Trying a New Flavor

After my mother died in 2013, her 10-year old rickety blue walker was adopted by my father. His own balance deteriorated after a bad fall a year ago; he couldn’t rely on a cane any longer. It was hard for him to accept that he needed help, but he liked having a constant reminder of his wife. I’ve caught Dad talking to Mom a few times while wheeling down hallways, although she’s been gone a while. I asked him if she ever answered; he smiled and said “sometimes.” When the brakes stopped working and bolts starting falling out, he insisted we fix it, and the maintenance guys did their best. I periodically suggested a new walker to no avail – after all, why pay good money when this one was perfectly functional?

I went to San Diego last week for a round of doctor visits and shopping, it’s our ongoing routine. Imagine my surprise when Dad agreed that safety prevailed and allowed me to purchase a new walker – as a “backup.” Before he changed his mind I quickly bought one, ergonomically sound with two cup holders (one for coffee and one for beer?) It was even the same color blue. He insisted we leave his name tag on the old walker so Mom could still find him. He visited his favorite physical therapist, the one who worked with him for months after his accident, explaining that he had a new Porsche needing adjustment. Afterwards he went to the onsite fitness center to ride the exercise bike for 45 minutes. He continues to build back his leg strength, and he’s enjoying chair Yoga three times a week.

I successfully packed the new walker into the rental car (it folds flat! it’s lighter and stronger!) and off we went for frozen yogurt to celebrate. Dad has eaten chocolate/vanilla swirl yogurt forever. I rarely ask which flavor because I always get the same response. This time I looked at him carefully and said “the usual, Dad?” He paused for a beat, looking back at me with bemused pride. “No,” he said. “Get me toffee crunch. It’s time for something different.”

The Power of Hats

I’ve been doing escorts (sounds like I’m a hooker) for local residents at retirement homes. Just like my father, they don’t have family nearby or easy ways to get to medical appointments. The twist is that these folks tend to have a touch of dementia, which makes every encounter an adventure. The upside is that they often don’t remember discomfort, and enjoy meeting me (even when we’ve been together before). The downside is that they don’t always know their history, their doctors rely on inadequate records, and we are all at the mercy of a fragmented healthcare system. I’ve witnessed some amazing physicians, like the one who bear hugs patients, understanding that touch is just as healing as drugs. There are also doctors who push meds without listening or caring.

Then there are people like 90-year-old Ruby, who is combative, anxious and suspicious of others taking advantage of her. Ruby worked as an ob-gyn nurse for decades before retiring 30 years ago. Now she’s a patient at the same facility where the providers are mostly young. She has memory tracking issues, however she is, in her own words, “feisty.” I’ve been with Ruby for 3 visits - each time begins with her saying she doesn’t like me and how everyone is trying to kill her. She knows a lot about Seattle history and points out all the places she used to go as the shuttle winds around town. I mostly listen. Ruby is a proud woman, I realize it’s not personal; she simply wants some control.

I tried a new tactic with Ruby yesterday. I told her that she was the boss and that doctors were her staff, and that she could score them on their competence. With each provider, she explained why she was there and at the conclusion she graded them. Most got As. The doctors were amused at first by this eccentric little old lady but they respected her. And that, in turn, gave her confidence.

While we were waiting for the shuttle to take her home, I saw silly hats at the hospital gift shop and ducked in to get one for upcoming summer festivities. As soon as Ruby saw my hat, she said “I want one too!” She handed me $2; I selected a pink and purple masterpiece that matched her outfit. We talked about not caring what was appropriate.

The director at the assisted living unit emailed me last night that Ruby wore her hat all day, bragged about being special, and lifted everyone’s spirits. I’m honored – and also aware that at our next visit, she probably won’t remember me. That’s okay. She has a great hat.

Vetting the System

I’m usually healthy, but I had a recent scare that sent me to the emergency room. I called first to the 24/7 nurse line, which sent me to an urgent care center, which told me to limp over to the hospital across the street. Everything was out of network despite my attempts to obey the rules. It all seemed rather silly, however I didn’t want to drop dead and it was good practice for my consulting business. I eventually wound up with a diagnosis of osteoarthritis/spinal disc compression, which is exactly what my father has, down to the same discs. He smiled when I later told him in person and said “welcome to the club!” What a lovely bonding experience. The charges for the care: $2570. What I will pay: $145 – hopefully. I’m gearing up for a fight with the insurance company. I’m on Medicaid right now, a plan in which many folks use the ER as a drop-in clinic, so I might be successful.

I’ll be adding physical therapy, yoga, Advil and more pinot grigio to my routine. I’m volunteering a lot of hours at the local senior center, and I’m feeling older and older. Perhaps aging is transmissible, like flu? Maybe I should work at a pre-school to even things out.

Since I’m a hippie at heart, I wore tie-died leggings to happy hour at Dad’s retirement village. Many of the ladies admired my colorful look, although some were concerned that I had gotten full body tattoos. The best comment was from 100-year old Ida, who said “oh, are those tights? I thought you were developing varicose veins.”

It’s a constant treat to have unfiltered feedback from centenarians.

Techno-Irony

As I continue to micromanage my father’s life, I have anxiety attacks and second guess my every action. It’s part of the glory of being a long distance caretaker. Attempting to make things easier, I’m relying more on technology.

