Today, after his being there for 9 days, I got a phone call that Dad will be discharged from the Rehab/Nursing Home (RNH). It’s not because he’s ready to go home but it’s that – they say – he’s refused therapy and is violent. There’s a “three strike” rule with Medicare that if you refuse therapy 3X, they will no longer cover any part of your stay and you’re responsible for the full payment amount. (Insert stomach flips here)
They don’t have to tell ME that the man is difficult but I would hope that this type of facility would be able to deal with a grumpy, depressed, stubborn, old man.
Also, during his time there, they’ve sent him to the local ER, twice. The second time was because he’d been given the wrong drug at the Psych ER the day before to help him get thru a CAT scan, and after they sent him back at 3:30 in the morning, the RNH couldn’t rouse him.
Dad says he’s done therapy, taken his pills and isn’t violent. He’s got Broca’s Aphasia (this was the Psych ER resident’s diagnosis) and gets frustrated when the words in his head can’t make it to his mouth. It makes him curse and clench his fist but I don’t believe he’s ever threatened anyone – I’ve seen it for 2 years and he’s never taken a swing at me.
So while I’m trying to get out of the house so I can request important information for Medicaid purposes, I get the above phone call.
Those that are close to me know that I’ve been hanging on by a thread. It’s been 3 years since I learned of my Mom’s Cancer & I haven’t really even had the time to mourn her death. I’m dealing with all of the paperwork; speaking to Dad multiple times a day (this never is a happy, bonding experience) as well as paying Dad’s bills and doing his grocery shopping, traveling from PA to NY every week – and only recently every other week – and the stress has been practically non-stop thru-out.
People tell me to “calm down” and “don’t worry” but if your house is ever on fire, see if that kind of advice is helpful to you.
I can’t sleep, yet I don’t want to get out of bed. The butterflies in my stomach don’t leave much room for food. My Chiropractor is having a field day with my neck.
Back to today.
Tom was at work and so worried about me* that he called Jane and asked her to just come over and be with me. By the time she arrived I had taken an anxiety pill and was starting to ease up on the tears. We decided to giddy-up and make the 75 minute trip for that paperwork.
Here’s how it went:
She had parked behind me and I said it wasn’t a problem because there was plenty of room for me to get around her…and I promptly put my car into reverse and hit her car.
There was no damage so we continued on.
I almost hit 2 cars while looking at the map in her hand – both times were at stop lights and stopped a little too close for comfort.
We found the bank and went in. I gave my spiel and was asked “Why did you close your accounts?”
At this point I’ve heard this question three times over the past 2 days and you have to know where this is going. I looked at her and said “I hate your bank.” I did add on the other reasons but I’m not sure the clerk cared.
When we left I was stopped at a traffic light and then put the car into reverse, instead of 1st gear. Luckily no one was behind me.
At this point, I wonder if I’ll ever “come back” and be the person I was 3 years ago, or will I continue to cry at the drop of a hat, sigh like a 90 year-old and have no energy to cook or clean.
OK. I don’t really care about the cleaning part but you know what I mean.
*Tom has been amazing thru all of this. The fact that my Dad can’t push his buttons is a HUGE plus. He is my rock.