As I wrote in my last post, “The Phone Call I had been Dreading Came that Night”, I was given a notice that I must choose a rehabilitation center for mom within days of her admission. There are so many different administrative and other offices within the hospital that I couldn’t even tell you for sure who issued that notice. But it probably came from a social worker as the they seem to be the ones that do the discharge planning.
Therefore, I had to squeeze out the time to visit 2 rehabilitation centers to try to choose one for mom. The first one I visited was older, less technology oriented, but very close to the Assisted Living Facility (ALF) where mom and dad resided before mom fell. Dad was still there and it would be easier for him to visit mom there. The people were friendly and there were others from mom’s ALF who were currently there. If he wanted, dad could take the transportation van from his ALF and have lunch with mom if she were to be in that rehab center.
The other rehabilitation center was much newer, more modern, had all the latest equipment and was just nicer. It felt cleaner and more able to give all kinds of medical care like a nursing home as well as just the rehab she needed for her broken hip. This facility was adjacent to the hospital mom was currently in. But, it would be more difficult for dad to visit mom there.
At first I expected mom would be discharged soon, relearn to walk and go back to her Assisted Living Facility with dad, so I chose the first older rehab facility. Later, when mom’s condition worsened and it looked like she would have multiple health problems even after discharge, I changed my preference to the 2nd, more modern facility.
In the end, it didn’t matter, as mom never recovered at all. In the meantime though, I stressed daily about how to make all the decisions that needed to be made. How would I ever get mom home to my city in the north if she was still disabled after discharge? How would I travel through airline security with 2 elderly people who both needed an escort? As I asked these questions in the hospital, the doctors avoided answering me directly.
Mom’s condition continued to worsen and I spent most of each day trying to see the various doctors and respond to the crisis of the day. One day one of the nurses said to me: “Honey, you’re never going to be able to bring your mother home. The best you can hope for is to get her to the rehab center.” That was the first honest answer I got on mom’s condition after weeks of questions.