The Long Version Part 3

The trip to the hospital was on June 4. I forgot to mention that this was the day before I was scheduled to go back to work so I had a required doctor's appointment that day because I had to be cleared to go back. My plan had been to go visit Dad for a bit then stop to get some lunch before go to the doctor. Luckily I left early. I ended up having to race home to get my Dad stuff (notebook with info and recent notes, Medicare/Medicaid cards, ID card and my Medical Power of Attorney form) and try to beat the ambulance to the hospital. I only had an hour before I had to leave to make it to my appointment and I didn't want to leave Dad. Thankfully my awesome cousins were able to come sit with Dad for a little while. I'll just let you imagine how my appointment went when my doctor asks me if I feel I'm ready to return to work. Also, during the previous 24 hours I had been the sickest to date (So sorry, Sa,) and I was really not well. I told the doctor I may as well go on back because I couldn't imagine when all this would become more manageable.

Going back to work sucked lemons. Not only did I have to seriously have to cut back on watching Dawson's Creek on Netflix, but I also had to talk to people. Gross! It was weird trying to figure out how to respond when people asked how I was doing. I ended up going with, "Well, I'm here." I figured most of them were probably happier not knowing how I was really doing. I spent a good chunk of my first couple of weeks back just crying at my desk and hoping no one would notice. One of my sweet friends who sits close to me would check on me frequently and prayed over me when it looked like I needed it. There are some people that you just know God puts in your life for a reason and she is one of those for me.

I had been trying for a couple of weeks to get the nursing home to set up an appointment for me to meet with Dad's doctor. Funny enough this is the same doctor he had at the first nursing home, but this is NOT a good thing. This doctor had refused to fill out paperwork for me to apply for FMLA to have time off work when I needed to do something for Dad. He had also flat-out refused to speak with me over the phone. I mean he was in the same room when I was talking to the secretary and just would not take the phone. Ass. So it was really no surprise that he didn't want to set up an appointment with me now. The nursing home compromised by setting up a care plan meeting where I get to talk to his nurses and physical therapist and social worker and the nutritionist. Pretty much everyone but the doctor. They also decided to move Dad out of the locked unit because some genius figured out that if he can't walk anymore his odds of escaping have been drastically reduced. So they made another mess of his belongings and piled stuff all over the place. Seriously, is it too much to ask to hang the pictures back up on the wall so he can have something familiar to look at? Apparently.

At the care plan meeting the nurse was flipping through his daily charts and trying to tell me how well he was doing. She casually mentioned that on June 6 it was noted that they suspected he had a urinary infection and the doctor had ordered lab tests to confirm. I was making a list of all the meds he was on so I asked which antibiotic he was put on and she checked and said there wasn't one. So she went to check the lab tests to see if maybe they were negative, but they weren't even there. They never did the test. Mind you, this meeting was on June 13, a week later. What the hell? I marched back into the Director's office and yelled a bit. He took me to the Director of Nurses and I yelled some more. (I may have mentioned that I would like to see how they would feel after having an untreated urinary infection for over a week.) The DON tried to wiggle out of it by saying that he most likely doesn't have an infection because he isn't running a fever. No, the doctor ordered the test so it doesn't matter if he has the infection or not you are required to follow the order. Try again. Next she said that they would have caught the infection when they did his blood work up. No, that was done on May 28 and this possible infection was documented on June 6. Try again. Well the hospital would have found the infection when they examined him. No, that was June 4, this was documented on June 6. Care for another try? Finally I just got "This was an error and our part and we are sorry." I told them to put him on antibiotics ASAP and that I would call back to check on the lab results the next day. It came back positive for the infection, and before you ask, yes, I have reported this incident to the state and they are investigating it.

When I went back to visit at the weekend, I found Dad with the nastiest case of pink-eye you can imagine. I asked the nurses what they were doing to treat his eye and the response I got was "What's wrong with his eye?" Seriously. I also found his denture case buried in the back of a drawer from where someone had shoved it 5 days before when they moved his room. He had not had his dentures out to be cleaned at all since! Remember that personal number the Director had given me? You can bet I used it that day. I also wrote a sign and hung it on the wall instructing the staff to remove and clean his teeth every night.

I had discussed the list of Dad's meds with some nursing family and friends. The consensus was that one particular medication was probably causing problems so I requested to stop that one. It's a 10 day process to come off of that med so we wouldn't be able to tell right away. Dad was getting so much worse. He didn't remember my brother who he had seen only a few weeks before. He didn't remember being married to my mom for 40 years. He didn't remember my boys. It was pretty much just me. He always remembered me and was happy to see me.  

