It was surreal riding the Para Transit van again after five months. My supervisor was already there, bright and early, waiting for me to arrive. She said not to go across the hall to the Pre-Admissions office, instead come into the Social Services office for a talk.An early morning "talk" was never a good thing.
I still had my job but lost my position. I understood that I had used all my vacation time and sick days, plus extra when I was out. But I never expected to be reassigned to other duties. My heart sank.
I was being assigned to cover North Six, a long-term care unit in the tall North building of the sprawling complex. My caseload would be roughly seventy-five residents. Working back on the floors was originally what I wanted when I was hired, like my duties at the Manor. I missed working with residents directly. So why wasn't I doing wheelies in glee?
I liked my work in Admissions. I felt like I was making a difference. I was often the first contact for families looking for placement for their loved one. They needed an understanding, compassionate person on the other end of the phone or other side of the desk when they were making that important decision. It wasn't just medical terms or dollars and cents. It was an emotional decision as well, a life-changing choice. I felt I was good at giving folks the encouragement, support and information they needed.
I had become the expert tour guide as well. I knew everything one could imagine on the facility, from routine numbers about total beds and what time lunch is served to more inside stuff like the results of our last state survey. I could show a family member the entire facility, giving them all the info they needed or requested, answering any type of question and take time to listen and let them know someone cared.
I was getting better at completing a comprehensive Social History for the caseworker who would be following the new resident. That took a special skill as well, asking the most pertinent questions to obtain as much information as possible in order to get a true picture of the resident who was coming to the Geriatric Center to live.
Alas, the powers that be deemed that my skills would prove to be more needed elsewhere. I was just happy to be back at work so I agreed to do whatever was asked of me. So I became the Social Worker of North Six.
It was easy relearning how to do a Care Plan, write Progress Notes and all the other normal Social Work duties I did while at the Manor. The major differences were computers and the people.
Everything including Social Work, was changing over to computers. Nothing could take the place of visiting someone face-to-face- no robots yet- but our notes and most forms were now computerized. Me and computers never really got along going way back to my Penn days in the 1970s. It was required now and I did the best i could with the change.
I admitted it was much faster and efficient using the machines but, call me old-school, I still missed the days of pen and paper, when I could whip out a thoughtful, intelligent note and not have to worry about whether I had saved my information or not.
I soon grew familiar with my residents on North Six and their families. My same principle applied, even though it was a different nursing home: I tried to see all of my residents, every day, no matter what.
There was Al, who thought we had worked together, building the nursing home long ago. And Mrs. Pipp, who thought I was cute ("If only I was sixty years younger!") and who reminded me every time I visited that she was related in a distant way to the ballplayer Wally Pipp. Meghan was only in her twenties but was involved in a car accident and was with us now. And Jake, who was a die-hard Eagles fan and looked forward to talking football with each visit.
My duties in Admissions soon faded away as now I was the caseworker who would help to take care of so many residents in the next ten-plus years.
Around 2007 I started writing a column for my local newspaper called "Wheeling Around Phoenixville.' You could probably google it even now and find articles I wrote. I did one every other week for several years, focusing on disability issues in my community and around the country. I loved finding stories and bringing inspiring stories to light, like the high school kid in Massachusetts who only had one arm yet excelled at basketball, or rating the various Philadelphia sports venues on their accessibility to wheelchairs. It was fun stuff and I had a devoted band of readers who followed the columns and commented on them.
In 2008 my beloved Phillies won the World Series, only their second championship in their long, losing history. I thought of my Dad, how happy he would've been, just as I was thinking of him back in 1980 when the Phils won their first title, and ten years later when the Eagles won their first Super Bowl. He was a die-hard fan and I knew he was there in spirit, celebrating at the parade. I felt he was always by my side, that "little voice" inside, guiding my way and watching over me.
Life was going pretty well. Mom and I were happy in our little place. We had Louie. She had her family and grandchildren. Church and Bingo were huge in her life, and her health was pretty stable. She was ninety and still drove around town. Sometimes not well, stopping on green lights and puttering at 20 m.p.h.. down Main Street, but she did OK
I had my sports and music to occupy my time. I had not found anyone special and I wasn't looking. I had more or less accepted my fate of being a bachelor and it was a happy time. I had friends, even though two of my very best friends, Vicki and Chris, moved to Florida, and I went to games and the movies with various siblings.
Then around 2010 Mom started complaining about her foot. She always had problems with her feet for one reason or another- ingrown toenails, corns, bunions, you name it. Her knees were fine now but her feet "ached" and she began using a cane. Whatever worked.
She went to a couple of foot doctors in town, just as she randomly changed Chiropractors, and her right foot became infected. She quit going to the doctors, tried to treat it on her own because she didn't want anyone to "worry" and soon began to fall. She ended up in the hospital with gangrene of her right foot.
She had tried her treatments at home, Lourdes water, soaking her foot every night and finally getting the right size shoes. She had developed a blister, maybe from her shoes, she wasn't sure. She wasn't diabetic, like Dad was, at least she didn't think so. Nothing worked.
She fell in the bathroom while I was at work that. Luckily I hooked her up with an emergency call system after her first fall and was able to press the button for help. She was admitted on the spot.
Her foot was so bad they amputated all but two toes and part of her foot. She couldn't come home so the hospital discharge planner offered a list of area nursing homes to consider. I ,as Power of Attorney, needed to make a quick decision. Insurance wasn't going to keep her in the hospital forever. After consulting Mom it was decided the Geriatric Center would be the best place for her care needs and rehabilitation.
I thought about the Manor but the staff had changed there since I had worked there, and I heard the quality of care had pretty much gone downhill. Plus I could see her every day where I worked now.
Mom wasn't assigned to North Six, which was not a Medicare floor. Plus it wasn't allowed to work on the same unit as a relative. So she was admitted downstairs to North Three.
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