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DAD IS HOME!
Wednesday, December 21st, 2022 11:19 pmA fuck of a lot happened over two days! In a nutshell, it boiled down to a standoff between me and that speech therapist! And she overplayed her hand, and I won!
So last I wrote on Monday, I was raising hell about Dad starving, being dehydrated, and frozen, and demanding he be put back on solid food.
Tuesday, at 8:30AM I got a call from the speech therapist herself. And it was the first time I'd ever spoken to her. She was saying that he was too weak now, even to eat the pureed food, so...
And I lit into her immediately, full Karen mode screaming that he was only too weak because she'd starved him to that point with her pureed diet, bla bla bla!... he was eating solid food no problem at the hospital and even when he first came to Strive, bla bla bla!
She then sounded like she was on the verge of tears, and told me that no... Dad's been on the pureed food diet since back at the hospital. He's been on it the WHOLE TIME!.. and SHE hadn't ordered it! That was ordered by somebody else!
--<>--
Now this crying was such a good performance that she had me actually doubting my own sanity. I vividly recall him eating solid food at the hospital earlier this month, and also at Strive, but... maybe I was just hallucinating it???
She said that, because I'd requested the reevaluation of his diet, she was going to schedule an imaging of his swallowing for Wednesday (Today) to see if it was at all possible to get him on solid food again.
And also, because of my screaming, a different doctor ordered that he be given an IV to get his strength back.
--<>--
So I was really doubting my sanity on Tuesday, as I walked the dog out in the cold.
And I was also thinking... if she's right... and Dad really HAS been on the liquid diet the whole time, but he's gotten so weak and stopped eating... maybe he's just shutting down and dying!
Maybe it's too late to do anything, and I just didn't want to see it!
I went to visit him on Tuesday at 2PM but FORGOT that he was going off site to get his stitches out, from the hip surgery. So I was NOT able to see him on Tuesday at all!
------------{=0=}------------
Today, I managed to get out to Strive ten minutes earlier than normal, and I was dreading what shape I'd find Dad in, when I got to his room.
But I was shocked to find that he was full of life, and in great spirits... laughing and smiling at jokes... sharp as a tack! And he'd even eaten the lunch they'd given him of the shit puree food!
This huge change was because he'd been given the IV on Tuesday all day!
He was off it now, but... he was still in great shape, and his room was finally at 72F, like it was supposed to be!
He was also in his wheel chair, fully clothed, with a gait belt around his torso, which suggested they'd done a bit of PT today!
--<>--
So... nobody had updated his discharge date through all this bullshit. And now... that was only three days away!
So I called Maribel, the discharge coordinator and left a message, saying he was doing great and we'd like to stick to the plan from a week ago, to bring him home on Saturday.
She called me back in two minutes, and I had her on speaker there, with Dad.
She was like, "Erm, yeah... we just had a meeting about your dad today and we really need to keep him another week! He's got all kinds of problems with this, and with that... and he needs extra special attention for this... and for that..."
And dad was shaking his head, with an angry face as I held up a finger to stay silent and let her finish.
I said, "Erm, yeah... he's with me now saying no to that, and so am I. We'd still like to stick to the discharge date of Saturday. Thanks."
Maribel was like, "Well, we can't force him to stay but..."
"No, yeah! Saturday! We understand the risks."
So grudgingly she committed to me coming to get him at 9AM on Saturday.
--<>--
Dad and I celebrated a bit... he only had to make it two more days! I told him I'd try to see him tomorrow, but... there's supposed to be a huge blizzard tomorrow, with 50MPH winds and white out conditions, so I might not make it.
But I'd definitely see him Friday, and come to take him home on Saturday.
--<>--
I was barely on the road when the call came from Brian, the nurse practitioner... a guy I'd never heard from before today, who presented himself as SUPER caring very DEEPLY about Dad's case, and he tried very hard to talk me out of taking him home on Saturday.
He said Dad could still barely stand or walk, and there were all kinds of other issues that could kill him if he went home too soon!
I told Brian, "We are aware of the risks, including death, and are willing to take them. And he's coming home on Saturday, sorry."
--<>--
Clocking in at work I thought, hopefully they'll use the next two days to focus on getting him standing and walking a bit more!
But one hour into my shift, I got a call from the speech therapist herself!
