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Rescuing My Uncle From The Healthcare Establishment

By Theresa Fritz Camoriano

If you are wondering why there was no Jefferson Review last week, it is because I was in the middle of one of the most difficult jobs I have ever done in my life – springing my Uncle John from a nursing home.  “Unc” has been sick on and off for the past eight months, moving back and forth from the hospital to the nursing home.  He had about four or five different stints in the hospital for various reasons, beginning with pneumonia and including stitches for a fall he had in the nursing home.  At this point, he is in pretty good physical shape, and there are no more treatments he could receive from the nursing home to improve his condition.  His doctor said it is time for him to go home, but the staff at the nursing home had been telling him that he couldn’t make it in the “outside world” anymore.  They said he should continue to stay in the nursing home, spending $10,000 per month until his money ran out, and then relying on the state to take care of him.

By the time I arrived, Unc was confined either to his bed or to a wheelchair, even though he was perfectly capable of walking, because the nursing home staff was afraid he might fall again.  (We suspect the reason he fell in the first place was because he was dizzy due to drugs that had been prescribed by a psychiatrist to improve his mood.)  Whenever he shifted in the bed, an alarm that played the tune for “Mary had a little lamb” would go off, so Unc was being serenaded almost nonstop by Mary.  I figured that, if he were kept in these conditions for very long, not being allowed to walk, he soon would become unable to walk.  In effect, the so-called “rehabilitation center” was really causing him to become more and more dependent and incapacitated.  He said the staff assured him that would not happen, but, in any case, they would provide “therapy” for his legs.  I wondered whether they ever considered that they were killing him with kindness and that allowing him to walk might be the best therapy.

I got started right away working on springing “Unc”, but I found I had to overcome obstacles on several fronts.  First, there was the matter of getting his house ready – cleaning out junk and straightening things up so he could get around without tripping.  He also needed to have electrical outlets put in for a clothes dryer and a microwave, and he needed a railing to help him get up and down the front steps.  My father had already arranged to have his bathroom completely redone so he could just walk in to the shower, not having to step over anything to get there.  I also had to make sure he had all his medications, including insulin and the test kit to test his blood sugar, and I had to find a full-time care giver to stay with him.  But the biggest hurdle was Unc’s mind.  He said he wanted to go back home, but the nursing home staff had pretty much convinced him that he couldn’t make it in the outside world.  They told him he would be lonely, that they were his only real friends, etc.  It was really creepy the way they played mind games with him and brainwashed him to keep him dependent on them.  They even began working on me, telling me that he might do well while I was there, but as soon as I left he would fall apart.

We decided that the way to start would be with a trial run of coming home for one day and a night.  It took two days for the nursing home to give me the medications I needed to carry that off, but we did it.  It went well, so I bought the dryer and hooked it up, had the house cleaned, and proceeded to get things ready for Unc’s return.  He enjoyed going out shopping with my mother and me, pushing his walker up and down the aisles of the grocery store and Walmart and then sitting in the little café and watching people come and go.  He wondered whether he could still drive, so we went to the church parking lot and let him try driving – no problem there.  This taste of the outside world was pretty good, but the gnawing doubts that had been planted by the nursing home staff continued.  It reminded me of the Patty Hearst situation, in which she had been kidnapped by some militant group and then began to identify with her captors.  That’s how it was with Unc and the staff at the nursing home.  It was very difficult for me to keep pushing myself to get things ready for Unc at home, setting up a panic button, putting in a phone by his bed, etc., when I was afraid that, at any moment, he might chicken out and decide he really didn’t want to come home.

I was able to wrangle more medications from the nursing home to be able to keep him out longer, even though it meant I had to make a trip out there early in the morning before his morning medications were due.  Then I told the nursing home that Unc wanted to leave.  They said you couldn’t just up and leave the nursing home.  You had to have a planning meeting, they had to work with the Visiting Nurse Association, with physical therapists, etc. to make the transition work, and they would not release him until they knew he had a 24-hour caregiver in place.  So, even after the planning meeting, it would take at least two more days to be released, with Unc spending over $300 per day for their services, which he was not receiving.   Meanwhile, Unc was doing fine at home with us, enjoying getting out and seeing the sun, which he had not seen since he was first admitted to the nursing home, except when he went out to visit the doctor.  Color began returning to his cheeks, and he became stronger each day.  We visited the Senior Center, and he enjoyed talking with old friends.  We went out to lunch and even had some ice cream.  We interviewed care givers, and Unc gave me his first and second choices.

We had the planning meeting at the nursing home, and nothing much happened there, except they told me I had to confirm that we had a 24-hour caregiver in place before they would release him.  I told them we had one in mind but I didn’t know when to ask her to start until I knew when he would be released.  They said they would release him two days later, so we called Unc’s first choice for a caregiver and hired her.  Mom and I made a reservation to stay in a hotel to we could be sure Unc would do well with the caregiver overnight before we left, and we made plane reservations to go home.  (Mom had redone her plane tickets twice already, and I extended my stay several days due to all the foot-dragging by the nursing home.)  Two days later, Unc was officially “sprung” from the nursing home, with a member of the staff cutting off his arm bracelet and some applause in an official “springing” ceremony.  (By the way, I have no idea why the nursing home couldn’t have allowed Unc to come home immediately, since they did absolutely nothing after the planning meeting.  I suspect it has something to do with keeping beds full and collecting money.) 

The rest went pretty smoothly.  We took Unc to his doctor to get prescriptions for his medications.  The doctor told him he could drive if he wanted to, which really made his day.  The caregiver started, and Mom and I spent the day with her and Unc, went to the drug store to get his insulin, to the Senior Center for lunch and visiting with old friends, and then to the grocery store to stock up on supplies.  The caregiver was wonderful, and Unc liked her.  We then left them alone for the night and came back the next morning finding them doing well, and we left for home.  So, it looks like we made it.  Unc is almost 84, and he has several physical ailments, so we never know what will happen to him health-wise.  However, in the meantime, as I told him, he has a lot of living to do, and he now has a chance to do it. 

As I went through this ordeal and gradually undid the brainwashing, I thought about how many people stay in dependent situations because they are afraid they won’t be able to make it on their own, whether they are dependent on the government or an abusive spouse or are in some other unhealthy dependent situation.  I also thought about the many well-meaning people, like the nurses, who keep these unhealthy dependencies in place, because they think they are helping.  It is sad.  If you are so inclined, please say a prayer for Unc.

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