Jill’s eyes widen, and she purses her lips. But I’m not finished.
“Regarding my mom’s diet. If my mom wants ice cream, she can damn well have ice cream. I’m her health care power of attorney, and that’s a decision that I made based on the wishes my mother and I spoke about when she still could make her own choices. If her medical providers and I think ice cream is fine, it’s fine.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply?—”
“Yes, you did. It was clear what you intended. Regardless, I got my mom some food, then took her to her room and gave her a shower because her hair was greasy. She was disheveled, and her pants had dried urine stains on them. How long does someone have to sit in urine for it to dry on their pants?”
She opens her mouth to speak, and I put my hand up.
“That was a rhetorical question.” I’m so angry I can’t stop. “When I got Mom out of the shower and prepared to put her in bed, I had to change the linens because I also saw dried urine stains on them. In addition, because of sitting in the urine, she has a severe rash on her groin area. It’s extremely red and looks painful. There was no nurse on the memory unit for me to speak to, and the aides told me there was only one nurse in the building. This is really not an acceptable level of care.”
Jill sits back in her chair and sighs—it’s deep and irritated-sounding.
“You and I have discussed this before. Your mother’s monthly bill...” She pauses, pulls a file folder from the top drawer of her desk, opens it, and makes an obvious show of looking at the file. “Your mother’s monthly bill of six thousand dollars—which is quite low for residential nursing facilities—only covers basic care.”
My insides light up with fire. Who thinks six thousand dollars is “low?”
“The fee you pay covers basic room and board plus two showers a week. If you want your mom fed regularly, you’ll have to pay extra.”
I roll my eyes at her.
“I’d like to see documentation that she’s getting two showers a week because I’m pretty damn sure that’s not happening. What do I have to pay to get her changed when she’s peed on herself?”
“I don’t like your tone. It’s not my fault that your mother is in the medical condition she is.”
I scoot forward in my chair and lean toward her desk. I restmyfolded hands on top of the desk.
“I’m not saying her medical condition is your fault. But whatisyour fault, as the administrator of this facility, is that the care is less than basic. These individuals deserve to be clean and cared for in a dignified manner. What about the people who haveno one coming here advocating for them? Do they just get left until last, and then if there’s no time to take care of them, they don’t get changed?”
“Delaney, yes, your mother should be cleaned up and not left sitting in urine. I will give you that. But your expectations are high…”
I haven’t finished yet.
“And what about activities? Just because the residents in that part of the building have various forms of dementia does not mean that they don’t need something to stimulate their brains or to make them feel like a human being. They’re all sitting in a common area with True Housewives of whatever county on the television. How many of those residents do you think really care to watch True Housewives? How about putting on a movie from their generation, that might spark their memory or bring them some comfort? Or play some music that is generation appropriate?”
“Those things cost money. And with our fees being as low as they are...”
“They’re. Not. Low. Do you really believe that six thousand dollars a month is a small amount? I’m not saying it doesn’t cost money to care for people, but they’re paying for care, and they’re not getting it much of the time.”
Her face is as red as a beet now, and she’s openly glaring at me.
“Perhaps if you're not happy here, you should check out other facilities. However, I assure you that you will not find a place that gives significantly better care than we do andcertainlynot for the price you’re paying.”
I pause and take a deep breath because I’m about to put on my bitch pants with this woman. Okay, maybe I already have them on, but I am about to roll up the cuffs and get in the mudwith her. This is my mother she’s talking about. The woman who gave up everything to take care of me as I was growing up.
“What are you going to do today to make sure that this doesn't continue to happen?”
She doesn’t have an answer. She stares at me with wide eyes, as if she’s shocked that I’m even asking the question.
“If this continues to occur, I will complain to the ombudsman or the Department of Health because this facility is lacking in the provision of basic care to the residents.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening you. I’m asking you to take care of my mother because I can’t do it anymore. I’m asking you to do what I pay you to do. And I’m telling you I’m feeling so desperate that if something doesn’t get fixed, I will have to report it to whoever canmakeyou fix it.”
I stand and grab my bag, then make eye contact with her one more time.
“I am planning to make impromptu visits at random hours, and I don’t expect to find my mother in the same state I did the other day. Honestly, even if I see other residents walking around with dried urine stains on their pants, that’s enough cause for me to make a call. It’s not just my mother who deserves the care she is paying for. It’s everyone.”
