I'd been outside waiting for my return ride back to the nursing home (for nearly two hours). That's right, they forgot about me. And hence, the possibility of being stuck in Gilbert, Arizona overnight on Christmas Eve was becoming a real possibility. Lucky for me, the temperature was agreeable. Calm air. A cloudless sky. And an alighted water tower in the near distance cycling through all sorts of fluorescent rainbow shaded colors and seasonal flavors.
I'd sent my mother back inside an hour prior, after having convinced her that my ride would show up sooner, rather than later. There was no need for her to wait outside with me in front of her apartment complex, especially considering the chill in the air. Either way, she didn't complain. She's never been a complainer.
My ride was supposed to arrive at 6:00 p.m. although, the pick up window they gave me gave me indicated a 30-minute window existed. On a hunch, I called Valley Transit to inquire about my return ride. Sure, it was only 6:30, but I felt a sinking sensation.
I spoke to Eric. He told me he was going to find a driver for me, asking if it would be okay if he put me on hold.
Find a driver? That didn't sound promising at all.
I gave Eric the okay, and that's the last I ever heard from him. Three minutes later, the phone call terminated. So I called back again, and again, and again. Each time the call disconnected much in the same way. Something or somebody continually hung up on me.
After 20 minutes of being repeatedly dropped, I finally got through to Lisa. It was already 6:50 p.m., meaning… the driver was undoubtedly late. Or the driver was dead. In a ditch. With a six pack of Schlitz Malt Liquor coursing through his veins and arteries. Well no, that doesn't make sense. If he were nothing more than a corpse, the coursing would have ceased.
Anyway, this Lisa woman also indicated that she would do her best to try and find a driver. She also suggested I call back in 15 minutes to make sure that a ride had been secured.
Instead of 15 minutes, I called back 20 minutes later. Of course, Valley Transit customer service shuts down at 7:00 p.m. So really, that was rather clever of Lisa, having me call back AFTER she and the rest of her co-workers went home for the evening.
Meanwhile, I had already called the nursing home three different times, in efforts to report my possible tardiness. But of course, no one was answering the phone at my nurse station. I did speak with the receptionist, but she couldn't get a hold of anyone in my unit either.
The reason for my desperation had much to do with my paranoia. Me, paranoid? Well, yes. I was already paranoid because some nurses don't believe I should be going out on visits in the first place. And now…
Anyway, I continued calling the Valley Transit number, and the automated after hours emergency message instructed me to choose the Number "4' Option if I was planning to cancel a ride and/or needed status on a pickup.
Each time I pushed the super duper magical number four on my keypad, I was briefly put on a hold, and then the call disconnected. This succession of hang-ups continue down for 30 minutes (the automated phone line disconnected me 11 times in that time frame (which was 11 times additionally).
Sure, I could've slept in my wheelchair inside my mother's apartment, but I didn't happen to bring the necessary supplies for an overnight stay. Which really, isn't a great big deal. I can run on plain simple water for a period of time. But the main difficulty would involve my inability to use any kind of toilet in the morning. Assuming the need would come about. And really, that was my main concern. And there was no work around available.
*My mother's apartment is tiny. I can roll into her living room. And then I can roll back out of her apartment. But that's the extent of my movement.
Outcomes
Then, lo and behold, my ride showed up. Well, not my real ride. My real ride would have been a full-sized minibus. Rather large. Lots of available leg room. But this vehicle? Well, it was more or less shaped and sized like a station wagon. Or a crossover vehicle. Or something. I don't really understand vehicle categorization these days, having been isolated and far removed from the grid for nearly a decade.
The passenger side window rolled down, and the driver called out my name. I raised my hand. I was also planning on raising my concerns regarding the vehicles size, but decided to trust the drivers know-how. I mean, heck, he drives disabled people around for a living.
The driver lowered the ramp, and then instructed me to pull forward. Clearly I wasn't going to fit. But I figured that just perhaps, he had some kind of incomprehensible work around at the ready, right?
Well, he did not. It was up to me to figure out how to fit myself in the tiny tiny tiny space, the one with low head clearance and absolutely no leg room whatsoever.
I pulled my legs towards me and collapsed the legs of the chair. Then I inched forward as far as it would go, then stretched my legs outward across a collapsed bench seat in front of me. Then without warning, the driver slammed the back door shut, which pushed in against the hydraulic lift, which violently smashed against the rear portion of my wheelchair. I feared something was broken. Or dislodged.
Ummm… to say the least, I was unimpressed.
The driver asked me if I could take the rear portion of my wheelchair apart, or disassemble various pieces, so that I would become a better fit.
I explained to the driver that everything, including the rear assembly, was welded together - likely with safety purposes in mind.
So what I ended up doing, was collapse the back support of my chair unto myself… meaning, I would nearly have been nearly folded in half if I remained in my chair. So, in order to avoid crushing myself, I scooted forward as far as I could, so that my torso was supported by the folded over bench seat in front of me. Due to this positioning, my legs were dangling over the edge, pushed up into the rear portion of the driver's seat. And the only portion of my physical body still making contact with the wheelchair, where my head and shoulders.
