Hospitals and facilities


So, this time round they are kind of doing this to me again. “Well, if you can’t look after him at home,” because he was in and out, in and out, in and out, “he’ll have to go somewhere.” I just said, “I am not wearing this. Send him home.” “We’ll send him back in an ambulance in 12 hours.” Because I did not want to be the one to make the decision. How does that work? I mean, how’s my husband going to feel when I’m saying—and how am I going feel—I’m saying I can’t look after him anymore. I’m not wearing that one. So finally, they got to—I guess all the doctors and whoever the specialists, and blablibla—got together and they decided that he could not come home. And I said, “Fine, I will accept that. But you guys, yeah, you’re making the decision. I’m not. I’m not the doctor.” I’m going to assess the guy and say he can’t come home? So, yeah. So that decision was made by the medical team.

Last week when I was—or 2 weeks ago when the decision was finally made that he had to go to long-term care—I mean, I was feeling, “Holy crow!” I was really feeling in some ways I’d let him down because I knew that’s not what he wanted to do. And I said that in an e-mail to his sister-in-law, […] my husband’s sister. And she, I guess the next day, was going to breakfast with them all, which I did not know. And she sent back this lovely e-mail from them all saying how much they appreciated what I’d done for him and how I’d looked after him, and how the kids had, and how we couldn’t possibly have done anymore for him, which made me feel good about that, because I wasn’t sure how they were going to respond to that.

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