I lost Mom.

No, not like THAT. I just couldn’t find her.

I called her hospital room all morning with no answer. I was sure they’d just taken her for a test. Or maybe she couldn’t reach the phone.

By 1 pm, I got worried and called the nurses’ station. They couldn’t find her listed.

Uh oh.

After a quick hospital search (on the computer), they found her. She’d been moved up one floor late the night before.

“She’s okay, right? She’s not in the cardiac unit, right?”

I was assured she was fine and that she’d just been moved to accommodate more patients.

“Didn’t they CALL you?!?” Mom asked when I finally reached her by phone.

“Nope,” I said. “But that’s okay…I’m sure they had their hands full with other patients.”

I finally got another chance to call after dinner tonight. Same thing…no answer.

After about an hour of trying, I resolved to try again in the morning at a more reasonable hour. Then I realized that I’d never get to sleep if I couldn’t reach her before bed. I knew my mind would race with all of the awful possibilites that could befall an elderly, hospitalized, chronically sick woman in a hospital.

So I found myself dialing the hospital switchboard. They found her, all right…about ten rooms down the hall from where I’d spoken with her last.

“Really?” I asked. “I just talked with her, and she was…never mind.”

The switchboard connected me, and after a whole lot of rings, Chiquita picked up. Seems she couldn’t reach the phone. Which she was steamed about. Not to mention the fact that no one had called me to tell me she’d moved. Twice.

“If I call you from this phone,” she ranted, “it’s a long distance call. Thirty seconds would cost me $3!”

I wondered if having an ill cardiac patient get so pissed off was healthy. Least of all, for the nurses and aides who’d have to feel her wrath.

About ten minutes into our conversation (Mom was still bemoaning the highway robbery that is hospital telephone service), the nurse comes in.

“You called?”

“I couldn’t reach the phone,” Mom snapped.

“Sorry about that,” she answered brightly, and left.

So I’ll end this post with a question to all of you: how long is too long a response time to a nurse’s call button? I tend to give the nurses the benefit of the doubt. The way I see it, they’re very often angels of mercy who have a very thankless job. They’re overworked, and assigned more patients than they could reasonably handle while providing an adequate standard of care. On the other hand, if you’re sick and bedridden, that button is your lifeline.

Where would you draw the line?

Quick update

It’s been a crazy couple of days! Here are the bullet points:

Mom was released from the hospital yesterday (after my keys got locked in my car and my husband came home early to unlock it). The scope of her bladder was clear except for a raging bladder infection. She was put on antibiotics and has to wear a foley catheter for a month, but she’s at home. A nurse is (supposed to be) checking on her daily. Though mom mentioned today that the nurse wanted me to do her job twice a week. We’ve been through this before….

The AC is fixed. Yay! Just in time for a cold snap: it’s been in the 60s this week!

I’m still on Weight Watchers; I only gained 0.4 lbs over our vacation. And I ate ice cream almost every day! Of course, I did walk all over Walt Disney World, plus a good amount of swimming. And I tried to watch my portions.

Also, I teamed up with my next-door neighbor for a friendly WW competition: For each pound we lose over the course of a month, we’ll each earn one hour of babysitting from the other. So if I lose 5 and she loses 8, she’ll watch my kids for 5 hours and I’ll watch hers for 8. We can use them right away or bank them. Plus, we decided that 14 hours equals one sleepover! Plus, when I reach my first 10% goal, I’ve got my eye on a sweet little iPod nano.

Took the girls to their first summer tumbling class today. The liked it, but I was a nervous wreck! They had my four-year-old trying back walkovers, or something! Anyway, they looked a little uncoordinated compared to the other girls, but it was only their first day. It’s a pretty serious gym dedicated to tumbling and cheering. So far, so good….

And met with my book group tonight. It was fun…a bit of girl talk, a bit of coffee (or in my case, a chai tea latte), a bit of book discussion (Around the Bloc).

I’ve been running since 6:30 am, and I’m done. Time to snuggle on the couch with my husband and Jon Stewart!

Love of Procrit

I believe I’ve mentioned before that my mom is anemic, so she needs a jolt of Procrit every now and then. We figured this out about four years ago, when mom fell at her home back in Illinois and couldn’t get up on her own. She was taken to the hospital by ambulance…and never went home again. She sold her home and moved without ever going back again; my sister and I got her moved out (don’t ask me about 1-800-GOT-JUNK; I was physically ill at the sound of my mother’s wineglasses crashing into the trash bin). Anyway, she was diagnosed with several maladies, one of which was anemia, which contributed to the fall.

