I Break A Hip

I have not done the research, nor do I intend to, but some time in the past, the hospitals, health insurance companies, Medicare, Medicaid, and private industry conspired to create a medical system that ensures the maximum profit for the corporate entities and the greatest savings for the federal and state governments, which then are free to pursue more "important" issues (like war). The end product of this amalgamation is an institution called the "skilled nursing facility." YOU must do EVERYTHING in your power to AVOID ever finding yourself residing in one.

These institutions are run by a number of (mostly) young ladies called Certified Nursing Assistants (CNAs). After a short perfunctory training period, these girls are sent out to call each of the 60-70 "residents" "Honey," and ensure their personal hygiene. Because the vast majority of the very old "residents" are mentally incompetent and/or incontinent, this is a time consuming task. Of course, it can't really be considered "nursing." That function is assumed by two or three actual nurses each shift. These women mostly dispense drugs, and in case of emergency, administer CPR and ship the victims to either the hospital or the morgue, whichever is appropriate.

There is no doctor present on a regular basis. In the two-plus months I languished in therapy, I saw a doctor just once, when she stood at the foot of the bed of my first roommate, and, without examining him, prescribed additional drugs. After that, he slept most of the time.

My room appeared to be the only one which contained "residents" whose minds were intact and had any hope of ever leaving. Therefore, an empty bed elsewhere signaled another death, at least ten during my tenure. The one activity I can commend is the surreptitious, expeditious and sensitive way death was handled. Much of the rest of the experience was extremely disturbing, and you may commiserate with me here in future posts.