First thing I did after dropping the kids off this morning was stop by grandma at the rehab where the wicked witch of the OFH made grandma go to cover her scrawny ass so that grandma would be stronger and not at risk for falling when she came back to live "independently". What a place. First smell to greet me right in the door is the same bus disinfectant that used to make me nauseous on Greyhound buses in the 1970's. Next there is a curious mixture of urine and rotting carpet. Followed by the fragrant bouquet of indistinguishable rehab food. Not a pleasant sensation folks. Grandma was dressed and up eating her breakfast. I walked in with mom and grandma asked "What the hell am I doing here?" she didn't know where she was or how she had gotten there. She didn't seem to know she had been in the hospital for the past four days either. She just wanted to go home and all I wanted to do was toss her into the truck and peel out of that stinky driveway and take her back to the OFH. But I didn't. I met the physical therapist and spoke to the main nurse there. All the staff people were unbelievably nice. Even the guy pushing the maintenance cart gave me a big warm smile and an enthusiastic "Good morning!" It was creepy, like they were trying hard to hide their cannibalism or something. Kind of like the big smiling helpful teenaged costumed kids at Disney World. You know they get off from work and shoot chipmunks or something.
Spent the rest of the morning at the hospital with mom getting her pre-surgical check up and EKG. I've seen so many of those lately that I could tell it was fine from across the room. Mom will have her port turning procedure on Monday and I am wondering, since everything else so far has been much more of an ordeal than we were led to believe, just how "minor" this is really going to turn out to be.
We got back from the hospital around 1 and longing for some babe time, I thought that maybe if the babes were having a very leisurely lunch I could catch the tale end of it. No such lunch luck, but Kitten and B being either suckers for punishment or really (and more likely) very good friends offered to meet me at the Bucks and this where I had my first melt down of the day. After the bucks I grabbed some rental video's (showing my age!) dvd's, a couple of bribery frozen cokes for the kids and headed over to school pickup.
Sitting in the car I phoned the rehab physical therapist who had evaluated grandma that morning, half expecting her to say that grandma didn't belong in the land of the wheel chair bound zombies at the rehab and she shocked me by saying that grandma needed to learn how to use a walker properly. Grandma was walking too fast! She was also sitting too fast, as if (shock) she trusted that the seat was going to be right under her! The nerve! I knew grandma was a trouble maker! Then the therapist said the words that made me know for sure that there is some major insurance fraud corruption going on out there in the wonderful world of elder care. I asked how long grandma would need to be at the rehab (again expecting to hear 3 or 4 days) and the rehab lady therapist said "Typically patients stay for about 4 WEEKS." I almost fell to the floor. No fucking way freakazoid.
The Goddess called me just as I approached the designated pick up area for Josh and hearing her sweet caring voice set me off on another meltdown. Seriously, I couldn't even choke out a single word.
I picked up the kids and then went back to the rehab to give grandma a reprieve and bring her home for a few hours. Grandma got a new roomie. So far it appears grandma's new roomie is a magical snoring skeleton. Nice!
Somewhere in between picking grandma up and dropping her off I may have had a phone conversation with the wicked witch of the OFH yelled at and hung up on the heavily accented idiot OFH director of nursing. Theoretically if I did those things, It might have happened right after I explained to her that grandma will not be staying at that dreadful rehab with the night of the living dead other patients for more than a coupe of days. I screamed calmly let her know that I am all for rehab and a stronger 95 year old and that grandma would soon be getting her rehab at the OFH. They are set up for that and will be accommodating her. The witch nursing director, likes to hear her heavily accented self speak, even after I shouted calmly let her know that this was a listening exercise for her. She kept right on talking so I just hung up the phone. Hopefully the OFH still likes that timely check I send in every month and won't try to gulp kick grandma out because I was all up the witch's ass insistent tonight. Like I need to worry about this!
Grandma spent the evening and dinner with us and it near about killed me to have to bring her back to the rehab and the still snoring skeleton. Poor grandma just wants to go home to the OFH.
I find the whole concept of PT for grandma ridiculous. What are they gearing her up for - a marathon? I mean really, she's freaking 95 years old. Gah.
Would there be ramifications in just taking her back to the OFH right now? Even if you have to take her "against doctors advice" I would do it. She doesn't deserve to be so miserable.
Posted by: danelle | October 27, 2007 at 02:15 PM