She said, "After you left today, we did the imaging of his swallowing and I'm afraid to say, he's not even able to swallow the pureed food, or thickened water any more! It's all going into his lungs!"
"All of it? Really?"
"Yes!"
"So... NOTHING is going down his throat into his stomach?"
"Well... most of it is, yes, but I'm saying that everything we give him IS going into his lungs."
--<>--
This speech therapist... who'd done the academy award winning gaslighting on me yesterday morning... crying and saying he'd been on the diet the whole time and it wasn't her fault...
Was now acting as the HEAVY!
She told me that he needed to get back to the hospital and have a G-tube installed for feeding! That's a tube going in through his side, directly to his stomoch!
Then, after the G-tube, he'd have to come back to Strive and continue his physical therapy for another two weeks!
I just said, "Nope! No, we're not doing a G-tube."
"If you refuse the G-tube, we cannot feed him any food at all! Starting right now! No dinner, no breakfast! And you will have 24 hours from now to remove him from the facility!"
She was really DARING me, to come get him the fuck out before she REALLY starves him to death... with a blizzard coming, 12 hours away!
I knew in that moment that she really HAD been gaslighting me the day before with the crocodile tears... and that she really WAS the wicked witch who had derailed his progress with the goddam baby food diet.
And I said, "I'll be there to get him in an hour."
"Fine! I'll let the staff know you're coming!"
--<>--
I called Tony, my supervisor and explained the situation. He told me to go! He'd take care of it!
On my drive back to Strive, in heavy, rush hour traffic, Brian, the Nurse Practitioner called me again.
He said that now that we'd made this decision not to get the G-tube, and take him home instead... Dad qualified for home hospice care, and he was lining it up!
He went through what it would entail, and it was difficult to hear him with the traffic, and the phone reception, but it sounded a lot more comprehensive than the PT home care he'd been slated to receive upon discharge, originally!
With home hospice, they are there every day, for a lot longer, and their only job is to keep him comfortable... because, supposedly, he's dying!
--<>--
He's NOT dying, of course. It's just that the THEORY is... if Dad is allowed to eat and drink normally, he MIGHT develop a lung infection that COULD turn into a case of pneumonia, deadly enough to kill him!
And be that as it may!
Because he's probably been aspirating his food and drink for years now, and has had a chronic lung infection for years now, and he's been FINE!
He is 88 years old! Nobody his age DOESN'T have a chronic SOMETHING going on!
He has NEVER been hospitalized for that before, ever!
But what this bitch did... by doubling down on this theory that if he ever eats or drinks again he's a dead man... is qualify him for home hospice!
That's something I could never have activated on my own! And home hospice has no time limit... because it's supposedly to keep you comfortable until death!.. which could be a long way off, now!
But it means that, there will be no more ambulance rides to the hospital!
Man's supposedly dying! So if something goes wrong, he just continues to be kept comfortable at home, no matter what!
And that's what we all want!
Now, maybe I get him walking myself and he recovers to such a point that they may be trying to kick him OFF home hospice, next spring or summer.
Or not.
But either way...
I WON THIS BATTLE, SPEECH THERAPY BITCH!
--<>--
We got no help at all... getting him into my car tonight. I was able to do it because Dad was a trooper, and I stole one of their gait belts!
But we did get him into my car by ourselves. And then at home... it was sketchy as shit, again with the gait belt, and his walker waiting for him at the top of the three steps on the porch with the storm door propped open...
But together we got him out of my car... parked five steps from the grab handle outside, by the steps... to the steps... he made it up the three steps to his walker... we made it into the goddam kitchen... he sat down on his kitchen chair at the table... and I gave him a goddam Guinness and a Newport Cigarette!
--<>--
Yvette was freaking out with joy! She had no idea he'd be back tonight, or if he'd ever be back at all. But she was thrilled and sat by his feet as he drank his Guiness and smoked with me at the table.
And I even let the cats downstairs again and they were running around with us down there!
--<>--
After a while, Dad wanted to go to bed, so, using the gait belt and the walker, we got him into bed, and I got his shoes and shirt off, and got him into his robe, and laid him down propped on a bunch of pillows and... he's off to sleep now as I write.
