“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!
