So, just last week, my father was still in the hospital and the social worker and I were looking for a nursing home or board and care facility for him to go.
I visited about 5 or 6 different facilities all over LA and also talked to countless of other facilities by phone. The breakdown was that none of them had any Medi-Cal beds available. Board & care places were available but none of them accepted any types of insurance. They required cash, just like renting an apartment. And so I figured that if he lives in an assisted living place, he would no longer need an 8-hour per day caregiver. That said, I figured that the funds spent on a caregiver can be used for a board and care place instead.
Finally, I came across The Pass Through The Hills Assisted Living Facility. They were located the farthest from home that I had ever checked out before. The hospital’s agency found this place. It was EXACTLY the same amount per month that I was paying for an 8-hour per day caregiver. The lady who gave me the tour of the place was the sweetest, friendliest person I had ever met at any of the facilities I had ever visited. I immediately thought: “I trust her with my dad.”
Long story short, he was accepted into the facility, and on August 31st, he FINALLY got discharged from the hospital. I had made arrangements for me, my husband, my son, and my dad’s caregiver to pick him up from the hospital and drive him to The Pass Through The Hills Facility. We were welcomed with open arms, and the move went very smoothly. I can’t say enough about the staff’s friendliness. And even more so, the other residents in the Memory Care unit. They were HILARIOUS, to say the least.
My dad’s roommate had a heart to heart conversation with my dad’s dog. He told his dog that he heard her speak tagalog. And that any dog who can speak tagalog deserves respect.
Another man who lived there asked me with great concern if I was dead. I said, “No I’m alive”. He then said “Oh good, because if you were dead, I would have asked you to leave. I don’t like dead people hanging around me.”
And this other lady kept saying to me literally every 3 minutes: “He’s so cute, what’s his name?” about my son. I would repeat my answer over and over to her each time, as if it was her first time asking. And then I got thrown off when she then asked me: “What is my name?” (meaning, what is HER name). Immediately, I thought she forgot her name! After all, we ARE in the dementia/alzeimer’s unit. So I called a staff member down the hall and asked her what that lady’s name was. Before she could answer, the lady interrupted and said: “Why are you asking her my name? I know my name! It’s Mary!” Then she stuck her hand out for me to shake it.
Needless to say, I was amused and confused. But all of those conversations sure lightened the load.
Eve had unpacked all of my dad’s clothes, and beddings and made his bed. Soon after, she wheeled my dad in his wheelchair (they gave him a wheelchair because he was so frail walking since he had been in bed for a month in the hospital) to his room for the first time, and his reaction was priceless:
“This is my room?” he questioned, “wow, it’s beautiful!”
SCORE. Finally, the demon in me who keeps thinking I’m failing my dad, finally got recognition and acknowledgement.
So, Eve, my husband, my son and I all left lighthearted and content. My dad was happy. We were all feeling accomplished. It was a successful night. To add to that, this was also a breakthrough for me regarding support. The fact that my husband busted his ass that evening to make sure my dad was taken care of, was HUGE. Recalling all the name calling, and ill feelings that my father had of him just a few years ago, this evening was not supposed to have happened. And it did.
Miracles do happen.
Adventures with my Elderly Father 