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Meadowbrook Manor Rehabilitation and Nursing Home

My dad's journey through Hell on Earth

Please read of our experiences before you make a choice about sending your loved one to Meadowbrook Manor La Grange Illinois (or Lagrange Illinois).

If you wish to jump to a particular section, use the following links...

The initial event and hospitalization

The nursing home conundrum

On to Meadow Hell Manor

What is your tolerance level...

Aren't you the least bit human????

The hospitalization...

It didn't seem that life threatening...

Since the death of my mom and his retirement more than 10 years ago, my dad and I had lived together. He was fully alert and capable of living on his own but he was slowing down as the years passed.

It started innocently enough. On a mild Wednesday, January 4, 2006, I was taking my 89-year old father out for a ride, something we had done thousands of times before. I remember the "event" as if it was yesterday. After taking a drink from a water bottle my dad started to speak. I don't remember the exact words but his voice sounded funny. His speech wasn't slurred nor confused but it was very nasal in tone. I asked what was wrong and he replied "I don't know." This sudden change in his speech caused me concern. Having heard of the symptoms of a stroke I asked him to use his hands, one at a time, and squeeze my hand. He did that with no problem. I asked him to move his legs and he did that. He went on to say that he had taken his blood pressure medicine just an hour before we left and maybe that was the cause of his problem. Not convinced, I told him I was going to take him to the hospital. He became angry and stubbornly refused. "I'm just tired! Take me home." he pleaded. I wasn't sure that it was really serious. He seemed normal, except for the voice, so I drove on a bit. Suddenly he began to spit up a white substance. The color and consistency made it look like the oatmeal we had for breakfast. That convinced me to head for the hospital.

When I drove up to the Emergency Room door I tried to get my dad out of the car. He made an attempt to step out but collapsed in my arms. I got him back in the car and ran into the ER. At the admitting window I explained the situation. Two ER staff grabbed a gurney and we ran out to the car. We lifted my dad onto the gurney and the staff members whisked him away. I was told to talk to admissions and fill out paperwork. In my state of shock I did just that. (Thinking back, I should have accompanied my dad through the intial process.) Minutes turned into two hours and there was no word about my dad. Having had enough I walked into the ER and was told my dad was back and that I could stay with him. I walked in and he was on the gurney, in his clothes, but with some monitoring equipment attached. When he greeted me I was relieved but still concerned.

No brain bleeding...

An ER doctor came in the area and spoke to us. He said the initial CT scan was negative. There were no "brain bleeds" visible which he said lessened the likelihood of a stroke. He went on to say that my dad had an unusual heart rhythm and that is what they were most concerned about. He said they would be admitting him for observation but that his "numbers" were stable.

We waited in the ER for 2 1/2 hours for a bed to become available in the cardiac ward. It was about 5:30pm when the staff rolled dad's gurney into the cardiac care room. My dad was alert, even making some of his usual jokes. His primary care physician was on vacation but an associate of his spoke to me about what was taking place. He was being monitored for the heart rhythm and would be assessed for stroke symptoms. It was getting late. It was 9:30pm and since he was in good spirits and seemed stable I asked him if I could go home. He said "Of course! And bring me some new underwear tomorrow." On that light note we hugged and I went home.

Your father fell out of bed..

About 7:15AM the next morning I got a call from a nurse at the hospital. My dad had fallen out of bed and cracked his head. She said his right eye was swollen shut, that he had a big bump on his right forehead, and that he was vomiting brown stuff. He had been taken down for a head CT scan, his second, and the scan was again negative. The nurse also added that my dad showed signs of confusion. The nurse said "When I asked your dad what color hair I had he said blonde. I am an African-American with black hair." Hearing the bad news I rushed right to the hospital.

Never joke to medical personnel....

When I entered the room I saw my dad on his back, with the described injuries, and with brown stains on his cheek. I asked "Dad! What happened???" His reply was "I fell out of the bed and I couldn't hold myself up." He further added it took them a half-hour for them to find him on the floor. I didn't sense any confusion or loss of acuity so I asked him about his comment about the hair color of the nurse. He said he knew she had black hair but he was just making a joke, trying to show he was ok. I told him right there that joking in a hospital is bad business because the staff might not realize it was just a joke and coming from an 89 year old man they might make a judgement of dementia or mental decline, something my dad definitely did not have. I helped him clean his mouth, noting the thick brown fluid that he kept bringing up. Other than the visible injuries, my father did not seem to be in any new distress.

The calm before the storm...

