In March 2004, my dad wound up in the nursing home. We referred to it as "the Rehab" without fail for the first three years after he was admitted. I guess it was a little bit of denial, since nursing home sounds so final, and rehab sounds like a positive (see Amy Winehouse). Then, in February 2007, when I got there, we started to, slowly but surely, call it the nursing home, I guess sensing that things were starting to wind down. I could tell, because the stubbornness that was so much a part of my father was gone.
After my father gave up his car and much of his independence, he wanted a scooter. And so, literally, every time we spoke, which was just about every day, he would ask, “What do you think about a scooter?” I was adamantly opposed for the longest time. I just did not think it would be safe for him. But just about every time he saw one of the Scooter Store commercials, he went on the Internet and signed up for the free information. He would send his information to them and they would respond with an email and a link, back to the same request for information. Every time he got an email from the Scooter store, he would click the link and respond. And so they would reply with another email, resulting in another click, etc., etc. The scooter emails and discussions went on for about eighteen months. Finally, in November 2006, I said, "No," once and for all.
As I have explained earlier, once my father started to rebound, from a sense of "waiting to die" to "wanting to live" his activity level increased dramatically. And as his activity level increased, the stubbornness and the Scooter Store discussions (and eventually emails) began, once again. By June 2007, I told my father, "What do I know. I'm sure they don't just let anyone have one of these things. There must be some way to make sure someone is a good candidate for one of these things or not. If you want one, you are going to have to help get one." And so the next chapter in the search for a scooter began.
We checked in with the Scooter Store (great marketing); we spoke with the local independents competitors of the Scooter Store; we talked with the doctors; and we talked with the folks at the nursing home. Finally, we figured out what we needed to do. All in all, with the appropriate documentation from his doctor and with little in the way of resources, it looked like the VA would be the best option. Just before I came home in August 2007, the process with the VA started. By the way, since I have been home and he has resumed his involvement in some volunteer work, watching television, the occasional dinner with friends, and constantly hoping for me to get a job, we are back to calling it "the Rehab."
Sometime, in mid-December, my dad got his scooter. I went down to visit with him to see
how he was doing, get a look at the scooter, and visit a bit. We had a great few days, including a visit to a breakfast sponsored by his state rep, some Scrubby's (his favorite barbecue), and lots of solving the problems of the world. I came home on a Wednesday. On that Friday, at about 6:20 PM, the nurse from the nursing home (rehab) called."This is Barbara, from the Rehab. Do you know where your father is? He went on the scooter at about 3:00 and he has not returned. Do you know where he might be?" I shared my thoughts with her and started to check in with the likely suspects. Apparently, he took his VA-issued scooter without telling anyone at the nursing home exactly where he was going. Apparently, he went to his apartment; the 2.5 miles taking about a half hour. To get there, he had to cross at least one major intersection with three lanes of traffic going in each direction. Somewhere along the way, the scooter tipped over. After righting it, he went to the apartment, poked around a bit, and then realizing that it was getting late, and not sure how long the scooter's charge would last, he headed back to the Rehab (can you hear Amy “No! No! No!”). He finally arrived back at the nursing home, a little worse for the wear, the scooter's battery dead, fortunate that he found someone to bring him (and the scooter) back. He arrived there at about 6:45 PM. Until Barbara called back, I pictured myself on a plane to Florida the next day.
Needless to say, he caused a great deal of family and nursing home consternation. If you have ever had to fill out an incident report, you can imagine what the folks at the rehab had to do. On Saturday morning, we spoke about what happened. Somewhat sheepishly, my father admitted that maybe he made a mistake. He had his shot with the scooter and it didn’t work out. He planned to call them and have them pick it up. The folks at the VA were concerned that he no longer wanted this scooter, one that he fought to get for so long. Long story short, he got his newer, better, sturdier, scooter in mid-January.
