Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?

I got called to answer a survey today. The person who called me was the new RNAC (RN Assessment Coordinator) at the nursing home. She probably asked me thirty questions. I actually got the feeling that she was listening.

We talked about Mom's on-going issue with perching on the wheelchair all day. She agreed that many of Mom's issues with pain and circulation would be resolved if Mom spent less time in the wheelchair and more time in the recliner, putting her feet up.

She asked me the questions twice. First from my perspective and then from my mother's. She'd ask, do you feel that the facility is doing a good job in providing your mother with a variety of food? Then. Would your mother say that the facility is doing a good job in providing her with a variety of food. The answers were often polar opposites.

I did have a few complaints about the nursing home. They tend to make health decisions about Mom without consulting me. For instance, I got a phone call at work the other day saying that they were stopping Mom's physical therapy. What therapy? I didn't know anything about Therapy! They tend to change her meds without informing me and often schedule Dr.'s appointments without my knowlege.

I think my biggest gripe is her room. Every time I go in there, I've got a mountain to climb. The RNAC said, "So maybe this is something we can encourage your mother to work on." I nearly choked on my drink! AS IF!!! Good luck with that. My mother never in her life kept a handle on her clutter, to think she'd start doing it now is a portrait of insanity!

There were questions about my relationship with the nursing home administration. I'm locked in an odd, almost adversarial relationship with the administrator. Neither one of us has figured out how to move out of the boss/employee relationship. I do better with nursing administration.

The final question's answer would seem to be in direct opposition to the over all answers of the poll. "All in all, how would you say your mother's quality of life is here at the facility." Unlike my mother, I remember what her days were like when she was living alone. She was languishing. EMS was called to pick her up off the floor at least three times a week, and she had a virtual non-existent social life. Another frightening aspect of Mom's safety back then, was the fact that Pennsylvania had closed their mental hospitals and were housing young "able-bodied" mentally disturbed people in what had been senior housing. In the last days there, Mom was being hit up for cash and medication by much younger and stronger people. She was always a little afraid and often VERY afraid.

To sum it up, Mom is healthier, safer and happier at this time in her life than I've seen her in decades. She's got really good friends and adores dining with them in the evening. She has plenty of interesting choices of activities--and not just gluing macaroni to a paper plate and spraying it gold. Mom belongs to a current events discussion group. She can take painting classes, if she wants to. (She usually complains about "the medium" of paint supplies--whatever Mom.) The four foot stacks in every inch of her room indicate that she's got plenty to read. There is always some sort of visiting entertainment from musicians to ministers to pet therapy. They have trips to Red Lobster (don't get me started) Perkins (for breakfast) and Lord help me- Walmart.

Believe it or not, Mom's happier than I've seen her. She wouldn't tell you that. Those of us who know her could look back at any period of her life and tell you she's got it good... while Mom would report how bad it really was. So, I guess, the more things change-the more they stay the same.