This article is reprinted by permission from NextAvenue.org. A couple of months before my father died, he fell. While no bones were broken, the fall catalyzed a series of events that included hospitalization, a blood transfusion and permanent damage to his right leg.
One day he could walk, albeit slowly and not quite steadily. A week later, the doctor told us it was unlikely my father would ever walk again. Less than an hour after that world-shattering news, a hospital social worker told us they were ready to discharge Dad back home. They just needed to confirm the address to have a hospital bed delivered. Unless we thought he’d want the ability to get out of bed. In that case, we’d need a Hoyer lift and probably a Brody chair. We should find a caregiver, she said. Full time, she recommended. Could we be ready the day after tomorrow? Could we, in two days, convert my father’s bedroom into a hospital room, complete with a full-time caregiver to manage the new equipment and care routines, while I also worked a full-time …