There is Something Rotten in the Borough of Bronx

Despite the positive news today, one event has put a definite damper on an otherwise beautiful set of progress reports.

Today Robert and I had a meeting with a social worker, physical therapist, occupational therapist and his substance abuse counselor. They are planning on discharging him this Thursday. Both Dad and I disagree with him being ready to go home, wanting more strength, balance and endurance training. I admit I got a little testy with the people in the room. Adding to my distress was the team assembled was full of temps. Dad's main physical therapist and main social worker were both off today, and the physical therapist substituting showed up late, without reading, or even HAVING Dad's file. I believe I got snarky, saying something along the lines of "Is the person who schedules these meeting on vacation too?"

It was then explained to me the decision to release is not in the hands of the hospital, but MediCare. MediCare has reports on my dad's progress physically and made the choice to not pay for anymore therapy in the Jewish Home after Thursday. I apologized once I understood this. I believe my exact words were "I'm sorry I directed my ire at you people in this room. I didn't understand where the decisions were being made."

We conversed for a while longer about dad's condition and issues. The meeting was winding down and the social worker asked for Robert to sign a form indicating he attended and understood the discussion. The form was in a large binder full of pages, conveniently opened to the proper one. This led to a HUGE explosion on my part, as this was the form they wanted us to sign is the following:

The social worker said the form was acknowledging attendance. What the form actually said was by signing, Robert was accepting the plan of care we had been arguing against the whole meeting. I took the social worker out to the wood shed, and was stunned with the lack of concern. She said of course we had the right to disagree with the course of care. I told her my issue wasn't my right to disagree, but her misrepresenting the contents of the form.

You have to trust the care facility one entrusts a loved one to. There are horror stories the world over about bad aides, rotten nurses, missing items, lackluster care and not meeting patient needs. I never expected a social worker to attempt to trick my father into signing his right to disagree away. When called on it, we were told that wasn't what occurred and this was a common practice. I got Dad and myself out of there before I blew my top.

I walked my dad back to his room. Joycelyn had just arrived and was waiting for us. I explained the situation and she shared my disgust. We planned on going to meet the head of the social work department, but stopped to fully explain what we were about to do to my dad. How did we know the laundry department hadn't gotten Dad to sign a form agreeing to a $100/day new sheet fee? Once our trust had been breached in this fashion, I was very concerned. Dad understood and fully supported us. After Robert promised not to sign so much as a post-it note during our absence, we went hunting.

The head of the social work department was off for the day, so we got the Assistant to the Director of Social Work. This meeting was fifteen minutes of running headfirst into a brick wall. At no point did she understand that our trust had been breached. She said she wasn't even familiar enough with the form to know what it said and claimed she had no access to the form in her office. This form is competed by every single patient being discharged, so unless they DIE at the facility, this form passed in front of every single resident. I asked her to sign a form I wrote out at the time. I told her it was for her to acknowledged we had a meeting. What I wrote on the page was "I agree with Peter Berbec. x                             " She refused to sign. I demanded a copy of every single page signed by myself or my father post haste, because of my lack of trust. Joycelyn and I then left.

Upon explaining to dad what had happened, I told him I was going on the warpath.

Shortly after that, the assistant head of social work arrived at my dad's floor. She went straight to an office on the same floor, where she was holed up for 10 minutes. She returned with the form in hand. She acknowledged the form and what was told to me had no relation. Scarier, she said this was the standard policy of the department. Form now in my hand, she left.

The main entrance's security guard had gotten me to Social Work, so I went there to track down every single department head: physical therapy, occupational therapy, admissions, finance, substance abuse, everyone. The guard said I seemed to have a problem with someone and told me he was getting the head of security to help assist with my needs. Mr. Penn arrived not five minutes later and listened to my issues. He then led me directly to the Jewish Home's Administrator's office. Just my luck, the Administrator wasn't there, leaving me with a deputy.

Things finally started to look up. She listened to me, said she understood, and would take steps to resolve the problem. I told her I wanted to have copies of all forms signed by Robert or myself. She called the head of the records department directly and said she would be waiting for me by the time I made it downstairs. I thanked her for her time and effort, but reiterated my, honestly, disgust involving the social work department. She promised to handle the staffing issue and get back to me.

I'm in a holding pattern now. Thoughts? Opinions? Advice?