This week my brother and nephew came for their bi-annual visit to shuttle Dad to doctors, breweries and bacon suppliers. All the boys took a field trip to obtain a new amplified phone (free for the hearing impaired) which I set up. I plotted to get the required State of CA paperwork and convinced Dad that it was smart to try new equipment. He used to work for a telecommunications empire, but is resistant to a landline that has a speaker, big buttons, and doesn’t rattle like a tin can. Anyway, I attempted to find a rep so that I could review options at the San Diego distribution center; there are no descriptions on the website. All I could find was a person in Sacramento who they told me that local centers don’t have phone numbers as it’s drop-in with no appointments. They supply phones, but they don’t actually use them.

Next I tried to locate a tax form on Dad’s online brokerage account, amusingly for AT&T stock. It was daunting. I’ve never experienced a website so confusing with so many layers of security. After locking myself out and chatting with agents, I found one who believed I had legal access. As long as I answered a few arcane questions, I could download the form. Example: what was Sid’s first car model (luckily my brother found “Dodge Sedan” scribbled in his paper rolodex.)

Dad’s state-of-the-art Lively watch expertly monitors his doors, pill box and refrigerator however no longer displays the correct date. The company was acquired by another vendor in a hostile takeover, and they don’t have access to the master programming code because the old staff quit. The watch is stuck in 2015 until the new guys figure it out, although they’re happy to sell me other, more expensive products. No deal.

Today, Dad needs transportation to Costco to buy a spare pair of eyeglasses. He has been fantasizing about improved vision for a while, therefore it is urgent. My brainstorm: if I can’t book his facility’s shuttle at the last minute, he is going to experience travel by Uber. I can schedule the pickup remotely, pre-arrange assistance with his walker, and hope that he isn’t left at the hot dog counter. This will be interesting.

Raising the Roof

I’ve been pondering a theme for this year’s first blog post. Should it be about going beer tasting last week with Dad at 11 am? Our very weird conversation about the sex lives of residents at his retirement community? The hearing aid cleaning tutorial video that I put on YouTube for my brother to study? All of these stories are charming.

No, I want to celebrate the end of my 20-year home repair project list. I got a new roof today, a painful expense and a reminder of mortality. And thanks to good friends and networking, I also got my very first client for my patient advocacy consulting business (bows to Laura). The Free Dictionary defines “raising the roof” as being extremely noisy and boisterous. Google adds that it’s especially meaningful through cheering. According to the Urban Dictionary, the phrase means that we work together to increase our mutual potential rather than oppressing competition, then it states “also see douchebag.” Hmm.

As I patch together all sorts of activities and opportunities, it’s a quest with many twists and turns. I’m glad to have a roof over my head. I just started a new repair list for the next 20 years; first on the list is making sure I have my priorities straight.

Holiday Picture

Hi everyone. As a follow-up to my recent blog post, attached are pictures of my father at the UC San Diego holiday party. Sid was so excited to be there; the planning was successful! He volunteered at the Biomedical Engineering Department for 26 years until he was no longer able to make the trip. These are some of the men he worked with and who toasted him today with a rubber chicken (because he constantly complained about the rubber chicken meals he had to endure.)

I hope it makes you smile, it certainly made my day.

Sid as the guest of honor with Anthony, Noel, Rad, Dave and Rick. UC San Diego Biomedical Engineering Holiday Party, December 15, 2015.

Holiday Cheer

My father got a phone call a few days ago from “Anthony” who works at UC San Diego, inviting Sid to a holiday party on campus. The background . . . Sid volunteered for more than 20 years in the Clinical Engineering Services department where medical equipment was refurbished. He was a mentor to young electrical engineers, thoroughly enjoying tinkering, rescuing broken parts, and bringing back mystery items to his workshop at home. When my brother and I cleaned out my parents’ house, we discovered surgical knives, prosthetic legs, and infusion pumps (a big hit at our garage sale). After my mother’s health deteriorated 6 years ago and Dad could no longer drive, he couldn’t continue the commitment; it sapped his spirit. He fondly reminisces about this chapter in his life; he assumed he was long forgotten.

Sid wasn’t forgotten. Anthony and other staff at UCSD decided to do some detective work. His old phone number didn’t forward. However they searched online and used public data, including my mother’s death record, to locate him. Sid was so surprised by the call at his retirement village that he didn’t remember any specifics about the party, and he told Anthony he wouldn’t be able to attend. He then mentioned the call to me. Well I’m a pit bull and I set out to find Anthony; when there’s a will (and the internet) there’s a way. The name of the department is different (now it’s Biomedical Engineering), the location changed, but I connected with Anthony. He told me that Sid was one of their best volunteers; everyone misses his intelligence and sense of humor. They had not been able to track him down until now.

I’m not in town on the date of the event, and considered how to get Dad transported. He said “no one remembers me anymore, I’m 93, they think I’m dead.” Clearly they don’t. Anthony is arranging for one of the other retirees to pick up Sid and drive him to the party, where he will be the guest of honor. Sid doesn’t know it yet. I’ll probably have to play up the free lunch angle to convince him it’s worthwhile.

Amidst mass shootings and seasonal stress, this story shines with compassion. It certainly reinforced my outlook about the inherent goodness of people. And oh, by the way, I completed my patient advocacy certification program yesterday. That’s called “burying the lede.” Anthony’s call was my graduation present.