So she had her last shot of Procrit last December, shortly after she moved to Pennsylvania. We’d gotten her set up with a new medical practice here (no small feat since her medical records are like phone books), and she saw the nurse practitioner. We’d tried to get her in to see one of the doctors in the practice, since her case is so complicated, but they assured us that LeAnn was wonderful.

And she was. Took lots of time with Mom and me, made tons of notes, wrote new prescriptions, and set Mom up with referrals to all the right specialists.

Cut to about a month ago. I notice Mom’s getting tired faster than usual, and she’s a little wobbly on her feet. “Maybe it’s time for another shot of Procrit,” I venture. She calls the pharmacy later that same day for a refill.

The pharmacy calls back. Seems that Mom’s prescription drug insurance company has changed, so they’ll need to get it approved by them first. Should take a couple of days.

A couple of days later, we learn that the doctor’s office needs to submit paperwork to the drug insurance company. Several phone calls ensue over a few more days, and we are eventually assured that the doctor’s office will handle it and get back to us.

The doctor’s office submits the paperwork…TO THE WRONG INSURANCE COMPANY. Argh! More phone calls. They resubmit the paperwork to the right company. We wait.

And wait.

Mom calls.

We wait.

She calls every day that week. Lots of conversations.

One of which involves the line, “We have other patients, you know!”

On Tuesday, I stop into the doctor’s office personally to inquire about the status. After waiting for about 10 minutes, they check Mom’s chart and assure me that the paperwork was faxed and they’re waiting for a reply.

More waiting. It’s been over 3 weeks.

Finally, Mom calls and tells the person on the other end of the line that if she ends up hospitalized because she couldn’t get her medication in a timely fashion, she’ll make sure the bills are forwarded to their office.

BAM! That got ‘em. The doctor’s office calls the insurance company to follow up on the paperwork.

Guess what? The insurance company NEVER RECEIVED THE FAX! They resend. The office calls to ensure they received it. They did. So we wait again.

This morning, Mom gets a call from the doctor’s office. The drug coverage was DENIED. Apparently, the office left a couple of spots on the paperwork blank, so they’ll need to be filled in and the paperwork resubmitted.

It turns out that the empty blanks were for blood test results. “Which doctor have you seen?” they ask her. “Neither,” she replies, ” I saw LeAnn.”

“Oh, she’s no longer with us.”

So now there’s no one on the medical staff familiar with Mom’s (complicated and detailed) health history.

She needs a current blood test, which Mom has never had in Pennsylvania, so now MY phone rings. It’s the nurse who’s been spearheading the process. She sounds really apologetic, so I can tell Mom’s ripped her a new one. It was justified, I guess, but I felt sorry for her anyway. I’ve been on the receiving end of Mom’s anger…it’s awfully chilly on that side of her cold shoulder.

The nurse tells me that she has an order for the appropriate blood tests, but is hoping that I can pick it up and deliver it personally–after all this, she doesn’t want it lost in the mail, for the love of Mike. Mom’s preference (and mine, actually) would be for the test to be done Tuesday morning. Someone from the assisted living unit of my mom’s senior apartment building can come to her apartment at 5:00 am and draw blood. That way, I don’t have to transport her, and she doesn’t even have to be dressed. Easy peasy.

But Tuesday is 5 more days. That’s a lot of time to wait. So I guess, gentle readers, I’ll be picking Mom up early this morning to shuttle her to have her blood drawn. This simple task will likely take at least four hours. Meanwhile, I still have a house full of in-laws.

I don’t know whether to be put out by the blood test or relieved of my in-law duty.

Will the simple errand take all day?

Will the in-laws feel I’m shirking my hostess duties?

Will my husband avoid the phone next time the caller ID says Chiquita is calling? (Duh.)

And what about…Naomi?

Tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion of: Love of Procrit.

*********************

UPDATE: Mom had the blood tests. They came back NORMAL. Weird. So she’s not getting Procrit, although all this mess was enough to get her in to see the actual MD that’s been listed on her charts since December. All’s well that ends well, I guess.