The Escape

Now that my mom has been in memory care a while, I can write about getting her out of the hospital where I practically had to lose my shit to get her released.

The plan was, I’d leave for the three hour drive at eight to get there at eleven. That gave me plenty of time to make it back by four. The new facility wanted her there no later than four to start doing assessments and make her comfortable for her first night in a new place.

The plan was communicated by the new facility, who’d gotten records from her doctors and was talking to the social worker. Her sister, who was there the night before, told her doctors and nurses too, just in case.

I got to the hospital at about ten after eleven. I figured I’d have to sign some discharge papers but they’d be ready at least.

Wrong.

Nothing had been done. When I told the nurse’s desk I was there to transport my mom, the lady I spoke with said she didn’t have orders but she’d request them. I asked how long it would take. “Probably not too long but it will be lunch soon…”

I gave it a half hour and started packing Mom’s stuff. The only reason I didn’t really start to freak out was that I have a relative still living in the area who had just walked out of this hospital recently because he couldn’t get his doctor to discharge him. He’d waited all day and called his insurance to clear it with them, then he just bolted. Who even knows if they ever noticed?

I also texted my contact at Mom’s new place and told them what was going on. She validated my frustration by saying they’d told them to have Mom ready first thing, and this wasn’t just me picking her up – it was considered a medical transport. She told me she’d take Mom whenever, but that she’d also tell the hospital if we didn’t get her there by four we’d have to wait another day.

When I had a load of her stuff ready to go and could speak without swearing profusely at everyone, I stopped back at the desk and told them what I was planning. I said “I just drove three hours to get her, and she was supposed to be ready to go. The latest I’m leaving here is at one.”

One of them said she’d call Mom’s doctor. I took the stuff down and came back up. Called my husband to vent, went back in Mom’s room, and left the door open. Then I told her and her sister what was going on, that we were going one way or another, and (because they were all listening – her room was almost across from the desk) I had a little rant about “She wouldn’t even have been stuck here if the doctors and social worker hadn’t fkd up her placement and left it to us, and last week they were trying to dump her out of here with no place to go so they can get her paperwork ready and when they’re done with that they can all kiss both cheeks of my…”

Aunt B, pulling the door to: “They can hear you.”

Me: “That’s the point.”

The doctor I liked the best finally showed up – Mom was totally able to fool the other guy; he would come halfway into a memory loop and fall for it and tell me she was “almost back to normal!” – and the nurse who’d requested the discharge came in right behind him. When she asked me if we were making the follow-ups in WV I said “Hell no.” They got Mom a wheelchair and B. rolled her down while I practically sprinted to get the car.

When I got her in and buckled, B. knocked on the door twice like in a spy movie and said “Drive!”

I was afraid to stop anywhere that wasn’t dry. Back then she still got into the beer run loop and I had no idea what to do if she actually made a beeline toward the booze section at a gas station. Fighting an old lady in public would not go over well, especially my own mother – and according to the handful of neighbors and paramedics Mom threw down on when she woke up from her original seizure, I probably was not going to win, either. So I’d scouted out rest areas and McDonalds-es that weren’t close to gas stations, etc.

Luckily neither of us needed to stop. We did hit a giant storm, and Mom got pretty nervous during that. So did I, because a couple times she grabbed my arm – not going for the steering wheel, just for comfort, but I didn’t know that at first!

Mom is not used to traffic. The heaviest traffic she’s been in for a long time is the interstate in Southern WV. And I was driving her through downtown Columbus in a thunderstorm. She kept telling me to watch this car or that truck. And if she thought one was encroaching on my lane, up came THE FINGER!

The first time, this big rig was passing me down a hill on the right, because I had my cruise control on and was going a constant speed. So I passed him up the hill. Then he was about to roll by me going down it. But he was a little too close for her comfort.

“Watch this guy! He’s coming over here!”

“He’s fine, Ma.”

“I gave him THE FINGER for you!”

I looked over and not only was she giving him the finger. She was alternately waving it sideways and jabbing it upward like she wanted to stab the guy with her poky little tall man.

I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe, and when I finally could I said “THANKS MOM!”

I’m glad it was dark. If she does this on the wrong highway she’s going to get me shot.

I always felt like I only had one foot in reality, and being in charge of my mom isn’t helping, but it gives me hope in a strange way. Even when she was bitchy and trying to manipulate me into letting her go on a beer run from the hospital. Even when she asks the same questions over and over and calls me a dozen times a day. Mom hit rock bottom, and I was there for her. Still am. Maybe we all deserve that, even me.