Earlier in the day my sister had flown in from NY but had not yet arrived at the hospital. When she came to the room I saw her first. I motioned for her to approach slowly so that dad wouldn't see her until she was next to the bed. While I was occupying my dad's attention my sister approached. When I pointed to the foot of the bed my dad's eyes lit up, he held out his arms, and spoke my sister's name in a loud voice. They hugged and exchanged kisses. My dad asked her why she had flown in since he didn't think his condition wasn't that serious. Their conversation continued and things seemed quite calm. Dad was smiling and joking with his daughter and his son. He was content that we were watching over his care, and above all HE WAS NOT ALONE!

Why did you give him that shot???

An hour had passed when a nurse came in the room with a syringe, intending to give dad a shot. I asked what the medicine was and was told it was phenergan, for nausea. I protested since my father didn't tell me that he was feeling that way but the shot was given anyway. Within a few minutes of the injection my dad started acting confused. He began to move his arms and legs in slow motions. He then started yelling "I can't breathe!"

Get him to ICU.. STAT

I frantically called for the doctor to come in the room, which she did. Having seen my father a few minutes earlier she was concerned about the abrupt change in his condition. I told the doctor about the shot of phenergan and the change I saw. She immediately asked the cardiac ward head nurse to get dad into ICU. There were some strong words between the two about procedure but eventually the doctor's request was granted. Around 3pm my dad was wheeled into ICU. We were not allowed in for a few minutes and were told he needed to be set up first. A few minutes later we came into his room, only to see him trying to get out of bed. We screamed for help and the nurse ran in. She called more help and we were asked to leave the room.

The life or death decision..

Minutes passed and we waited. Finally the doctor came out to speak with us. She said dad was in serious condition, having trouble breathing, and his best chance of recovery would be for them to intubate him, helping him breathe temporarily. Not realizing the horrors about to befall dad and us we agreed to the procedure to save his life.

The details of his 18 day stay in ICU and failure to extubate are for another time, as are the 31 days in a specialty weaning hospital to which he was transferred.

At the vent weaning specialty hospital we were initially told that my dad should be able to be weaned, given his lack of lung disease and the circumstances of his intubation. As days went on it became apparent that my father would not be easily weaned. It also became apparent that things were not as simple as we had hope. Dad did not seem to be able to swallow anything. He had become very hard of hearing. We were told that eventually he would be released and that we needed to find a sub-acute skilled nursing and rehabilitation facility with ventilator care. With this in the back of our mind my sister started visiting nursing home on a list supplied by the specialty hospital family contact.

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The nursing home conundrum...

The least of the evils....

Having had my uncle in a horrible nursing home for while, I vowed my dad would never be in a nursing home for any length of time and that any home he would be in had to be the best possible. The need for ventilator support greatly limited our choices. My sister visited many homes and reported many disappointing visits. She finally arranged a visit to Meadowbrook Manor in La Grange, Illinois. The tour provided by the Director of Admissions went well and initially she had a positive view of the place. There was a Nurse Practitioner on staff, they had Respiratory Technicians 24 hours a day, and the building didn't smell. Their brochure made the place sound wonderful. It looked like a place that we could take dad where his medical needs and rehabilitation would be seen to and where he would continue to be weaned. We decided that when released from the specialty hospital Dad would be taken to Meadowbrook Manor. We reported our choice to the specialty hospital case manager.

It's all about the Benjamins (and Medicare)....

On a Monday morning I received a call that the hospital had decided to release my dad and that he would be transferred that afternoon. I was aghast at the sudden decision to move him. The decision turned out to be based upon Medicare standards and that my dad had met the goal set by the hospital, not goals that were initially told to us but arbitrary goals that would make the hospital look successful in its course of treatment of my dad. My dad had been weaning for up to 17 hours a day and was weaning the day he was moved.

Thursday, March 2nd, the trip to Meadowbrook Manor started on a positive note. My dad was weaning, he was alert and in a positive mood. Although he had a trache tube and was not able to talk, he would mouth words and we would read his lips. When we couldn't read his lips dad would use an alphabet board and point to letters to spell out his words. On the day of the move he asked where we were taking him and we explained. He said goodbye to his nurses and his favorite aide. He joked with the ambulance staff as they moved him from the bed to the transport and into the ambulance. He waved goodbye as he left the room on the transport. Our spirits were high because he seemed so much better than before.

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On to Meadow Hell Manor...

The ride to Death Valley....

