I'm sure my parents were sore that I didn't marry a doctor, as a good Jewish girl should do. And my brothers aren't doctors, so that leaves them plum out of luck in our family. Doctors (and no offense to anyone) are not always what they're cracked up to be. The best doctor I ever had is in Madison, Wisconsin and I miss her very much. She was a caring, listening, informative doctor, and I haven't found one like her here in this God-forsaken state. Well, it's really not God-forsaken, but it leaves a lot to be desired. Besides the heat and humidity, mosquitoes and old people, the health care system here is atrocious. Of course, this is all my tainted opinion, but I came from a place where I had excellent health care and an excellent doctor.
Old people will just take anything. I mean, they don't question the doctor, they take it all in stride, believing that he or she is all-knowing, and it drives me nuts. I mean, you're paying this guy hundreds of thousands of dollars, or Medicare is, and he should at least sit down and discuss your healthcare options. He or she should at least listen to you and ask if you have any questions. This is where my belligerent personality kicks in and I get very annoyed when I see people shuffled around like a deck of cards. And it's usually old people because for one reason or another, they're too tired or too depressed or just don't care any more. But I care. And I especially care when it happens to someone I love.
My dad has been in the hospital for over 5 weeks now. His doctor, who I do not like, never talks to me or my mom. He only talks to my dad or my brother - he's an old-school chauvinist. Incredibly, I usually keep my mouth shut if he ever happens to pop into my dad's room. He never looks at me or my mom and barely acknowledges my mom. It's quite disturbing. She's the wife, for pete's sake. Well, he is about to go on a 2-month vacation and so is probably frantically trying to wrap up his cases before Thursday. My dad called tonight and said to my mom, "They're transferring me to a nursing home tomorrow," and got off the phone quickly for some reason. My mom called the nurse and asked if that was true because no one notified us of this. The nurse said that his transfer is in the works, but it won't be tomorrow.
My dad tends to do that. He called Danny one night and told him he was going to die. Danny called me so I called my dad. I said, "Dad, what's going on?" He said, "I'm going to die tomorrow." I said, "Dad, what are you talking about?" He said, "They told me I was going to die tomorrow." I said, "Who told you that, Dad?" He said, "That dark skinned doctor, you know, the one from India. He also said I have mastitis." I heard the nurse in the room say, "Robert, you're not going to die tomorrow, it's ok." I asked to talk to the nurse and apparently one of the aides told my dad that Hospice was coming to visit the next day and he took that to mean he was dying tomorrow. As far as the mastitis goes, I still have no idea what he was talking about.
So the doctor has decided there is nothing more they can do for him and they will be moving him to a nursing home. We are assuming, although it hasn't been told to any of us, that the bubble in his stomach has dissipated by itself. That's good news. It would have been nice to be told that by the doctor. Even when you ask the nurses what is going on, they will not tell you - they say only the doctor can tell you about such things.
My dad will be transferred to the same nursing home my mom was in when I first came down here. So here we go again. Maybe he will have a crazy roommate and it will motivate him to work with physical therapy to start walking again. As of this date, he hasn't walked at all, except for one brief moment, and either lays in bed or sits in a chair all day, every day. If he doesn't work with physical therapy, Medicare won't pay for his nursing home care and that won't be a good thing. We will cross that bridge if and when we come to it, but I plan on telling him again that he has to cooperate at the nursing home to get walking so he can come home.
We can only hope for a crazy roommate who will push him out the door quicker, and that will also make for interesting visits for the rest of us.
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