Six years ago my 91 year old father came down with pneumonia and was sent to the hospital. His old body had even more hard miles than the advanced years warranted. We watched as he withered away, never responding to conversation, touch, or the presence of food. The nursing care was non-existent. In my mind this was expensive warehousing while waiting for death to come a calling. Mom and Dad lived in a retirement center in an independent living apartment. The facility contained a health care unit with full nursing care downstairs. I had been impressed with the way the caregivers provided for the folks ensconced there. They really loved those seniors.
On the third day in the hospital, the doctor came to check on Dad. My father had not been bathed or cleaned since arriving there. The stench in the room would gag a buzzard. “Bob, I want to get him out of here before they kill him with neglect.”
Dr. May replied, “I agree. Where do you want to take him?”
“Back to Monte Vista, but down in the health care unit. Mom lives upstairs and can walk down to visit when she wants. Plus, the nursing care there is a helluva lot better than here.”
“Call an ambulance to transport him. I’ll writer the orders.”
That afternoon Dad was sleeping in a room having been cleaned, shaved, and dressed. A nurse dropped in every ten minutes to check on him and adjust IV’s, oxygen, and administer meds. They found he would eat ice cream, so they made cold nutritious shakes which he promptly sucked up. I sat with my mother to make funeral arrangements we knew would soon be needed. That night I went home to get some sleep.
The next morning, I walked into his room and confronted a made-up bed. In the corner by a window Dad sat in a chair freshly fed, showered, shaved and dressed. I said, “Hey, Pop, how the hell are ya doin’?”
He looked up and nodded, “Well, pretty good–pretty good.”
I tell this story to make a point. The old man did not need all the bells and whistles of a big, impersonal hospital. He simply required personal attention and physical therapy. The cost per day at the health care facility was one tenth that of the hospital and led to recovery rather than slow death. In 3 weeks he recovered and returned to the apartment to live another two years.
I remarked to my wife that if I ever needed inpatient recovery to be nursed back to health, get my butt out of the hospital and take me to Monte Vista, or some place like it.
Fast forward to April 20th this year. The surgeon has explained what happened to my hip and why a replacement is needed. Though tanked up on morphine, I still have some semblance of thought process and resign myself to my fate. I do exercise rehab for folks with problems professionally. I am not supposed to be on the receiving end. Yeah, right! The thought crossed my mind that God does have a bazaar sense of humor.
I heard my wife ask, “Okay, we know what is going to happen, so what can we expect as far as time line?”
The surgeon responded, “We will operate one o’clock tomorrow, and he will spend 2 to 3 days in the hospital. After that he can go home, but will need 24 hour supervision.”
“Well, I work everyday.”
“I can write orders for home health care to come in.”
Though mind fogged, I interrupted, “Look, Mary, you are only five months off of a knee replacement. You don’t need to wet nurse my ass. Remember what I said after my old man recovered in Monte Vista. Let me transition there until I can function at home during the day. Besides they have a great physical therapy department.”
The doc looked at me, “You’re willing to go there? Most men want nothing to do with a nursing home. That would be the best solution. I’ll write the orders.”
I stayed in the hospital until Friday and was transported to the health care facility. I probably should have gone a day sooner. This facility has a new “rapid recovery wing” for people like me who need a transitional stay for a few days or weeks to receive therapy and prepare to function at home. The nursing care was more intense, the setting less institutional, and the food superior to the hospital. For an hour in the morning and hour in the afternoon, the physical and occupational therapists kicked my sorry butt through the rehab process. I told one young man, “Son, I am a cantankerous and obnoxious old fart. I am going to bitch and moan and feel sorry for myself. But if you let up on me, I’ll be in your face.” I did, and he didn’t. My recovery was fast and furious. In two days, I was motoring around the place on a walker. In 8 days I went home.
In my opinion, progressive nursing facilities can better meet the needs of most hospital stays. The patient (insurance provider) does not pay the freight for exorbitant fixed costs for services and equipment not needed. Resources can be focused on what is required in most cases–personal care from nurses, aides, and therapists.
When considering solutions to rising health care costs, perhaps back to basics is often more effective and better financially.
It Worked for me.
ACS
