The nurse hung up the phone, shaking her head.
"I can't believe the nerve of some people," she said, clearly aggravated by the phone call. The phone call, she explained, was from a gentleman inquiring about where he should check-in when he brings his father to our ER in a few weeks.
"In a few weeks?" the nurse asked, making sure she heard right. She did.
The gentleman explained that they were moving their father from the West Coast back to our side of the country, to be closer to family, after the father's third wife recently died. The caller had heard that it would be a much quicker process for their father to get into an assisted-living facility if he came through the ER.
"Honestly, sir, that is not a reasonable expectation, unless your father is ill and needing treatment. We are an Emergency Department," she said, enunciating Emergency, "not a place to bring your healthy father for placement."
Her words fell on deaf ears. Around 1 a.m., almost two weeks to the day of that phone call, another one of our nurses walked into the nurses' station, looking incredulous.
"Get this," she said, "this family in Room 22 brought their father directly from the airport to our Emergency Room to have him placed in an assisted-living facility. And," she continued, "they're pissed that they had to wait three hours to get called back from the waiting room."
It was a busy night but, eventually, I was able to make my way to their room. Their story was somewhat familiar with me, but I wanted to learn more.
"Hello, folks," I said, introducing myself to the patient and his family, consisting of two sons and a daughter. All local folks. All dressed in sophisticated clothes and very well-kept. I tried not to be judgmental as I continued. "What brings you to our emergency room tonight?"
"How many times do we need to repeat this?" asked the one son, the obvious spokesman. And obviously obnoxious. "We need you guys to get Dad a place to live here in town."
"At this hour?" I asked, looking at my watch. "It's 2 a.m., I don't think that's going to happen, sir."
"Well," said the son, "we've been waiting since 10 p.m. It's not our fault that it's now 2."
"Even at 10, sir," I said, staring at the spokesman, "I doubt we would have been able to accommodate you." Turning my attention to the patient, I continued. "Sir, are you hurting anywhere? Do you have any injuries or health problems that seem worse to you tonight? Anything that warrants you coming to our ER?"
The patient shook his head no. It was obvious that this was not his planning. I looked back to the son and cocked my eye. He just shrugged his shoulders. After obtaining more history from the patient, I performed a thorough physical. It was stone-cold normal. Clearly, this patient was mentally and physically stable and the family was simply seeking a short-cut to finding a place for their father to live. Heck, he could even live on his own if he wanted to.
"So, just to clarify this," I said, looking at his three grown children, "you picked your father up at the airport and drove him straight to our ER, at this hour, to be placed in a living facility? Am I correct?"
They all nodded. "But all three of you live locally," I continued, "why aren't one of you opening your home to your father until you can get him into a local facility?"
"We were told by several people, including my family doctor," the son spoke, "that this was the easiest way to have Dad placed." Shame on that family doctor, I thought. "And if you can't get him in a place tonight," the son continued, "then just admit Dad until you can get him in somewhere."
It's hard to get a rise out of me, but these people were doing a darn good job. I took a deep breath and tried to clean up my thoughts of these people.
"Well," I said, looking between the patient and his ungrateful children, "unfortunately, your information is wrong. I'll call our case management team down to discuss the available options for your family, but your father has no medical emergency and I won't admit him for the reasons you want. What your father does have, though," I said, "are three children who live locally that could easily provide for him until an assisted-living facility is available."
The family just looked at me. And I stared right back, alternating between them. I wasn't going to blink first.
"Well, then," the spokesman said, "can you call the case manager down to talk to us?"
I walked out of the room, disappointed in this family's dynamics. I'm sure there was more history between this father and his three kids than I was aware of, but still...to pick-up your father from the airport and bring him right to the local ER to dump him off? I would be ashamed of myself. Why even bother bringing him back here to live if this is how it was going to be?
Our case management team came down and, sure enough, were unable to place this patient directly into an assisted-living facility. The soonest they could arrange for his placement was in three days. Three days? People waited months for placement into a facility, and this patient would be there in three days. I guess it was a good shortcut for this family, after all.
"Three days?" said the son, "what kind of system is this? We can't wait that long. Do we have any other options?" No other options, said case management. No other options, said the nurse. No other options, I said.
The patient got dressed while his family grimaced and glared in our hallway. I seriously think they entertained the idea of leaving quickly without their father, but I kept my eye on them. I was ready to chase them down if they tried such a thing. I knew, just from observation, that they weren't above such a thought.
I have three kids of my own, and I shudder to think where a man could have gone wrong to get this kind of treatment from his own children. Did he spoil them? Did he wrong them so significantly that their refusal to take him in was justified? Or were his kids so caught up in their own lives that they had little time left for their father?
Regardless, the patient went to live with the spokesman son for three days. Three long days, per the son. I could only imagine, though, just how long those days would be for a father who felt no love from his family.
"I can't believe the nerve of some people," she said, clearly aggravated by the phone call. The phone call, she explained, was from a gentleman inquiring about where he should check-in when he brings his father to our ER in a few weeks.
