Did you know that every nursing home resident in the U.S. must be asked every quarter whether she wants to go home, regardless of her health or mental status? And if she says yes, there is a local agency that must spring into action to make that happen.
This is the result of a 2010 Center for Medicaid/Medicare Services regulation aimed at helping keep older people in their (less expensive) homes rather than institutional settings. A New York Times article notes that the nursing home exodus, while modest to date, is building. This means the number of people with serious chronic conditions like congestive heart failure, diabetes and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease who draw heavily on community-based primary care services will grow.
These returnees are joining their peers and the blossoming crowd of us Baby Boomers who intend to resist living in nursing homes with as much spirit as our parents did, while the consequences of our plump and sedentary lifestyles arrange themselves into a constellation of diabetes, congestive heart failure and COPD similar to the one that plagues our elders.
It was a straightforward phone message (names changed): “Hey Dr. S., this is Bobbie Jones, April Dixon’s granddaughter. I was calling to inform you that April passed away today at City Hospital. They said she was bleeding in her stomach or something. I’m not quite what sure what happened, but she got real sick. But she’s gone, so, thanks so much. You’ve been a real neat doctor, and it’s been good working with you through the years taking care of my grandmother. Take care. Bye.”
Bobbie Jones is a saint. Pure and simple. She took care of her 88-year-old grandmother with tender, loving care. I am certain if left to the vagaries of the “healthcare system” that her grandmother would have died at least three years ago, maybe earlier.
Ms. Jones will get no recognition. No income. No honors, save this blog post which she’ll never see. She will get a letter from me, expressing my condolences and appreciation for the love and care that she provided her grandma. She singlehandedly advocated for an octogenarian with advanced dementia and probable cancer (we were never able to get a definitive diagnosis of it) and gave her a quality of life that I would want were I in her grandma’s shoes. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at ACP Internist*
One of the great blessings of my life is that my 91-year-old father, whom I dearly love, lives in the apartment building next door. After sixty-six years of marriage, he’s been living alone since my mother’s death last March. He is still sharp as a tack, as he might say. Read more »
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