To say the least, I was extremely uncomfortable. Worse than that, I was situated dangerously, laying across the folded seat with my body contorted and my head twisted to one side.
The driver tried to restrain me with the seatbelt, but I told him not to bother. I mean really, the only place he could have restrained me was wrapping the seat belt around my neck.
On the bright side (yes, there are always bright sides), no one else would be coming along for the ride. No other pickups. Because there was no way any other human could fit inside the vehicle. Not safely. Not comfortably… not unless they were a contortionist, and a top-notch one at that.
The return trip only took 45 minutes. Yes, 45 minutes through the haze and smoke and Christmas-induced fireplace smog. Too many damn fireplaces competing against the temperature inversion.
When I got back to the nursing home, my nurse asked me why I hadn't called to let her know that I would be arriving late. Well …
I went into my room, put some music on, and that was the end of that. That was my Christmas Eve.
A Mom Thing
I did get to spend several hours with my mother. She looked okay. Mostly. And despite not having had insulin for the past three weeks, she was as functional as could be expected. Why doesn't she have insulin? Well, actually she does. She just doesn't have the needles necessary. So she's been taking her insulin doses without having any needles. Yes. That's actually what's happening. Phantom insulin shots.
The nurses that have begun visiting my mother (last week) were supposed to bring the insulin needles on Thursday, but neither the needles nor the nurses showed up. They never showed up on Friday either.
Yes, it's my fault for not checking to make sure, but I just figured they would show up because that's what the nurses are supposed to do. And then this week, the main nurse is on vacation, so they're trying to find a backup nurse to do the kinds of things that back up nurses do best.
UPDATE / 2 days later: A nurse showed up this afternoon and showed my mother how to inject her insulin. I just got off the phone with my mother, quizzed her, and she seems confident that she can do it herself. For some reason, she thought she only needed to take insulin ONCE per month. So yeah…
Oh, and normally I would appreciate any recommendations, things that could possibly and potentially help my mother. But there's nothing anyone can do. She's too mentally functional to be placed in any insisted living environment. She too easily passes regular evaluations.
You may be wondering how she's able to pass any evaluation, considering her memory difficulties, etc.
Well, as long as she can name the current president of the United States, the current year, and pick out her favorite color, she's okay to live on her own. Nice, right? But that's all there is to it. That's all that's required.
Anyway, she's got nurses coming over now, and another woman (an elderly advocate) who's working towards finding a place for her to live, a place where she will receive daily assistance (based upon my mother's income). So, there could be a resolution in the making.
Anyway, my mother was happy to see me, and we did spend quality time together. And I plan on visiting her again in two weeks (weather permitting / nursing home allowing).
Take care of everybody,
Howard
Her Apartment
Me (on tour)
Glowing Water Tower
Where My Mother Hangs Out (at the park)
I'd sent my mother back inside an hour prior, after having convinced her that my ride would show up sooner, rather than later. There was no need for her to wait outside with me in front of her apartment complex, especially considering the chill in the air. Either way, she didn't complain. She's never been a complainer.
My ride was supposed to arrive at 6:00 p.m. although, the pick up window they gave me gave me indicated a 30-minute window existed. On a hunch, I called Valley Transit to inquire about my return ride. Sure, it was only 6:30, but I felt a sinking sensation.
I spoke to Eric. He told me he was going to find a driver for me, asking if it would be okay if he put me on hold.
Find a driver? That didn't sound promising at all.
I gave Eric the okay, and that's the last I ever heard from him. Three minutes later, the phone call terminated. So I called back again, and again, and again. Each time the call disconnected much in the same way. Something or somebody continually hung up on me.
After 20 minutes of being repeatedly dropped, I finally got through to Lisa. It was already 6:50 p.m., meaning… the driver was undoubtedly late. Or the driver was dead. In a ditch. With a six pack of Schlitz Malt Liquor coursing through his veins and arteries. Well no, that doesn't make sense. If he were nothing more than a corpse, the coursing would have ceased.
Anyway, this Lisa woman also indicated that she would do her best to try and find a driver. She also suggested I call back in 15 minutes to make sure that a ride had been secured.
Instead of 15 minutes, I called back 20 minutes later. Of course, Valley Transit customer service shuts down at 7:00 p.m. So really, that was rather clever of Lisa, having me call back AFTER she and the rest of her co-workers went home for the evening.
Meanwhile, I had already called the nursing home three different times, in efforts to report my possible tardiness. But of course, no one was answering the phone at my nurse station. I did speak with the receptionist, but she couldn't get a hold of anyone in my unit either.
The reason for my desperation had much to do with my paranoia. Me, paranoid? Well, yes. I was already paranoid because some nurses don't believe I should be going out on visits in the first place. And now…
Anyway, I continued calling the Valley Transit number, and the automated after hours emergency message instructed me to choose the Number "4' Option if I was planning to cancel a ride and/or needed status on a pickup.
Each time I pushed the super duper magical number four on my keypad, I was briefly put on a hold, and then the call disconnected. This succession of hang-ups continue down for 30 minutes (the automated phone line disconnected me 11 times in that time frame (which was 11 times additionally).
