My Mom fell a week or so before Christmas, and then had an episode of ... sort of not being there or something, so they took her back to the hospital (after sending her home the day after her fall having observed her all night). And now we're waiting on a room in a rehab place.
I remember reading before how transferring patients to rehab or nursing facilities was hard and horrible, and now I'm living at least some of the frustrations of that.
I got here Christmas, and my brother was here. He's amazing in all the best ways. He brought me up to her room. And then he flew out the next morning, and I've been here every day since. So, this is day five on my watch, still waiting on a place. And it doesn't look like anything is happening very fast.
My hope is for Monday. Finger's crossed. I'm flying out on Tuesday morning... just changed my plans to that, but may have to change them again.
I read something the other day that all sorts of medical folks are getting involved in various arts, writing, and such to deal with the pandemic stress, and it reminded me of some of the medical blogs I read back in the day when blogs were more of a thing. I guess they were just ten years early (or more?)
One thing getting a PhD or working in any academic setting prepares you for: patiently waiting for bureaucracy to edge towards getting something done.
One of the nurses told me she has four patients (including my Mom), and three of them are waiting on a room somewhere else to be discharged. That has to be frustrating for everyone involved, no?
Do we not have enough skilled nursing/rehab facilities? (That's my guess, along with the ones we have being understaffed for the holidays and extra understaffed with covid, and super extra understaffed with the omicron problem.
I started reading Station Eleven the day after Christmas waiting in the room. (My Mom mostly sleeps.) It's not a good choice for me, not right now, not during omicron, just not. But it's really well written.