The ride to Meadowbrook Manor was only 10 minutes and they were waiting for our arrival. My dad was rolled into room 234, Bed A. He was transferred into their bed, settled in, was alert and seemed comfortable. Things weren't quite right from the beginning. The bed was too short! His feet were hanging out over the edge, into a narrow area where people had to walk to see the other resident in the room. I was appalled at the primitive look to the equipment and furniture. At the specialty hospital there was a computer controlled ventilator; Meadowbrook Manor had a small unit with analog dials. At the specialty hospital my father was able to use a continuous suction device to rid his mouth of secretions. Meadowbrook Manor had a small portable suction pump on a chest of drawers next to the bed. It had a toggle switch to turn it on an off, a switch that was impossible to reach for a bedridden person. I questioned the RT about the device and he had the gaul to ask "Can't he turn it on himself?" I suppose he could if he could get out of bed, bend down and find the switch on the rear of the pump, but that was not realistic given that my dad was still unable to walk. And though I was upset I knew we could work through those issues.

You'll be out of here in no time...dead, unfortunately.

A few minutes later we were visited by the Nurse Practitioner and Pulmonary Doctor. They were very surprised at the mental status of my father, something we had told them of. My dad stuck out his right arm and offered his hand to the doctor. The doctor responded and they shook hands. My dad mouthed "Do you have hope for me?" which I think surprised the doctor. He made a flip remark that dad would be weaned, the trache removed and dad would be able to leave in not too long of a time period. The Nurse Practitioner mentioned that most of their patients were not in such strong mental state, in fact, only 1 in 15 was so mentally alert.

A few minutes after the doctor and nurse left the room my dad began to look around the drab room. There was no television or phone in the room. The curtain that separated his bed from the other resident was soiled. Compared to the relatively modern private room at the specialty hospital this room was depressing.

The other resident was in bad condition . Before I closed the privacy curtain my dad cast a glance at the other patient/resident. He looked for a while then turned my way. He looked into my eyes and mouthed "Is this where people go to die... and know it?" Those words cut into my heart and seared my mind. The specialty hospital had just declared Dad stable and released him. MY DAD WAS NOT IN THAT SERIOUS CONDITION..He wasn't going to die in that place...We were doing our best to get him home! Gently I stroked his hair and put my mouth next to his ear. "Oh no, Dad! You are getting better every day. We will walk out of here, hand in hand!", I said to him. He smiled, took his hand and caressed my cheek. "My son, my son!" he mouthed.

He's hard of hearing, not deaf ..

The fact that my dad could not make vocal sounds, because of the trache tube, and was hard of hearing would pose a continuing problem. Given that my dad was 89 and that some of the residents in Meadowbrook Manor were in a declined mental state I was greatly concerned that staff would treat my dad as if he was not mentally alert. Because of these communication problems, we printed up signs stating "Tony is hard of hearing, not deaf. Use the pocket talker (a device with headphones) if you need to ask him something." and "Tony cannot speak. Please try to read his lips or ask him to spell using the alphabet board." We bought a lot of erasable markers and the white board to communicate with Dad. Very few of the staff read the signs or used the communication tools. They would come into the room, stand at the foot of the bed and say "Hi, Tony!" or "Do you need anything?". Since my dad couldn't hear them he didn't know what they were saying. He would just raise his hand, wave, and smile. While this showed he was friendly, it wasn't helping him if he needed to be changed or was in pain. Anytime someone would come in and do that we would point to the signs and say "He can't talk and is very hard of hearing. Use the white board or the pocket talker with him." For the months he was there very few (maybe 3) of the staff tried to communicate with him.

The specialty hospital had lenient visiting hours and we had taken advantage of them. My sister would get there at 9AM and I would come at 1PM to relieve her. I would stay until 9PM or 10PM, depending upon my dad's mood. We did this every day he was there. The first day at Meadowbrook Manor we were told the visiting hours were from 10AM until 8PM. We decided that dad was stable and we could let him get accustomed to our leaving in the evening. He was alert and smiling, waving goodbye and mouthing "See you tomorrow!" as we left. When my sister arrived at 10AM the next morning, she found my dad lying motionless, his pupils pinpoint. I hurried to the place and started looking for answers. What had happened in the 14 hours since we left my dad? No one could tell us anything. The nurse practitioner was unable to offer any information. Surely someone must have noticed a change in status of a man who was smiling and communicative to one who was in a coma-like state. The home director (who got fired a few weeks later) came in dad's room. I complained bitterly about the change. His answer was "He is 90 years old. Dementia can come on suddenly." I was furious. "What kind of medical care is offered here?" I asked. I soon found out that it is mostly maintenance, keeping bodies alive with only superficial rehabilitation effort.

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What is your tollerance level...