--<>--
It's not going to be easy the next couple days, because it's just gonna be the two of us until the hospice care kicks in.
But we'll manage.
And even if we don't manage, and he dies tomorrow... he'll die at home.
And that's how it should be.
°¦}
https://soundcloud.com/snoozefestaudio
So last I wrote on Monday, I was raising hell about Dad starving, being dehydrated, and frozen, and demanding he be put back on solid food.
Tuesday, at 8:30AM I got a call from the speech therapist herself. And it was the first time I'd ever spoken to her. She was saying that he was too weak now, even to eat the pureed food, so...
And I lit into her immediately, full Karen mode screaming that he was only too weak because she'd starved him to that point with her pureed diet, bla bla bla!... he was eating solid food no problem at the hospital and even when he first came to Strive, bla bla bla!
She then sounded like she was on the verge of tears, and told me that no... Dad's been on the pureed food diet since back at the hospital. He's been on it the WHOLE TIME!.. and SHE hadn't ordered it! That was ordered by somebody else!
Now this crying was such a good performance that she had me actually doubting my own sanity. I vividly recall him eating solid food at the hospital earlier this month, and also at Strive, but... maybe I was just hallucinating it???
She said that, because I'd requested the reevaluation of his diet, she was going to schedule an imaging of his swallowing for Wednesday (Today) to see if it was at all possible to get him on solid food again.
And also, because of my screaming, a different doctor ordered that he be given an IV to get his strength back.
So I was really doubting my sanity on Tuesday, as I walked the dog out in the cold.
And I was also thinking... if she's right... and Dad really HAS been on the liquid diet the whole time, but he's gotten so weak and stopped eating... maybe he's just shutting down and dying!
Maybe it's too late to do anything, and I just didn't want to see it!
I went to visit him on Tuesday at 2PM but FORGOT that he was going off site to get his stitches out, from the hip surgery. So I was NOT able to see him on Tuesday at all!
Today, I managed to get out to Strive ten minutes earlier than normal, and I was dreading what shape I'd find Dad in, when I got to his room.
But I was shocked to find that he was full of life, and in great spirits... laughing and smiling at jokes... sharp as a tack! And he'd even eaten the lunch they'd given him of the shit puree food!
This huge change was because he'd been given the IV on Tuesday all day!
He was off it now, but... he was still in great shape, and his room was finally at 72F, like it was supposed to be!
He was also in his wheel chair, fully clothed, with a gait belt around his torso, which suggested they'd done a bit of PT today!
So... nobody had updated his discharge date through all this bullshit. And now... that was only three days away!
So I called Maribel, the discharge coordinator and left a message, saying he was doing great and we'd like to stick to the plan from a week ago, to bring him home on Saturday.
She called me back in two minutes, and I had her on speaker there, with Dad.
She was like, "Erm, yeah... we just had a meeting about your dad today and we really need to keep him another week! He's got all kinds of problems with this, and with that... and he needs extra special attention for this... and for that..."
And dad was shaking his head, with an angry face as I held up a finger to stay silent and let her finish.
I said, "Erm, yeah... he's with me now saying no to that, and so am I. We'd still like to stick to the discharge date of Saturday. Thanks."
Maribel was like, "Well, we can't force him to stay but..."
"No, yeah! Saturday! We understand the risks."
So grudgingly she committed to me coming to get him at 9AM on Saturday.
Dad and I celebrated a bit... he only had to make it two more days! I told him I'd try to see him tomorrow, but... there's supposed to be a huge blizzard tomorrow, with 50MPH winds and white out conditions, so I might not make it.
But I'd definitely see him Friday, and come to take him home on Saturday.
I was barely on the road when the call came from Brian, the nurse practitioner... a guy I'd never heard from before today, who presented himself as SUPER caring very DEEPLY about Dad's case, and he tried very hard to talk me out of taking him home on Saturday.
He said Dad could still barely stand or walk, and there were all kinds of other issues that could kill him if he went home too soon!
I told Brian, "We are aware of the risks, including death, and are willing to take them. And he's coming home on Saturday, sorry."
Clocking in at work I thought, hopefully they'll use the next two days to focus on getting him standing and walking a bit more!
But one hour into my shift, I got a call from the speech therapist herself!
