Invasion of the Body Snatchers

 

     I should be telling a joke. I should be telling an oft-told one on this St. Patrick's Day. Maybe the one about the judge who shit his pants after a pub crawl or the guy on the back nine who doffed his hat as his wife's body was being driven to her funeral. I don't observe St. Patrick's Day and neither do the Irish and they can't understand why we do, either. But it's what I would've done if I hadn't gotten a phone call today.

     That was at about 3-3:30 this afternoon when I got a phone call from a social worker at the hospital where Barb's at now. She informed me UMass Memorial Hospital in Marlborough, Massachusetts is planning on taking control of Barbara's life and placing her in a nursing home. Not short-term rehab but long-term placement.

     From the first time I'd visited her after her admission on March 10, they'd made it quite plain they didn't consider me a legitimate health care proxy. Yes, me, the guy who's been caring for her since her arrival in 2009 even when she was hale and healthy. I suspected something was up when they tried several times to call me on my Android the day before. I kept telling them that phone had a bug and no longer takes incoming calls and to call Barb's cell phone, which is newer and perfectly functional. But I learned they were just trying to get her sister's number.

     But when I visited her that Friday, someone from "patient relations" curtly informed me they had no intention of recognizing me as her legitimate caregiver. I'm acknowledged as such by Baypath Elder Services in Worcester, MA, by the CDC program in which they'd enrolled me and by Tempus Unlimited, the company that does the payroll. When I called my contact person at Baypath, she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

     They're pushing me completely out of the loop and refusing to acknowledge that I'm better positioned to make a long-term health care decision than literally anyone on earth. They're going through her sister, who's over 830 miles away on North Carolina and hasn't laid eyes on her in  literally decades. But to the hospital, it all devolves on whether Barb and I are married. Sorry, but my position is that just because someone is genetically-related to someone, it doesn't make them a better judge to make an informed decision of this magnitude. And a marriage certificate wouldn't make me a better judge, either.

     I earned the right to do so, as I had with all her previous admissions to that hospital, when I had full access to her doctors, PAs and nurses, when I was able to go over the treatment plan with those doctors and was allowed to fill her scripts and give the medicine she needed in the right dosages. But when I visited her that first time a week ago, the friend who'd taken me let it slip that I was Barbara's "partner" and that was when everything changed. In retrospect, maybe she should've kept her trap shut. Maybe the only reason why they consulted me during her previous admissions was because they assumed I was married to her.

     Among the things I learned during that phone call that may well have announced the end of our lives as we know it was they've already gotten a docket number, meaning they have a court date for a competency hearing. The social worker who called me told me that as the common courtesy that the rest of the hospital refused to extend to me. Yes, you heard that right. They didn't even show me enough respect to give me the chance to fight for her.

     She'd made great progress since her admission, which is another reason why this body snatching scheme makes no sense. While visiting her the two times I was able to, I was able to get food and fluids in her, whereas the hospital staff couldn't. In other words, I succeeded where they failed. To be fair, they can't sit there for hours at a time trying to get one meal in her, whereas I could and had when she was home, They have other patients to care for and can't give her the personalized one on one attention I could and had given her.

     When she was admitted on the 8th, she was diagnosed with COVID-19, pneumonia, and a UTI. They've addressed all those issues and she ought to be taken off COVID protocols tomorrow. I planned on getting her home either tomorrow, with Monday at the outset. When I'd visited her, I noticed her mind was a lot clearer than it had when I had to call 911 and get her admitted.

     None of that matters to them. I did the right thing by getting her the medical care she deserved and am paying a heavy price for it. If I hadn't, she probably would have died. So I was put in a position where I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't. Obviously, that's not fair.

     My position is that once she's home, I can get her eating again now that the infections and the sore throat that kept her from eating are things of the past. The hospital never thought to give me the benefit of the doubt much less even attempt to do a rudimentary assessment as to whether or not I can adequately care for her at home if I got her back. They've completely pushed me out of the loop.

     Then, there's the big issue, her dementia. Again, I know the history of her mental landscape over these last few years better than anyone. On at least three occasions, I've seen her experience a noticeable cognitive decline, only to see her claw back ground and get back to an acceptable baseline. I saw her do it again this past week. Once the infections were cleared or well on their way to be being cleared, I noticed immediately she was more cogent. She recognized me immediately, was glad to see me and, again, she ate for me both times.

     So, once I get the docket number and the court date, I plan on being there and fighting to get my girlfriend back. I shouldn't be thrust into this position but I am. I am not going to shirk this duty any more than I shirked my duty in caring for her these past 14 years. No one in any nursing home would have all that history with her, no one would love her and, if she refuses to eat for them, the only way they'll know how to respond is to literally stick a feeding tube down her throat and force feed her. I've worked in nursing homes in the past. I've witnessed force feedings. They're ugly, hideous sights to see.

     And they'd do it not because they're in love with her as I am but just to avoid legal liability.