"More Dead Than Alive" – Five Years Later
“Unfortunately she’s more dead than alive at this point,”
were the words I heard coming from the other end of the phone from Dr. B, Gram’s PCP. I was at work and upon hearing those words, immediately
began to cry. “I wouldn’t expect her to
make it through the night,” she went on as I sobbed uncontrollably in front of
my colleagues – AGAIN! This was the
second time in as many weeks that I got such a call from Dr. B. Gram had been taken from Elmcroft Assisted
Living to the Emergency Room due to a Urinary Tract infection combined with a C-Diff
infection. The earlier conversation with
Dr. B. went as follows, “Your grandmother has made her decision; she’s ready to
go. She’s given up and probably won’t
make it through the night.” Needless, to
say, I spent a couple nights sleeping at the hospital.
After three weeks in Intensive Care at the hospital and in a
barely conscious state, we were told by the hospital social worker assigned to
her, that Gram had to leave the hospital and we should seek out a skilled
nursing facility. Due to the C-Diff
infection, Elmcroft would not take her back and she was too sick for assisted living anyway. Being prepared, as I thought I was, I quickly handed over my top three
choices for facilities. You see, I had
previously done my research according to what the literature and other social
workers had suggested, and select my top three. Unbeknownst to me
and despite what the social workers and literature told me about selecting those top
three choices in advance, I was surprised to find that it really
didn’t matter. (By the way, I never
really found any of the social workers very helpful. It was probably because I had done so much of
my own research though). My top choices were
those that, based on my research, were given ratings and reviews by
individuals as well as regulatory agencies.
Obviously, my choices would be those with the best ratings. These facilities, naturally, were full and
had waiting lists for beds. One had a
three year waiting list. “She’ll be dead
by then!” I retorted when they told me on the phone. (Little did I know, she actually WOULD NOT be
dead in three years. Read on.)
After all three of my choices were nixed, I was told by the
social worker that the only facility reasonably close with a bed available was
ManorCare. I agreed to move Gram
there. (The other thing they don’t tell
you in the literature is that time is of the essence. You don’t have much time to find and place
your loved one. Once the hospital
(insurance) decides you are out, they’ll put you on the street if they have to.)
Gram arrived by ambulance to ManorCare
late the evening of September 14, 2010.
It was a long day getting her discharged and transported from the
hospital but the ordeal had only begun. Emotions
were high already, too, since we believed she was simply being put at ManorCare to
die. When she arrived, she was left in a gurney and dropped off in the hallway where she remained for what seemed hours. The facility was clearly not appropriately
prepared or staffed for her. She was eventually
assigned room 141. She was taken back
there and we quickly realized that not only was the bed over-sized (for a very
large person), but it was also broken.
We requested another bed. Again, we
waited and we waited.
Just as has proven to be
representative of the staff at ManorCare over the years, a young female CNA finally
came to our rescue. She single-handedly
dragged the broken bed out of 141 and then took it upon herself to search and
find and empty room with a bed. In a few
minutes, she came back frantically pushing the bed she found into Gram’s room made
it up for her. Fortunately for Gram, she
was asleep the whole time and thus oblivious to everything that was going
on. The CNA sought out help, returned with two others and the three CNA’s proceeded to get Gram into bed, finally. Gram slept.
We left.
Gram spent the better part of the
next three weeks barely conscious. Her
deep sleep scared me as I thought she would be leaving me soon. Day after day I visited, waiting, wondering,
talking to her and trying to come to terms with the inevitable and searching
deep inside for the strength and gratitude to get me through this process.
I soon learned, however, that Gram’s journey
at ManorCare had only just begun. Somewhere around three weeks, Gram awakened
and began talking. She almost immediately
became restless and wanted to get up and walk.
She began to eat. The staff
engaged the physical therapy team and before long Gram was walking the
halls. In fact, she was eventually cut
off of physical therapy because her insurance would no longer pay for it. It was fine, though, according to the PT
staff, because she was getting more
exercise walking the halls that most of even the staff!
The rest is history! Over the five years, Gram has had her ups and
downs – moved to hospice and discharged – TWICE! She mostly doesn’t walk anymore, but she’s
managed to master the wheelchair and at any time can be found somewhere around
the first floor wheeling herself with one hand and pulling along the wall rail
with the other – her feet moving back and forth so quickly, she appears to be
running while sitting. Although her mind is mostly
gone and the disease has taken her ability to consistently make complete
sentences or to recognize people, at 98, Gram remains physically strong and
healthy (ask any of the Aides who attempt to shower or dress her or put her to
bed). I fully expect to be celebrating
her 100th birthday with her (if I
make it, that is).
What a miracle and inspiration
coming from this woman who, five years ago, was put there to die!
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