Rehab started the next day and is pretty intensive from what I read. No time for being lazy in this place. At that time, I did not realize what a great facility this was. All the activities, therapies and even bathing were listed so everyone knew what was expected of the patients. Doctors and nurses were attentive and seen daily. A stroke specialist even stopped in to see Carl. I was totally impressed. There was a cafeteria where loved ones could take breaks and visit for breakfast, lunch or snacks. It was truly a full-amenity and comforting, professional facility.
Therapy was moving forward, and I was able to catch glimpses of improvements with each passing day. He was starting to speak a few words, coming out of his fog of confusion and even staying alert longer every day. The care was fantastic, giving us all hope that one day Carl could be sitting in a wheelchair and then who knows, walking again? In my still moments, I could see us taking short walks, sometimes in a chair and sometimes just a very slow one foot in front of the other kind of stroll. My heart bursts at those thoughts.
Remember earlier, I had mentioned my concerns over the section on Carl’s skull that had been removed? The stroke specialist asked me about that, so I explained that it was kept frozen in Virginia awaiting to hear whether or not his new neurosurgeon in Florida would want to reattach it. The hole was close to his neck, so the only thing between the outside world and his brain was a patch of skin. An uncomfortable thought to say the least.
I stayed by his side, encouraging him to keep fighting because I could see that he was trying to follow all the therapy rules and exercises, even when it hurt. The facility had this amazing tool called the Hoyer Lift, which lifted him out of the position he had been in for weeks. I could tell by the his expressions face that he experienced relief by the change of positions. I mean, can you imagine lying in a bed for days without the ability to move?
Various therapies were conducted three times a day on average, and I was able to contact the specialists whenever necessary. Their whole staff was readily available. I had no idea how much of a difference there would be when comparing rehab centers. We would be encountering some vast differences down the road, that I’ll share with you soon.
Boom Goes the Shoe
Carl was on his way to recovery, yet I could feel something wasn’t right, like something was headed our way. I once again girded my loins, preparing to face whatever was coming around the corner. Then it happened: the other shoe dropped. I was informed that it was about time to go.
I felt so bad for the administrator who had to tell families when the time is up. You could see it in her eyes that she hated coming with such news. Carl had excellent insurance, but yet it only paid for four weeks of rehabilitation? Four weeks to rehabilitate a massive stroke. How can that be? Questions about this come to the surface in future chapters, which makes me question so many things.
I was dumbfounded to say the least. Sitting there speechless, yet a profusion of questions crushed my brain. Why didn’t anyone inform me, from the doctors, to the nurses, to the salesperson who convinced me to bring him here? Maybe they did and I just failed to retain it along with the million other details I was trying to store in my brain.
My husband was a severely disabled patient making daily improvements, so how can this all come to a grinding halt? What is four weeks for this type of care other than a band-aid for an open wound? It is not enough time to recover for a patient of this degree of injury! He was under such great care here, so what happens if it comes to a standstill? What’s next? Where would he be going? He couldn’t come home yet as I was totally unable and unequipped to care for him on my own. There was still so much work to be done not only with rehabilitation, but with me setting up our home, preparing for a different kind of life. Without family living close by to help, it would be up to me to set up our home to accommodate all that would be required for a man with such a severe disability.
I’m sure the administrator was watching my eyes glaze over, yet she was very compassionate and understanding, agreeing with me but explaining that most patients with insurance don’t even get four weeks. I was beside myself at that moment.
The administrator and I looked at the calendar and saw that Carl had been at the facility for three weeks, which meant he only had one week of care left. I asked her what it would cost for him to stay there paying cash and I braced myself. Costs were in the thousands of dollars per month. Let’s see, Carl had the same job for 34 years, paying his insurance policy without skipping a beat and they in return, gave him only four weeks to recover from a massive stroke. Really?
It seems to me that the wealthy are those who can pay to regain their health. It infuriates me to see an actor or politician who doesn’t come out of the hospital or rehab for months, knowing that it’s their wealth that has allowed them to become whole again. In my opinion, treatment, care and rehabilitation should be available on the same level for everyone, don’t you think?
I had no choice but to sign the paperwork. Carl would be taken by ambulance to our hometown hospital which was about two hours away. I found this whole thing interesting as we were discussing details about this chapter. Why was the insurance still good for the hospital but not rehab, when rehab has to be less expensive than a hospital, or at least that’s what I was thinking at the time. And there is more coming which makes me scratch my head, leaving me bewildered as to how this played out.
Stick with us as we unfold what we believe are some pretty sneaky tactics. Maybe we’re right, maybe we’re wrong. During the worst days of my life, under stress levels that could drop an elephant to it’s knees, could we have been bamboozled into coming to this facility when we could have gone straight from Virginia to our hometown? The insurance, come to find out, covered 60 days of rehab, not 30.