Annajane was discharged to Daisyfield, the new adult home, on Thursday. I spoke to her on Wednesday night. She seemed tense, but basically optimistic. I promised to call her Thursday evening, her first night at the new home, but forgot. Friday evening I did call, but no one picked up the phone. Is there some separate line for residents that I don't know about? Hmmm.
Saturday I forgot to call, and we had a houseguest show up. Sunday morning our guest went to church and I tried again. "You want... Annabel? Anna Jen?" "No, Annajane." "Oh, the new girl! Annajane Maple, PICK UP THE PHONE! PICK UP THE PHONE!"
My mother sounded miserable. At her last adult home, she'd go to visit Nanna every Sunday afternoon; Ricky came and picked her up in his cab. Ricky was coming up this afternoon to drop off all her stuff—the boxes Tom her case manager had collected from the second nursing home—but Ricky wasn't going to take her back to Weatherwood. Nanna was too sick, he said. She couldn't even get out of bed.
I saw red. Nanna's back went out this week. She told me a couple of days ago that she can't even get in and out of a car to go see a doctor. So Ricky is saying her daughter shouldn't visit? Her only-very-recently-even-sort-of-healthy daughter, just out of the hospital? What the hell?
But then Ricky arrived. I asked Annajane to put him on the phone.
Poor Ricky. He's stuck at home with Nanna, who's bitter about her back, angry and scared that her new lease hasn't shown up (she's convinced her landlord hates her and all her ragged children and wants them out of the building; I suspect her landlord only hates how low her rent is, and that that affects e.g. promptness of repairs), and who wasn't expecting Annajane to visit. He anticipated that, if he brought Annajane back to the apartment unannounced, he'd never hear the end of it. And, since Nanna is stuck in bed, there was no way to call and warn her of the change in plans.
I was torn. Nanna can be a real bitch, she hates surprises, and she really knows how to push Ricky's buttons. He's intellectually and emotionally defenseless against her, so he just starts yelling, which scares Nanna. No doubt she would give him hell all next week, and he'd give it right back, and I don't want to gratuitously make both of them miserable. Yet, at the same time, I really think Annajane and Nanna should see each other this week—start the routine off again.
And, of course, Ricky had his own plans: he had to take Marina to the train station (she's working this week, live-in, so she won't be around). "Plus it's three times* as far to this new place, Emmy, you know? I really wasn't planning... it's a bad day for me, just this one Sunday, to have to make the two trips." He's trying to buy himself some peace. God, why didn't I call earlier this week when I could have headed this mess off?
I gave up. Thanked Ricky for bringing up the boxes and asked him to hand the phone back to Annajane. Explained to her that she wasn't going home this afternoon.
I feel like hell. I can't tell whether the new home is awful or not. The attitude of whoever answered the phone wasn't great, and apparently the staff sometimes just don't pick up the phone. Annajane is unhappy, but my not calling for a few days and her not getting to see Nanna are coloring everything. It's got to be so hard, to suddenly find yourself in a new group of broken, cast-off people. "I was expecting this place to be different from the last one. But no one does anything except sit around and watch television."
She seems very sane right now, overall. She deserves to see her family. But Nanna and Ricky are both just too screwed up right now.
Meanwhile, Tom will be taking her to the Social Security office tomorrow to get her benefit status changed to what it should be, now she's outpatient. He's asked me to try to find any identification she might have. Of course, everything's gone. Like it always is.
*Actually, according to Mapquest, the distance is 1.9 times larger; estimated time, 2.4 times longer. It's still much less time, and much much less distance, than it takes me to get to a decent supermarket, out here in Ohindinois... although, I concede, the suburban driving is a lot more annoying.