The SNAFU

December 22, 2019

It seems as though every time I try to go out of town for a few days of rest and recuperation, something stress-inducing happens at my husband's facility. Here's the latest one. Keep in mind, this is a terrific place; however, stuff happens. It happens everywhere. It just happens less there than in other places we've tried.

Prior to leaving, I dutifully sent an email to the administrator to let her know, officially, the dates I would not be available. I also included the name and number of my other contact person (our son) for this particular period of time. I told the director. I told the office manager. I told the activities director. I told the med tech who was on duty, and I saw her writing down the contact information and placing it in the med tech office. I told the caregivers.

Upon returning, there were a whole lot of messages from the facility on my land-line answering machine (curiously, none at all on my cell phone). I called back to see what the problem was, and I was told that I needed to pick up an emergency supply of a particular medication right away. It had been reordered; however, the med tech who did the ordering didn't realize that the prescription had no refills remaining. That takes longer to resolve, as we all know, and the doctor hadn't yet renewed the prescription.

I am not proud of my reaction, which was basically "Hello?! It says '0 refills' right on the bottle!" But in my defense, I had just walked in the door after a very long, delayed, stressful, and bumpy flight. I was exhausted, and my injured foot (long story) was killing me. (Who knew walking ten miles to your gate at the airport could be so excruciating? I apologize for every uncharitable thought I've ever had about anyone slowing me down. I feel your pain.) Once again, my vacation buzz was shot down within minutes of returning home.

The main reason I was upset, though, was that my "person to contact in case of problem" had not been contacted when I didn't respond. At all. Not once. This, I did not understand. And then the med tech I was speaking to told me he had no idea I'd been gone and was wondering why I hadn't returned all those phone calls. So why didn't they call my son, whose information is right there in their normal paperwork? This was a small-potatoes type of event, but what if it had been something terrible? What if something had happened to me, and that's why I wasn't responding? Would they just have left a bunch of messages on my answering machine, or would they have called my next-in-line?

Clearly, I am not having a very good day today. Tomorrow, I think I'd better go have a small chat with the administrator.* Perhaps next time there's an issue (and there will be a next time, even in the best circumstances), the dominoes won't all fall down. And while I'm at it, I think I'd better apologize to the med tech for my unfortunate, over-the-top reaction.

I saw this posted on Facebook today. It perfectly describes my current mood! It's available from a place called "A Beautiful Sign." I think I'll order one.

*Update:  Everything worked out, of course. An emergency supply of medication was expedited, careful notes were taken about my concerns, and the next staff meeting will include instruction to ensure this particular scenario isn't repeated for us or for any of the other residents.

The Right Place

A few days after I wrote "Time Has Come" and "I Live Here," we were asked by the memory care facility to move my husband to a different location immediately. Based on what I had seen, I had already decided this would be a good idea anyhow. The staff just didn't seem adequately prepared to properly care for my husband's level of Alzheimer's, he was swiftly going downhill, they were not able to "control" him, and they wanted to start right out increasing medications or substituting others. It made me uncomfortable. Listen to your gut.

As I happened to be out of town (fabulous timing), our kids pitched in with the help of the placement agency mentioned in "Time Has Come," and my husband had been placed in a board and care closer to home in a matter of hours. It wasn't the best situation, but it was available, close to home, and quick. In these parts, availability is at a premium. Everything seemed to be going well except that the doctor was less than responsive to the owner's requests for medication approvals, which was of course frustrating for everyone. And then another resident's husband became upset that my husband and his wife were holding hands (it happens). He's the jealous type, I guess, and he confronted my husband. This is something you don't want to do to a person with advanced Alzheimer's. The person is confused, has no idea what the problem is, and feels threatened and attacked. None of that is good. Happily, no harm was done; however, the gentleman insisted that my husband be relocated.

And so my husband was moved to the owner's other board and care on the same court. At first, it seemed to be a better situation. But my husband reportedly became very resistant to personal care there, batting away the caregivers' hands, trying to kick them, and so on. Once again, they were apparently unprepared to handle this type of situation.

My husband collapsed the day before his birthday and had to be rushed to the hospital. His blood pressure was 55/40, he had cellulitis, and he was septic. You can read all about that experience in "The First Infection."

When he was released from the hospital, probably too soon, he required extra assistance. And so I went twice a day to feed him and make sure he had taken his medications, as he was spitting them out. He regained a bit of strength but became even more combative. Medications were increased but made no difference. In a board and care, there isn't a lot of room to roam, and it's best if a person is docile and likes to watch television. It's also best if a person doesn't have to be dragged out of bed, manhandled into the shower room, restrained while clothing is basically ripped off, and forcibly held in place for a scrubdown by four people. I'm pretty sure I would be kicking and scratching and screaming under those conditions, too. But it's what they felt they had to do to keep him clean. Once again, we were asked to find a new place for him. I suggested that the staff be trained in "Bathing Without a Battle," but of course it was already too late to try it on my husband. Not there, anyway.

Back to the agency we went. Two larger facilities agreed to accept him (most small facilities are not prepared to accept someone who's been labeled "combative"), and off we went to tour the places. I debated with myself all night because of a lot of factors (including the steep increase in cost, let's be real). But the less expensive facility reminded me too much of the first place we'd tried, and I decided to listen to my gut. So I chose the second option. His fourth location in less than three months. That's a lot of adjusting for anybody, but especially for someone with Alzheimer's.

Room to roam. This area provides
a safe space (note railing for stability)
for walking around. And around..

He just moved in yesterday, so it remains to be seen what the outcome will be. But, at least for now, the folks appear to use a different approach that is more conducive to a peaceful situation. There's plenty of room to roam. There's even room designed for roaming. He appeared fairly content when I went to see him today. I hope he'll be safe. Especially from the woman who's decided she's his new girlfriend. Already. Well, who could blame her?