My friend Laura came to pick me up and bring me to the synagogue (Shul) every Saturday for the Jewish Sabbath services and every Jewish holiday. When she came to pick me up the day after I’d been promised by Tanya, the social worker at Hell-Crest Commons the nursing home I’d been living at for almost six-month and Jillian my main provider at the nursing home they would figure something out, I was far from settled. I had been forced to take a break from calling places, and asking questions (because it was the weekend), but I was still busy making lists and doing more research, and worrying my brains out of my head. It was like my brain was a washing machine set on the highest spin cycle and someone had put too much laundry soap in it so it was spraying bubbles everywhere.
I had plateaued in therapy and now the nursing home wanted to discharge me at the end of the week but my parents refused to take me home because they were tired of taking care of me and figured I was too old to still be living at home, plus they didn’t want me at home with all of my tubes and my wheelchair and walker because it bothered them to see all of that stuff. After a two week search we were coming up empty handed as far as finding anywhere else for me to go, and now the administrators of the nursing home and the ombudsman were trying to tell me that a homeless shelter was an acceptable discharge location from a nursing home.
“It’s going to be ok, we’ll figure something out,” Laura promised me. “I spoke with my friend Tom and he has contacts. He’s a social worker. He says he has some ideas. I know he’ll come through for us.”
“But I have to be out of there next week,” I said. “I’m going to end up in a homeless shelter. I’m never going to survive a homeless shelter. I just don’t know what to do.”
“You’re not going to end up in a homeless shelter, I promise you,” Laura told me.
For some reason, people saying stuff like that made me mad because they hadn’t heard how serious the ombudsmen and the administrator sounded. They hadn’t been there. They didn’t understand just exactly how heartless insurance companies are, or how little people can sometimes care about fellow human beings. I had been through all of that. I had experienced all of that firsthand, and to say otherwise, well I guess it kind of invalidated me.
Laura and I spoke a little bit longer and it almost turned into an argument with her saying I would be fine, we’d come up with a plan and I wouldn’t have to go to any homeless shelter, and me saying the nursing home was not going to work with me and I would end up being discharged to a homeless shelter where I would die because there would be no one to take care of me and I needed too much help taking care of myself.
When we arrived at Shul I prayed and sang my heart out hoping God could hear me and send a little mercy and kindness my way. On the way home we didn’t bring up anything about discharge plans, just stopped for coffee, and then drove through the forest to the top of the mountain where we both took pictures of the amazing view.
By the time Monday rolled around I was so anxious that I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t get any quality writing done, I couldn’t pay attention to any book I tried to read, I couldn’t focus on any craft projects. It got so bad that when I was talking to someone I would lose track of the conversation and forget what I wanted to say or even worse, I would totally forget what the entire conversation was about.
First thing Monday morning I went down to Tanya’s office to speak with her.
“I still can’t find any placement for you,” she told me. “Jillian hasn’t been able to either, The only thing I can think of, that we may possibly be able to do is beg MassHealth to let you stay another week to buy us more time. It’s not looking good though.”
I swallowed a hard lump that I suddenly noticed had lodged itself in my throat. The lump wouldn’t go down.
“Do you think they’ll give us another week?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Tanya told me, “But it’s the only thing I can think of to do.”
I swallowed again. That damn lump was still here.
Just then my phone rang. I looked at the screen. It was my friend Laura. I almost didn’t answer it. I wasn’t up to talking. I wasn’t even sure if at that point I was capable of talking, but something from somewhere deep inside me told me to answer it.
With shaky hands, I fumbled around with the phone and then answered it.
“Hi Becca,” Laura said.
“Hi,” I croaked.
“I just got off the phone with Tom,” Laura told me.
Suddenly I was on more alert, but I couldn’t imagine that some random social worker Tom who just happened to be friends with Laura would be able to do that much since my social worker who had known me for six months wasn’t able to get anywhere herself.
“He has a contact named Anna at a place called Adlib. Anna thinks she can get you into an assisted living or an independent living called Side By Side within the week. She can come to meet with you tomorrow or the next day to do your intake. She can hook you up with other services as well.” Laura explained to me.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t joke about something this serious,” Laura told me.
“I have a place to go then?”
“Well Anna has to meet with you and you have to take a tour of Side By Side and meet with them there, but yeah, it’s looking really good.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Laura! Literally!” The sense of relief that I felt right there in that moment lapsed over my whole body so much that I felt weak all over. I actually worried that I was going to collapse to the floor because the relief was so intense it was almost altering my body chemistry.
“Just being a good friend,” Laura told me.
“Thank you so much!”
I took down all of the information that Laura gave me and passed it on to Tanya. I could see a visible change in her too. She was also quite relieved.
“We’ll let Jillian know about these plans,” Tanya told me. “I’ll set you up to meet with Anna as soon as you possibly can. Hopefully tomorrow. Now that we have a viable plan in place I shouldn’t have too much trouble getting MassHealth to pay for another week here while we get everything all set up for your discharge to Side By Side.
With a homeless shelter less of a possibility in the near future, I felt considerably more relaxed. The rest of the day I was able to work on writing projects, read, do craft projects, wheel down to the snack shop to get coffee, hang out with my friends, and do all of the other usual activities that had kept me occupied the last six months at the nursing home.
It amazed me to think back to everything I’d already gone through. Most of it, if you’d asked me before I went through it if I thought I’d be able to handle something like that, I would have said no.
If nine-year-old me asked, “do you think I’d be able to get a tube shoved up my nose into my stomach and then get tube feed poured into it until my tummy literally explodes and I need emergency surgery?” Nine-year-old me would have said no way. Nine-year-old me would have also said she wouldn’t have been able to handle being repeatedly locked in a padded room with no possessions, she wouldn’t have handled getting tied down to beds for two hours at a time, she wouldn’t have handled being bullied at school, she woulnd’t have handled the repeated NJ tubes, she wouldn’t have handled the multiples hospital trips, the not being believed about being sick by her own father, the getting diagnosed with a brain tumor, the surgery to remove the brain tumor, the diabetes insipidus from the surgery, the brain bleed three weeks later, being life flighted out to Mass General for emergency surgery, almost dying in the helicopter, needing to learn how to give myself injections, needing to use catheters, needing to learn how to catheterize myself, going to Mass General for five months, going to Baystate for three months, going to Hellcrest Commons for 6 months, getting kicked out of my home, having Jillian almost kill me by stopping the IV fluids, having Jillian stop me from calling my mom or having frequent visits, finding out I was terminally ill, and then not knowing if I would have to go to a homeless shelter.
Nine-year-old me would have told you that all that would have been too much for her to handle, that she wouldn’t be able to go through all that and come out on the other side still able to find positives and happiness in situations. 24 year old me had been through all that and there I was, still breathing, still able to smile, and still able to find meaning. You never know just how much you can handle until you go through it.