Since I’ve had some responses from workers in elder-care facilities, this next excerpt from The Clueless Caregiver concerns my adventures with The Folks’ nursing home. Even though they receive care 24/7, family input remains necessary - and at a distance of 1,200 miles, I was the closest. Thank goodness for that wonderful, dedicated staff at The Manor! I begin here mid-chapter:
Remember when I mentioned that things happen suddenly with Old People? Now the bed was suddenly too high for her get into by herself. I called Anderson Furniture where I’d bought it to ask if they had a lower frame. No, but they could replace the wheel casters with skids, which would set it down at least three inches. According to the Manor, that would be enough.
Well, Anderson Furniture is way the heck on the south side of town. What was this gonna cost?
“Oh, we’ve always got a truck headed up there. We can stop by and take care of it by Friday. No charge.”
That’s why I mentioned their name, folks. I love them.
Less than a month later the Manor said she needed a grab-bar on the side of the bed. Anderson couldn’t help me with that. I didn’t even know what it was or how to describe it. Fortunately Wells Yeager Best, the medical supply place, knew all about such things. I arranged for it to be delivered and installed.
Two weeks later the Manor called again. Now, understand some poor clerk at the nursing station has to call every time there’s a fall, a medication adjustment, a Tylenol administered, or a Band-Aid installed. You’re called a lot when your folks are in care, not just when action is required as I’m reporting here. In this case, of course, action was required. Mom, despite heroic determination, now regularly needed more help they could give on Assisted Living.
She had to move again.
This was worse than Intermediate. She had to be dressed, bathed and toileted. She needed Comprehensive. There was a very rare opening at the moment and they were proceeding. The bed I’d worked so hard on had to go. Only hospital-type beds were used on Comprehensive.
I called Verizon.
It was two weeks before I could get everything in order for the two-day drive from Friendswood, Texas to West Lafayette, Indiana.
I had never seen Comp before. It was depressing as hell. None of the warm colors or gracious décor was possible back there – no carpeting or elegantly corniced and swagged draperies. It was plain tile and linoleum as far as the eye could see. It was more Spartan than a hospital.
That’s the way it has to be for residents requiring that level of care. They have to be wheeled everywhere, and homey personal effects are pre-empted by medical equipment and supplies.
Mom was in the only bed available, next to a turnip named Catherine. The only furniture that would fit in Mom’s half of the room was her lift chair, dresser, and chest of drawers.
Mother, bless her heart, was making the best of it. She had the window bed, thank goodness. One of Dad’s co-workers from the Wild Bird Shop had set up a birdfeeder for her to watch.
The unit managed to scrounge up two other ladies who could feed themselves and make more or less lucid conversation to share her table at meals. She was still getting her daily newspaper and the front desk was also transferring her political newsletters.
While the Comp nurses and aides loved having an alert and responsive patient, they were much too overworked to chat. The saving grace here was students doing their geriatric tour. Mom is such a pleasant and encouraging person they wanted to spend as much time with her as they could. Still, it was rough being cut off from her sister, my Aunt Lucille, and other relatives and friends.
I called Verizon again.
I arranged for maintenance to move and install her TV and the window valance from her old room. Next I brought over as many pictures as possible to make pleasing arrangements without looking cluttered.
And I kept after Verizon.
The dispatcher reported techs had been out there but for some reason they couldn’t do anything. Why not? I had seen the stupid jack myself! After many frustrating conversations, it was finally determined that, yes, there was a jack on the wall. But it was just a construction formality. It had never actually been wired. Why would anyone in Comp need a phone?
Finally they agreed to call Indianapolis and get someone up there who knew how to rig a jack. But it would be awhile. And it would cost way more than the usual $57.18.
The next week was spent weeding out the Assisted Living room. How could the remnants of Mother’s long, fruitful life be reduced even more than it already had?
Taking a break from ridding out one time, I trekked to Comp to discover that Verizon had been there. Joy! I ran all the way back to her old unit and grabbed the phone. Eagerly I plugged it in and lifted the receiver. Nothing. Oh, yeah. It needed 16 hours to charge back up. I would have to leave before then but the nursing station promised to keep an ear out for my call.
Several days later it still wasn’t working. I called the nursing station. Yes, it was all set. The light was on. Just no dial tone.
I called Verizon.
Yes, they could put her number on that jack. $57.18, please.
Obviously, for everything I did, there were nurses, aides, and clerks doing twice as much. They were especially helpful in my ongoing battles with Verizon. I can never adequately express my appreciation for those folks.
cluelesscaregiver
