Not long after my last post, Chiquita wound up in the hospital. Her feet had been swollen, so I took her to the doc to get them checked out. Turns out her oral diuretics weren’t enough to control the swelling; she needed IV meds.
The doc sent us right to the ER. Which, to us, means “After you’ve stopped somewhere for a lovely meal.”
This isn’t as irresponsible as it sounds, although I think the nurse who overheard us thought so. First of all, our appointment was at 11 am. We hadn’t eaten lunch yet. And we knew that the hospital wouldn’t allow Mom to eat for several hours once she checked in.
So we stopped at Red Lobster. Mom ordered the lobster roll, because she’d never had one before.
And might not ever again, I thought to myself. This woman is terminally ill. Who knows which meal may be her last?
Which was the biggest reason for taking her out to eat that day.
Mom stayed in the hospital for ten days. They took care of the swelling, but didn’t manage one of her other illnesses well, which made it flare up. I ended up calling the nursing care hotline about that, though I think it was really her hotshot hospitalist who bungled things. Plus, we think she caught the flu as well.
So after over a week of being completely bedridden (she didn’t HAVE to be: she walked in that day; they just didn’t have the staff to get her up and moving regularly), she went to skilled nursing care for rehab. The good news is that they got her into our first choice, which was 100% better than our last nursing home experience.
Just as we were preparing to get Mom moved home to her independent living apartment, the bottom fell out again.
Sandwiched 