She said, "After you left today, we did the imaging of his swallowing and I'm afraid to say, he's not even able to swallow the pureed food, or thickened water any more! It's all going into his lungs!"
"All of it? Really?"
"Yes!"
"So... NOTHING is going down his throat into his stomach?"
"Well... most of it is, yes, but I'm saying that everything we give him IS going into his lungs."
This speech therapist... who'd done the academy award winning gaslighting on me yesterday morning... crying and saying he'd been on the diet the whole time and it wasn't her fault...
Was now acting as the HEAVY!
She told me that he needed to get back to the hospital and have a G-tube installed for feeding! That's a tube going in through his side, directly to his stomoch!
Then, after the G-tube, he'd have to come back to Strive and continue his physical therapy for another two weeks!
I just said, "Nope! No, we're not doing a G-tube."
"If you refuse the G-tube, we cannot feed him any food at all! Starting right now! No dinner, no breakfast! And you will have 24 hours from now to remove him from the facility!"
She was really DARING me, to come get him the fuck out before she REALLY starves him to death... with a blizzard coming, 12 hours away!
I knew in that moment that she really HAD been gaslighting me the day before with the crocodile tears... and that she really WAS the wicked witch who had derailed his progress with the goddam baby food diet.
And I said, "I'll be there to get him in an hour."
"Fine! I'll let the staff know you're coming!"
I called Tony, my supervisor and explained the situation. He told me to go! He'd take care of it!
On my drive back to Strive, in heavy, rush hour traffic, Brian, the Nurse Practitioner called me again.
He said that now that we'd made this decision not to get the G-tube, and take him home instead... Dad qualified for home hospice care, and he was lining it up!
He went through what it would entail, and it was difficult to hear him with the traffic, and the phone reception, but it sounded a lot more comprehensive than the PT home care he'd been slated to receive upon discharge, originally!
With home hospice, they are there every day, for a lot longer, and their only job is to keep him comfortable... because, supposedly, he's dying!
He's NOT dying, of course. It's just that the THEORY is... if Dad is allowed to eat and drink normally, he MIGHT develop a lung infection that COULD turn into a case of pneumonia, deadly enough to kill him!
And be that as it may!
Because he's probably been aspirating his food and drink for years now, and has had a chronic lung infection for years now, and he's been FINE!
He is 88 years old! Nobody his age DOESN'T have a chronic SOMETHING going on!
He has NEVER been hospitalized for that before, ever!
But what this bitch did... by doubling down on this theory that if he ever eats or drinks again he's a dead man... is qualify him for home hospice!
That's something I could never have activated on my own! And home hospice has no time limit... because it's supposedly to keep you comfortable until death!.. which could be a long way off, now!
But it means that, there will be no more ambulance rides to the hospital!
Man's supposedly dying! So if something goes wrong, he just continues to be kept comfortable at home, no matter what!
And that's what we all want!
Now, maybe I get him walking myself and he recovers to such a point that they may be trying to kick him OFF home hospice, next spring or summer.
Or not.
But either way...
I WON THIS BATTLE, SPEECH THERAPY BITCH!
We got no help at all... getting him into my car tonight. I was able to do it because Dad was a trooper, and I stole one of their gait belts!
But we did get him into my car by ourselves. And then at home... it was sketchy as shit, again with the gait belt, and his walker waiting for him at the top of the three steps on the porch with the storm door propped open...
But together we got him out of my car... parked five steps from the grab handle outside, by the steps... to the steps... he made it up the three steps to his walker... we made it into the goddam kitchen... he sat down on his kitchen chair at the table... and I gave him a goddam Guinness and a Newport Cigarette!
Yvette was freaking out with joy! She had no idea he'd be back tonight, or if he'd ever be back at all. But she was thrilled and sat by his feet as he drank his Guiness and smoked with me at the table.
And I even let the cats downstairs again and they were running around with us down there!
After a while, Dad wanted to go to bed, so, using the gait belt and the walker, we got him into bed, and I got his shoes and shirt off, and got him into his robe, and laid him down propped on a bunch of pillows and... he's off to sleep now as I write.
It's not going to be easy the next couple days, because it's just gonna be the two of us until the hospice care kicks in.
But we'll manage.
And even if we don't manage, and he dies tomorrow... he'll die at home.
And that's how it should be.
°¦}
