I am furious when I think about how my Mother was treated in rehab after
her stroke.
She was allowed to fall out of her wheelchair at least 3 times that I
know of. They
refused to belt her in the chair even though she was paralyzed on one
side. When I
called a nurse once to ask how my Mom was doing she said: "why are you
worried
about her, she's old...". I am NOT kidding!
When my Mom was brought home for hospice, she was black and blue all over.
The hospice nurse was wondering why, so I told her, "because the rehab
let her
fall out of her wheelchair three times". My Mom passed away on her one day
back home.
I will do anything I can to avoid that kind of "care". I wish I could
have done
more for my Mom.
Kevin
Akua wrote:
The closest I came to hell on earth was in rehab. I was allowed to
fall twice. I was given the wrong meds daily for nearly two months, I
was insulted and demeaned. I remember the nurse entering my room and
finding me crying -- I was in awful electric pain --- and she told
me I shouldn't be crying. She often brought he son to work. I wrote
her about her gross insensitivity and she apologized.
I worked hard to learn how to use the sliding board to get in and out
of bed-- it was so so hard, and frightening, because an idiot had let
me fall, but this mainly
because if you couldn't get up, you wouldn't be attended to. Now that
I'm home,
I understand one of the basic challenges the idiot didn't address--
the wheelchair slides on a polished, linoleum floor. I have a bathmat
with grips by my bed now, so my wheelchair, doesn't slide..... this is
just one of a zillion things they could have taught or worked on or
shared or presented to or for me and didn't. And this was rehab, to
ready me for life on my own as a paraplegic: worthless.
One of the friends I made there was immobile without assistance,
although unlike me, she was not paralyzed. She was left on her bedpan
for an hour. I had passed aides chatting at the station, ignoring her
buzzer, as i wheeled down the hall to see her.....
I wrote the board and management and met with management. I met with
the dietitian twice, who quit about a month after i left. She told me
that she was unable to get me the food that with restore my health (
fresh fruit and vegtables, fish, whole grain breads, baked potatoes).
I kept in touch with several friends I made there who were still there
when I left, because we all knew the importance of having people call.
Only the cleaning staff helped. They advocated and interceded. I'll
never forget one man who came and prayed for and over me.
An investigation began when I and several other patients lost over 50
pounds. The few visits I had, folks brought food. Staff ate or
discarded my (good) food.
So, while I don't know about the hip pain, I can relate to the soul
pain of being in a nursing home.
It was like being in prison. There was a courtyard allegedly for
getting air--- the door was always locked. I was awakened, whenever
they felt like it, seldom consistently. Hellish to be awakened at 5
a.m. to have blood drawn by unskilled phlebotomists. Privacy was
seldom observed
I remember always asking for doors or curtains to be closed.
If Cindy needs calls, I'm more than willing. all other things being
equal, being in a nursing home is awful.
Akua
--
http://www.healrecover.blogspot.com
http://www.akualezli.blogspot.com
"When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth
and love has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and for
a time they seem invincible but in the end, they always fall - think
of it, always."
Mohandas Gandhi
