My father probably had one of the longest deaths in the history of mankind, especially considering the fact that, according to him, he'd been living on borrowed time for the last 45 years.
I've read the best way to look at your life is to view it as an adventure - it's not the destination that matters, as much as enjoying the journey you take to get there. Since we're all going to reach that same destination (death), it sounds like a good idea to enjoy the journey (your life) and not worry so much about the end of the trip.
I just wish the end of Daddy's journey would have been a little easier...more like a calm, peaceful easing into the next phase, instead of something closely resembling a fight to the death cage match on pay per view.
Over time Daddy's cancer metastasized to the point where he began having the predicted physical and mental difficulties. He suffered from weakness and confusion, making it harder and harder for him to be the self sufficient person he wanted to be.
Even with the assistance of hospice workers, meals on wheels and daily visits by my sister and me, it soon became clear that Daddy needed to be in a place where he could be monitored 24/7, with around the clock medical care available, if needed.
The search began for just such a place. Daddy wanted it close to his current home, but my sister lives 45 minutes from his part of town and Michel worried about getting to him in an emergency.
We finally settled on a place practically in my sister's backyard - Garnet Hills Rehabilitation Center and Senior Nursing Facility in Wylie, Texas. This is where the final stage of this adventure begins.
First of all, a little advice...be very careful when you choose a "nursing home". They go by a variety of names nowadays: Senior Nursing Facility, Adult Day Care, Assisted Living, Independent Living. These facilities are all structured to provide services to people who are in need of different levels of assistance. Some people need constant supervision and help and some need very little. The best of these facilities are honest about what they can and can't provide and they do their best to care for their patients.
And then there are the others...Unfortunately, my family learned the hard way about the others - namely the Rehabilitation Centers. One thing the good AND the bad facilities have in common is, at the end of the day, they are BOTH businesses, businesses who have to show a profit to remain IN business. That's fine - I don't begrudge anyone the right to be successful. But when striving to make a profit compromises the health, safety and welfare of the very individuals the facility has agreed to care for, that's when I have a problem.
Unfortunately this has been the case with our experience with rehabilitation centers. My family's first dealing with a rehab center was when we placed my mother in one after her stroke. Even though we were assured they could handle my mother's Alzheimer's and her need for constant monitoring, it soon became apparent they were not set up for nor equipped to deal with someone in the latter stages of the disease.
When it was time to place my father, my sister and I both met with the woman in charge of admissions at Garnet Hill, as well as the facility's administrator. We very thoroughly laid out my father's needs; what he was capable of doing himself and what he'd need help with. Both managers assured us the nursing staff was well equipped to meet all of my father's requirements.
Read that last sentence again and I think you'll see the problem: the MANAGERS assured us the NURSING STAFF could provide the necessary care for my dad. There is the disconnect..the managers are promising things the nursing staff can't (or won't) provide. The front office is trying to fill empty beds and the back office (nursing staff) is overwhelmed and possibly not qualified or even aware of the promises being made on their behalf.
The problems started early for us. Even though we were assured someone would check on daddy every one to two hours, it soon became apparent that as many as six hours would go by without anyone checking on him, including NOT taking him for meals or seeing that his meals were brought to him.
Experiments with the call button were futile and I soon learned why. Once, while standing at the nurses' station during one of the daily battles, I observed the call button from another room light up. The nurse at the desk looked at the call board, stood up, walked over to the board and deleted the call message, without checking on the patient. So much for their prompt, attentive service. Ooopsie! Hope that wasn't life or death!
Every day brought another obstacle to overcome and pitched battles and pitched fits were soon the order of the day. I remember waking up one morning and saying to Roger, "I wonder how many fights I'll have to get in today."
Incompetence and negligence ran the gamut. These "professionals" lost medicine, mixed up patient charts, didn't follow medicine dosage times, wouldn't answer call buttons or help with moving my father to the bathroom or clean up the mess when we couldn't get him there in time.
In desperation, we began leaving the door to Daddy's room open in the hopes we could flag somebody down when we needed them. The problem with that thinking was no one ever walked down the hall. I have no idea where the party was - but it obviously wasn't anywhere near us.
One truly memorable night, my sister called me almost in tears. She'd been single-handedly trying to get Daddy to the bathroom, and they hadn't made it in time. When she went to the nurses' desk to report the mess and ask for someone to clean it up, she was told housekeeping was closed. They suggested she clean it up herself.
I have to admit, when Michel told me that, I sort of lost my mind and my temper. The Director of Garnet Hills had made the mistake of giving me his cell phone number, and I immediately called him. I don't remember a whole lot of what I said, but it was enough that he showed up at Garnet Hill within minutes, looking disheveled and worried.
You'd think that would be all it would take, wouldn't you? Rooting the Boss Man out of bed in the middle of the night should have been enough to get things whipped into shape, shouldn't it?
Apparently not. Things continued to get worse and it soon became a matter of survival. Trying to secure basic care for my father at a premium price (keep in mind, Club Garnet Hill was costing us around $150.00 a day), with a family member present 90% of the time to provide the majority of that care.
Tell me there's not something wrong with THAT picture.
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