried to come up with all kinds of excuses why he shouldn't be there. For example, they had him wear a plastic bracelet that would set off an alarm if he walked out the door, but they also had little outings to Wal-Mart where the residents were able to purchase anything they wanted. When my dad bought himself a pair of scissors to help him open his mail they accused him of intending to cut off his bracelet so that he could make a run for it. There were some really great nurses there, especially one named Linda, that I will always be grateful for because they really cared about him and did their best to take care of him and make his transition easier. Unfortunately, he did struggle with losing his independence. He had a lot of anger about not being able to do all the things he wanted to do. He constantly asked me to find him an apartment and I explained over and over why he shouldn't live on his own. Then he met a female resident who also has dementia and they got very attached to each other and then I had to start explaining over and over again why they were not able to get married. It seemed for weeks and weeks every time I saw him the first things he would say to me were, "Did you find me an apartment yet?" and "We need you to drive us to the court house to get married." It was exhausting and depressing. He was very demanding and called at all hours asking me to bring things to him, but it was nice because he was only two miles from me and close enough that I was able to go visit during my lunch break several times a week.

I knew that the nursing home wanted him to leave because they continued to manufacture offenses that they claimed he had committed and unfortunately for us all they also documented these offenses. I really don't know how much is true, but I was told that he made inappropriate comments and gestures towards employees and residents, that he was aggressive and combative, and that he had plotted and attempted to escape. In light of all this, I was looking for a new home for him, but to the bafflement of the nursing home, because of everything they had documented against my Dad no other homes would take him. First, I had no idea that a person could be turned down from a nursing home. Second, that is what old people do: they get crazy and act inappropriately. Third, what ever happened to taking care of people? Isn't that what they are there for? 

After a couple of months and being turned down by at least 3 homes, I got THE PHONE CALL.  It was on May 10th and the social worker calls me at work to tell me that they have been granted a mental health warrant and that the Sheriff is on his way to pick up my father and take him to a psychiatric hospital on the grounds that he is simply out of control and they are not able to deal with him anymore. Have I mentioned that this woman is Delores Umbridge? Every word that comes from her mouth is sticky sweet like she's your best friend, but she's actually the most evil Death Eater that has ever lived. So she tells me she just wonders if I would like to come pack some things for him or if I'd rather, she'd be happy to arrange that for me. Excuse me?! I have questions! What the hell is a mental health warrant? Why is a law enforcement officer involved? What are they going to do for him at a psychiatric hospital? Which hospital are they taking him to? Yeah, she can't answer ANY of these because she's a moron that doesn't know how to do her job! They only question she can answer is when are they coming to get him? That would be between 2:00 and 4:00. Oh. Okay. I see. That's why you waited until 3:55 to call me, right? Bitch.

I decided that there was no way anyone was going to put my Daddy into the back of a police car when he was guilty of nothing more than being old and slightly crazy. So I rushed over from work. I think there were a few panicked phone calls to my brother mixed in there somewhere. It's a bit blurry. I ran into the nursing home and went to his room and grabbed some clothes and personal items, then I went and found him in the dining room. I grabbed his hand and told him we were leaving and that he needed to walk with me right now and fast! We walked past the social worker and other administrative staff, one of whom even tried to run after us. I put him in the car and drove off. That's about the point when the adrenaline gave way to panic. Was I going to get arrested? Did we need to go into hiding? Does this count as harboring a fugitive?  I went to our house and sat Dad on the couch with a magazine and started making phone calls. In the next 30 minutes I made about 20 calls trying to figure out what to do. On the advice of my awesome cousin, I called the police department to inform them of what happened and where we were. Turns out, they didn't care. Dude I talked to didn't know what a mental health warrant was either. (I still don't understand so google if you're interested.) Dad got to spend some time outside in the backyard watching the boys play while I was calling everyone under the sun. (Magazines get boring.) They all enjoyed that time together and now I'm grateful for those few minutes. At the time I was just happy to have them all distracted so I could talk to people.

I called the hospital that Dad was supposed to be transferred to and got a bit more information. They were planning to evaluate his medications and make adjustments to improve his behavior issues. They seemed like good people and a nice facility so in the end I decided to take him over there myself. I didn't know it at the time, but that day may have been the last day of clarity I got to have with my Daddy. He noticed I was crying as we drove over and when he asked why, I explained that I was scared that I might get into trouble for taking him out of the nursing home and that he had to stay in this hospital for a few days but then I didn't know where he would go from there. He said that he was really sorry for all the trouble I have had to go through for him and he wished he wasn't such a bother and could do more for himself. I got him a sandwich from Schlotzsky's on the way over because he had missed his dinner. He told me that was the best sandwich he had ever had and he thought it was so nice that I bought it for him. We spent about 2 hours doing admissions paperwork and then I had to leave him. It was late when I got home and I was wiped out. I still hadn't eaten anything.

My amazing husband had once again been called upon to take care of dinner and baths and bedtime for the boys on his own (no easy task) and would have been well-within his rights to be grumpy about the situation. Instead, he tells me that he needs my help in the kitchen as soon as I walk in the door. I go in to see him standing with ice cream scoop in hand and a sheepish look on his face. He then informs me that he has accidentally ripped the bottom of the half-full half gallon container and we are now obligated to eat the rest because we can't store it as it will leak out of the bottom. Ice cream for dinner after a day like that? There is no other option.

I wasn't able to go see Dad the next night after work because there was a big storm predicted and this place has a very strict one hour window for visiting. The next day, I missed Timothy's grandmother's 90th birthday to make that one hour visit. Dad seemed so confused and out of it when I saw him. He was not himself at all. The nurses told me it was a reaction to the medications. Apparently the nursing home had Dad on 9 different medications trying to control his behaviors and the hospital was bringing him off of those and trying to get him down to just one. That would screw anyone up.

To be continued...