"In a few weeks?" the nurse asked, making sure she heard right. She did.
The gentleman explained that they were moving their father from the West Coast back to our side of the country, to be closer to family, after the father's third wife recently died. The caller had heard that it would be a much quicker process for their father to get into an assisted-living facility if he came through the ER.
"Honestly, sir, that is not a reasonable expectation, unless your father is ill and needing treatment. We are an Emergency Department," she said, enunciating Emergency, "not a place to bring your healthy father for placement."
Her words fell on deaf ears. Around 1 a.m., almost two weeks to the day of that phone call, another one of our nurses walked into the nurses' station, looking incredulous.
"Get this," she said, "this family in Room 22 brought their father directly from the airport to our Emergency Room to have him placed in an assisted-living facility. And," she continued, "they're pissed that they had to wait three hours to get called back from the waiting room."
It was a busy night but, eventually, I was able to make my way to their room. Their story was somewhat familiar with me, but I wanted to learn more.
"Hello, folks," I said, introducing myself to the patient and his family, consisting of two sons and a daughter. All local folks. All dressed in sophisticated clothes and very well-kept. I tried not to be judgmental as I continued. "What brings you to our emergency room tonight?"
"How many times do we need to repeat this?" asked the one son, the obvious spokesman. And obviously obnoxious. "We need you guys to get Dad a place to live here in town."
"At this hour?" I asked, looking at my watch. "It's 2 a.m., I don't think that's going to happen, sir."
"Well," said the son, "we've been waiting since 10 p.m. It's not our fault that it's now 2."
"Even at 10, sir," I said, staring at the spokesman, "I doubt we would have been able to accommodate you." Turning my attention to the patient, I continued. "Sir, are you hurting anywhere? Do you have any injuries or health problems that seem worse to you tonight? Anything that warrants you coming to our ER?"
The patient shook his head no. It was obvious that this was not his planning. I looked back to the son and cocked my eye. He just shrugged his shoulders. After obtaining more history from the patient, I performed a thorough physical. It was stone-cold normal. Clearly, this patient was mentally and physically stable and the family was simply seeking a short-cut to finding a place for their father to live. Heck, he could even live on his own if he wanted to.
"So, just to clarify this," I said, looking at his three grown children, "you picked your father up at the airport and drove him straight to our ER, at this hour, to be placed in a living facility? Am I correct?"
They all nodded. "But all three of you live locally," I continued, "why aren't one of you opening your home to your father until you can get him into a local facility?"
"We were told by several people, including my family doctor," the son spoke, "that this was the easiest way to have Dad placed." Shame on that family doctor, I thought. "And if you can't get him in a place tonight," the son continued, "then just admit Dad until you can get him in somewhere."
It's hard to get a rise out of me, but these people were doing a darn good job. I took a deep breath and tried to clean up my thoughts of these people.
"Well," I said, looking between the patient and his ungrateful children, "unfortunately, your information is wrong. I'll call our case management team down to discuss the available options for your family, but your father has no medical emergency and I won't admit him for the reasons you want. What your father does have, though," I said, "are three children who live locally that could easily provide for him until an assisted-living facility is available."
The family just looked at me. And I stared right back, alternating between them. I wasn't going to blink first.
"Well, then," the spokesman said, "can you call the case manager down to talk to us?"
I walked out of the room, disappointed in this family's dynamics. I'm sure there was more history between this father and his three kids than I was aware of, but still...to pick-up your father from the airport and bring him right to the local ER to dump him off? I would be ashamed of myself. Why even bother bringing him back here to live if this is how it was going to be?
Our case management team came down and, sure enough, were unable to place this patient directly into an assisted-living facility. The soonest they could arrange for his placement was in three days. Three days? People waited months for placement into a facility, and this patient would be there in three days. I guess it was a good shortcut for this family, after all.
"Three days?" said the son, "what kind of system is this? We can't wait that long. Do we have any other options?" No other options, said case management. No other options, said the nurse. No other options, I said.
The patient got dressed while his family grimaced and glared in our hallway. I seriously think they entertained the idea of leaving quickly without their father, but I kept my eye on them. I was ready to chase them down if they tried such a thing. I knew, just from observation, that they weren't above such a thought.
I have three kids of my own, and I shudder to think where a man could have gone wrong to get this kind of treatment from his own children. Did he spoil them? Did he wrong them so significantly that their refusal to take him in was justified? Or were his kids so caught up in their own lives that they had little time left for their father?
Regardless, the patient went to live with the spokesman son for three days. Three long days, per the son. I could only imagine, though, just how long those days would be for a father who felt no love from his family.
As always, thanks for reading. The next post will be Friday, February 5. Until then, if you haven't yet voted, go to Medgadget Medical Weblog Awards and vote for StorytellERdoc in both of his nominated categories. Your support and votes are appreciated! Big thanks!