The following week I started calling around again. I needed to get him out of this place. I tried to explain to some of the places that had turned us down before how his condition had declined so rapidly. They seemed to feel sorry for me, but they still said they couldn't take him because his past behaviors made him too much of a risk. Even though he can no longer get out of bed or even go to the bathroom on his own. Again, seriously. I finally called this special Alzheimer's care facility that is 45 minutes away. A co-worker highly recommended it after her mother stayed there. I figured that even if I didn't get to see him as often, and even if that meant he would forget me sooner, it was the best option if he was well taken care of. They sent someone over to evaluate Dad. (This is happening at the same time as that whole deposition thing. whee.) This is when the nursing home learns that I'm trying to find another place for him. Believe me, I have expressed my unhappiness with his care several times by now. After waiting the obligatory 3 days, which of course fell over a weekend making it longer, Monday I heard back and they said sorry but no. For all the same reasons and the other places. If an Alzheimer's specialty facility can't deal with old people acting out, especially when said person is now helpless, then what hope is there for the world?  

Tuesday, I get a call from the nursing home saying they are worried about Dad's weight loss. I had noticed he was thinner. He is a big guy, 6'1" before he started stooping with age. Since moving in about 5 weeks ago he has lost over 20 pounds. Down from 182 to 159! They are also switching him to a purred diet because he seems to have problems swallowing. They are starting him on a new drug to increase his appetite. Lovely. How have we fallen this far so quickly? The nurses say that they think it's just his dementia getting worse, but these people didn't know him 5 weeks ago. He was a completely different person after the psych hospital. I still haven't been able to get an appointment to speak with the doctor who won't return my calls. Queue the daily panic attacks.

Wednesday, the Director called and said if I was still interested in a transfer for Dad he had spoken with another facility owned by the same company and they would be willing to take him. This new place is much closer for me and also a LOT nicer. Don't get my hopes up, Dude. I told him that they had turned us down in May when we called and he said he had made an arrangement for me and the spot was ours if I just said yes. I still don't trust this guy so I told him I would look into it and I called the new place myself. They said it was really true and they could move him tomorrow if I wanted. I asked if they used the same doctor, they don't. In fact they have 3 different doctors that cover the facility and Dad would be under the care of one that specializes in Dementia. This doctor and/or his nurse practitioner come by 2 to 3 times a week. Wow! You totally had me at he will have a new doctor!

It does not pass my notice that this arrangement was probably made to keep the Director out of hot water. He most likely heard of my complaint to the state and didn't want Dad to get any worse on his watch. I don't care what the reason, I'm just glad it happened. 

Thursday, my kind bosses let me take time off to spend hours filling out paperwork for admissions. Then I had to go pack up his stuff and rush to my dentist appointment then back to the new place to unpack. I swear I should just not even try to make appointments for myself because they just get in the way.

Friday, I went to visit after work and for the first time my Daddy didn't recognize me. He thought I was a nurse. I know he was confused because of the move and everything was new and different. There had been times before when he couldn't remember my name, but he always knew I was his daughter. Never one of the nurses. I don't think he noticed me crying as I helped him with his dinner. After a while I told him I was his daughter, he accepted that even though it was a new concept for him at that moment. I asked him if he remembered how much I loved him and he spread his arms wide open. At least I'm in there somewhere.

Sunday was much better. He knew me right away and he knew my name and even asked about the boys and remembered their names too. He said he liked his new place except for one thing, there were some bad people. What bad people? They were called Democrats, and they were trying to push out the good people that are called Republicans. (I'm honestly not trying to be political, but this cracked me up! It would have had the same effect if the goodies and the baddies were reversed, I don't care.) I will take a bat-shit crazy Daddy that knows who I am over a nice sweet old man that thinks I'm a stranger any day! The bat-shit part doesn't bother me at all actually. I have kids, I know how to play pretend.

I saw him again today and he was still doing well. He told me to say hi to my husband and the boys. He also told me that there was a train wreck and he was sad because he thinks someone may have died. I'm not sure, but I think he thinks the wheelchairs are little trains. He also pointed out the North and South sides of the building to me and he was really pointing the correct directions. There are plenty of adults that don't know their directions (I would be one if I wasn't married to a land surveyor) but for a recently displaced Alzheimer's patient to get them correct was impressive to me.

He seems happy and stable for now. The staff seems caring and attentive, so I'm happy so far. I'm supposed to talk to his doctor on Friday to discuss his treatment and I guess we will go from there.

Now is the part where I send you a cyber cookie if you've actually read this whole story. I hope to keep this blog very much more updated from now on so that I can just direct people here and I can stop telling the story so many times. Good luck to me!