The last couple of days have not been the greatest. My dad is back in the hospital, after what seems like his one thousandth fall. It baffles me that this continues to happen, but the severe memory impairment combined with just enough strength to stand up out of one's wheelchair when one's legs are like Jello. . .well, it's a crappy combo.
Miraculously, he hasn't broken anything. I'm thankful for that.
The fact that he was slightly dehydrated upon entering the hospital, after being in a supposedly high-level care facility? So dehydrated that a low-dose of sedative to calm him down put him out cold for nearly 19 hours? Yeah. . . I'm feeling less than thankful for that.
So the hospital felt he could go home today but didn't want to release him to the skilled nursing center because they felt it wasn't safe for him after so many falls; they felt he needed to be in a secured memory unit.
You know, like the one at Sunrise. Where he also fell. A lot. Great.
So I told the nice social worker at the hosptial about my family's plan to move my dad to a retirement community apartment with round the clock private care. The problem is, the ground unit that we want isn't available until January.
I'm about to come out of my skin with impatience. I want him out of that facility YESTERDAY, but I'd like him to be in this particular complex since it's close to me, the utilities are included in the rent and he'd have lots of folks his own age for neighbors. So. . .we'll see.
In the meantime, the skilled nursing facility is willing to "let" my dad come back there IF he has round the clock private care because, as their social worker put it, "they just can't be liable for another one of your dad's falls." OH! And also, she also informed me that she knew the manager of these retirement apartments very well and she didn't think this lady would want to "take a chance on having someone who could have a serious accident on the property. In fact, Tracy, I'm not sure if our Dr. here will release him to go live there."
I'm not a yeller. I hate yelling. Frankly it makes me tired, and I feel terrible afterwards. But this poor nursing home social worker picked the wrong ticked off, over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived, only child to pick on today.
Someone, I guess it was me, but it didn't really sound like me, proceeded to tell this lady something like this: "REALLY?? You don't think YOUR Dr., who's seen him maybe ONCE will agree for him to live there?! Well, considering that my father showed up at the hospital yesterday dehydrated and with a slight concussion after being in YOUR facility, I don't think my father's REAL Dr. will have a problem with me taking him ANYWHERE ELSE BUT THERE."
Then, of course, I apologized. Like a wimpy,snivelling weasel. I told her that I knew she was just doing her job, but my family and I were just trying to do what was best and right now the best thing seems to be to take a break from facilities for awhile and just work things out between Jimmy and a couple other private caregivers.
She proceeded to babble about how she didn't meant to discourage me, she only meant to ENcourage me. . .she was suddenly Jesse Jackson. Whatever.
So now I'm at the mercy of shelling out more of my dad's once hard-earned money to pay for round the clock private care WHILE HE'S IN A SUPPOSED CAREGIVING FACILITY. Oh, and they all charge time and a-half for the holiday, naturally.
Damn. Sorry, Pastor Trevor. I hope you don't read this. Hell and damn. Also, shit. Also, crap. Also, cocksucker. That one's for the social worker. Encouraging enough for ya? Yeah.
There are so, so many things I'm thankful for, but the last 24 hours- - -well they just sucked.
I love you, Daddy. Please, please stop falling down, OK?
Now I'm going to go by the nursing home to lay eyes on my dad for a minute before going home, collapsing on the sofa and making hubs watch Moonstruck with me.
Watching Cher drink champagne by the fire after her little shopping spree always puts me in a better mood. . .