My dad was diagnosed as having Alzheimer's. As most people know sometimes, these types of patients can have several moments of clarity. My father was very quiet and never complained. However, he did complain to me about the night shift. He talked about how one nurse always had alcohol on her breath. He often repeated conversations of how the staff was told to take care of cash patients first. Everybody else came second. Despite the fact that he was diabetic, I only noticed water in his room on two occasions. He had been treated for prostate cancer before he was admitted and apparently the cancer returned before his death. He was also losing his sight.
I went to visit him periodically often standing the whole day. No one paid attention to me I guess assuming that I was a patient as I did not talk just sat around with my dad. I would usually come every two months on the weekend at 6 a.m and stay until 5 p.m. Because of my job and the weather, I had to put off a couple of visits. I would call and have them hand the phone to my father. One particular nurse was very nasty. I heard her yell at my father to take the phone. She said that she would not hold it for him. I should have moved him out of that hell hole then.
I called another time and was told that he was like in a coma. Knowing what I knew of my father, I made a special trip. They had placed him in diapers not realizing that his prostate cancer had returned which accounted for him not being able to control his urine flow. Because he could not see and was also severely depressed, he refused to communicate with anybody therefore they determined that he was in a coma. I rubbed my father's hair as he lie in bed. He raised his hand to grip mine. (A coma!) I also watched a tear fall out the corner of his eye. I raised the cover. He had to weigh less than 80 pounds. I could see every rib in his body, no fat or cushion at all on his body.
I asked the nurse (light brown or blonde hair with glasses) if he could have a softer bed or support. She said, "Oh that costs money." I asked at the desk (the one that always had alcohol on her breath) "What are you all giving him for pain?" No answer. Eyes wide, never got an answer. He died shortly. When I asked for his records, it took 3 to 4 months to get them to me long enough for them to falsify them. Father died apparently of reoccurring prostate cancer, complications of diabetes without any pain killer. Twice while there, he appeared to be trying to get out of bed. It came to me later that he was having a convulsion. Really bad way to die.