Sure, I could've slept in my wheelchair inside my mother's apartment, but I didn't happen to bring the necessary supplies for an overnight stay. Which really, isn't a great big deal. I can run on plain simple water for a period of time. But the main difficulty would involve my inability to use any kind of toilet in the morning. Assuming the need would come about. And really, that was my main concern. And there was no work around available.
*My mother's apartment is tiny. I can roll into her living room. And then I can roll back out of her apartment. But that's the extent of my movement.
Outcomes
Then, lo and behold, my ride showed up. Well, not my real ride. My real ride would have been a full-sized minibus. Rather large. Lots of available leg room. But this vehicle? Well, it was more or less shaped and sized like a station wagon. Or a crossover vehicle. Or something. I don't really understand vehicle categorization these days, having been isolated and far removed from the grid for nearly a decade.
The passenger side window rolled down, and the driver called out my name. I raised my hand. I was also planning on raising my concerns regarding the vehicles size, but decided to trust the drivers know-how. I mean, heck, he drives disabled people around for a living.
The driver lowered the ramp, and then instructed me to pull forward. Clearly I wasn't going to fit. But I figured that just perhaps, he had some kind of incomprehensible work around at the ready, right?
Well, he did not. It was up to me to figure out how to fit myself in the tiny tiny tiny space, the one with low head clearance and absolutely no leg room whatsoever.
I pulled my legs towards me and collapsed the legs of the chair. Then I inched forward as far as it would go, then stretched my legs outward across a collapsed bench seat in front of me. Then without warning, the driver slammed the back door shut, which pushed in against the hydraulic lift, which violently smashed against the rear portion of my wheelchair. I feared something was broken. Or dislodged.
Ummm… to say the least, I was unimpressed.
The driver asked me if I could take the rear portion of my wheelchair apart, or disassemble various pieces, so that I would become a better fit.
I explained to the driver that everything, including the rear assembly, was welded together - likely with safety purposes in mind.
So what I ended up doing, was collapse the back support of my chair unto myself… meaning, I would nearly have been nearly folded in half if I remained in my chair. So, in order to avoid crushing myself, I scooted forward as far as I could, so that my torso was supported by the folded over bench seat in front of me. Due to this positioning, my legs were dangling over the edge, pushed up into the rear portion of the driver's seat. And the only portion of my physical body still making contact with the wheelchair, where my head and shoulders.
To say the least, I was extremely uncomfortable. Worse than that, I was situated dangerously, laying across the folded seat with my body contorted and my head twisted to one side.
The driver tried to restrain me with the seatbelt, but I told him not to bother. I mean really, the only place he could have restrained me was wrapping the seat belt around my neck.
On the bright side (yes, there are always bright sides), no one else would be coming along for the ride. No other pickups. Because there was no way any other human could fit inside the vehicle. Not safely. Not comfortably… not unless they were a contortionist, and a top-notch one at that.
The return trip only took 45 minutes. Yes, 45 minutes through the haze and smoke and Christmas-induced fireplace smog. Too many damn fireplaces competing against the temperature inversion.
When I got back to the nursing home, my nurse asked me why I hadn't called to let her know that I would be arriving late. Well …
I went into my room, put some music on, and that was the end of that. That was my Christmas Eve.
A Mom Thing
I did get to spend several hours with my mother. She looked okay. Mostly. And despite not having had insulin for the past three weeks, she was as functional as could be expected. Why doesn't she have insulin? Well, actually she does. She just doesn't have the needles necessary. So she's been taking her insulin doses without having any needles. Yes. That's actually what's happening. Phantom insulin shots.
The nurses that have begun visiting my mother (last week) were supposed to bring the insulin needles on Thursday, but neither the needles nor the nurses showed up. They never showed up on Friday either.
Yes, it's my fault for not checking to make sure, but I just figured they would show up because that's what the nurses are supposed to do. And then this week, the main nurse is on vacation, so they're trying to find a backup nurse to do the kinds of things that back up nurses do best.
UPDATE / 2 days later: A nurse showed up this afternoon and showed my mother how to inject her insulin. I just got off the phone with my mother, quizzed her, and she seems confident that she can do it herself. For some reason, she thought she only needed to take insulin ONCE per month. So yeah…
Oh, and normally I would appreciate any recommendations, things that could possibly and potentially help my mother. But there's nothing anyone can do. She's too mentally functional to be placed in any insisted living environment. She too easily passes regular evaluations.
You may be wondering how she's able to pass any evaluation, considering her memory difficulties, etc.
Well, as long as she can name the current president of the United States, the current year, and pick out her favorite color, she's okay to live on her own. Nice, right? But that's all there is to it. That's all that's required.
Anyway, she's got nurses coming over now, and another woman (an elderly advocate) who's working towards finding a place for her to live, a place where she will receive daily assistance (based upon my mother's income). So, there could be a resolution in the making.
Anyway, my mother was happy to see me, and we did spend quality time together. And I plan on visiting her again in two weeks (weather permitting / nursing home allowing).
Take care of everybody,
Howard
Her Apartment
Me (on tour)
Glowing Water Tower
Where My Mother Hangs Out (at the park)
