By Jack Halpern
I recently came to know a nice elderly woman, who we shall call Mrs. Rothman. Her husband, Alan was placed in Sheepshead Nursing Home in Brooklyn after a recent hospitalization. This nursing home, although mediocre at best is near Mrs. Rothman’s home. Sadie is in her eighties and very frail herself. I had the opportunity to place her husband in a better home, but she would not get the opportunity to visit him.
Sadie called me a few days later and could not understand why Alan was soaked in urine whenever she came to visit him. He would sit, strapped in his wheelchair for long periods of time soaked in urine. Sadie felt bad for the staff because her husband had a urinary problem that required that he be changed more often.
Sadie, welcome to the world of substandard nursing home care. Yesterday, I decided that since I was in the area for a meeting, I would visit Alan at Sheepshead NH and apologize on behalf of the human race for the indignities that he must suffer. I dreaded visiting this dump because I was certain that I would find, exactly what I found. Oh, how I hate to be right.
I stroll into the building, dressed in my expensive blue pinstriped suit, my Armani tie, and cashmere coat. I have to say, I looked impressive. Not impressive enough for the yawning “security” guard. He did not so much as lift an eyelid or ask me who I was, or what is my business at the home. I asked him if I should sign in and he said “yeah, sure”. I signed in as George W. Bush visiting Donald Rumsfeld. Warning sign #1.
I went to Alan’s room on the fourth floor. On the way to his room I noticed four staff members hanging around in the hallway, just shooting the breeze (there goes the staff shortage argument). Not one member of the staff was wearing an ID Badge. Warning sign # 2. Why wear an ID when you are neglecting your residents? It’s not a good idea. I pass the nurses station. The nurse does not look at me; her face is buried in her charting. Sitting in the hallway at a little table is a blond Russian woman, who does not look at me, charting.
Why all the craze about charting? You see the New York State Department of Health does not really care if you are giving good care. They only care that you are charting that you are giving good care. Charting the care is a lot easier than actually giving it. When the DOH comes to inspect during it’s annual “unannounced” announced time, they will be looking only at the charts. So charting is important.
Mr. Rothman is not in his room. I go into the “day” room. In the day room I find about twenty five elderly residents assembled at tables, doing absolutely nothing. One orderly is sitting at a table with a couple of patient charts, pretending to chart. He is watching TV. He really does not want to be there. I ask him to point out Alan for me. He throws up his arms, so I find him myself. Residents are asking to go to their rooms, or go to the bathroom. Our man does not even move a muscle. His arm is stretched out under his head. He is resting.
I decide to take Alan to his room. As I approach his room, an aide tells me that he can’t be in his room because he is going to fall. He has to return to the day room with the other corralled residents.
I ask the charting nurse (one of the least friendly people I have met in a long time) if I can speak to Mr. Rothman’s social worker. Apparently she is out to lunch and no one else can help me. I ask for a nursing supervisor. I’m told that I have to go downstairs to the nursing office. The nursing office is closed. I ask the guard to page a nurse for me. Now he wants to know who I am. I tell him that I am Alan’s twin brother from another mother. Goes right over his head but he pages a supervisor for me.
Finally, I am face to face with an authority figure, another blond Russian lady who grimaces at me. She meets my handshake with two limp fingers and asks me what my problem is. She is not wearing an ID Badge either. First I tell her that I find it disturbing that staff members including herself are not identified. I inform her that this is clearly against the law. She is not very affected by my observation. She just wants to get back to whatever it is that she is not doing.
If I sound a little facetious here, it’s because I am being facitious. I’m pretty pissed by now, no pun intended. What the heck, it’s my damn blog.
I try to explain that my friend, Sadie is always finding her husband soaked in urine. Blondie tells me that Alan is very confused. “What does his confusion have to do with not being taken to the bathroom”, I ask. Blondie is confused by my confusion.
I suggest to her that it would a good idea to take residents to the bathroom when they need to go instead of having them all sitting in the day room with one orderly, while the rest of the staff hangs out.
According to the horrible people at the NYS Department of Health, 39% of the residents at this nursing home are High-Risk Long-Stay Residents Who Have Pressure Sores, as compared to the county average of 17%. The state average is 12%.
DUH!! Maybe there is a direct correlation between a higher than normal average of bedsores, and residents who constantly lay in their own waste.
The scary part of this story is that I observed this in the middle of the day. I get depressed just imagining what happens in the evening hours and the weekend. I don’t have to imagine, I know. The owner and administrator of this facility don’t give a damn.
At no time during the forty minutes that I spent at Sheepshead Nursing Home, did I observe any staff member interact with a resident. Warning sign #3.
BE VERY AFRAID!
