After a week or ten blurry days of a regular hospital stay
with minimal rehabilitation, John’s insurance moved him to the Rehabilitation Unit
of the second hospital. Since this Unit had a reputation as being one of the
finer rehab units in Southern California, I was delighted with this phase. I felt that now he would begin making some real progress.
On a daily basis, John received speech, occupational, and
physical therapy. It became a ritual that I would receive The Phone Calls at
work from the therapists. “Nancy, Line 1” became my new nightmare as it
bellowed over the store intercom system. Especially memorable were the reports
from the speech therapist. Her “John will never speak more than 150 words”
still echos in my devilish dreams. When I heard that, I did nearly crawl behind
the counter in the store and hide again. This was not my definition of the
“normal” to which John would return. I decided that John and I would prove this
therapist wrong, somehow. The seesaw ride for me from “pronouncement to
determination” to “new pronouncement to further resolve” was now making me
dizzy within the Cloud-Fog.
The Phone Calls continued. They came almost daily, and often more than once in a day. The telephone cord felt like a hangman's noose to me.
After two weeks in the Rehab Unit, the next life shattering
announcement from the White Coats was that “There is a cheaper way to do this”.
Something inside me snatched those words and etched them on my forehead, even
though I had no idea what they meant at the time. It became clear a few days
later when The Phone Call came that John was being moved in an hour, to a
Skilled Nursing Facility, abbreviated, SNF.
AN HOUR?
They had to be kidding. I
was told to get there to register him. I felt as if I was swimming upstream in
icy unknown waters again. The “whys” returned. My thoughts were: “Why is he being moved?” “Why,
again?” “Why are they taking him away from this wonderful hospital to something
obviously of lesser quality?” “Why are they placing “normal” further from his
and my reach?”
I was so alone. I could barely breathe with the rope squeezing my chest.
We all know that hindsight is 20-20. I now know that this
was only the beginning of many ridiculously short notices for massive changes
in the “un-care” system of which John was hopelessly entangled.
In my effort to remain as cheerful and supportive as
possible in front of John, I arrived at the SNF with a smile on my face and
went to the reception desk. After an introduction there, the young gal at the
desk took out her clipboard and began questioning me. When I quickly answered
her third query and gave his social security number, she asked “How do you know that
so quickly?” I was shocked by her comment. Why would I not know my husband’s
social security number, especially since I had had to repeat it about four
thousand five hundred and seventy six times since the curtain fell?
The next
question she asked was “What funeral home will you be using?” The abject
cruelty of that question rankles me to this day. I thought torture chambers
were illegal in America. Fortunately, I was leaning with my elbows on the
counter. My knees went weak and had I not been leaning on the counter, I would
have fallen to the floor. In what Universe is that the next question after
name, address, and social security number? Why would anyone so easily stab a
family member that quickly, without knowing why the patient was arriving there?
Are there no standards or training for these workers that teach them compassion
or simply humane-ness? What planet did this girl live on?
"Does this emotional
roller-coaster that I am on ever slow down? Can I get off this ride?" These were my rampant thoughts. The ever present Cloud-Fog was exceptionally dark on this day.
The book, "Don't Stop
the Music: Finding the Joy in Caregiving" which tells the entire story of
the stroke with the Lessons Learned, and Solutions for Caregivers will be
published in late 2014.
You can view John's facebook
page for the complete chronological story of his life and stroke at:
Please
feel free to share these posts with others and reply, with credit given.
2014 Nancy Weckwerth 
If you wish to Comment, click on the "Not-so-intuitive" No Comments link. It will open a text box so you may comment. Thank you.
ReplyDelete