Coming Home

It wasn’t enough that my husband’s feet were shattered, or that my dog had surgery and broke open his wound. Yes, we needed another obstacle to overcome. I was alerted to a flat tire when I stopped for dinner at Chick-fil-A. Since the tire hadn’t completely deflated, and my house was only a mile down the road, I got myself some dinner and drove the car home. I would just have to use my husband’s car to get around for a while (which was another mess, because his car was still at work).

Three days later, after three weeks in hospitals, my husband was finally coming home. A hospital bed smack dab in the middle of our living room awaited his arrival.

When it first arrived.

First, he needed to get to the doctor’s office for a post-op appointment. Workman’s Comp arranged for a van to transport him, then take him home afterward.

In the doctor’s packed waiting room, my husband’s balloon-swollen feet hung to the floor. Due to the awkwardness of the devices holding his bones in place, there was no way to prop those blown-up tootsie’s on the wheelchair. I will spare you the details of his suffering while waiting for several hours to see the doctor (excruciating feet pain, hunger and no way to use a bathroom).

After the post-op exam, the transport van was supposed to be waiting to take him home … but it wasn’t there. In his delicate condition, we weren’t able to move him on our own. Plus, I had to get his prescriptions to a pharmacy (pain meds can’t be called in).

We contacted the transport company to come back for him. He waited for them, while I ran to the pharmacy. I figured Gary would arrive at our house around the same time as me.

Instead, around 6:30pm I pulled into the driveway to find three vehicles parked in front of my house. When I climbed out of the car, three women approached me. The one that appeared to be their leader introduced herself as a home healthcare manager (Jen). I remembered briefly speaking to her over the phone a few days earlier. She did not explain her job function clearly when we had spoken, and when I asked questions, she gave me attitude.

“We’re here to do the evaluation on your husband’s condition and healthcare needs.” Jen explained.

My dog’s vicious barking called out from the house, and he banged against the window.

“I don’t understand. My husband isn’t even here yet.”

“That’s okay. We know he’s on his way. We’ll just wait for him.”

I shook my head and blinked rapidly. “Wait for him? For what?”

“I told you. He needs to be evaluated for his home healthcare in order to approve this for Workman’s Comp.” Her face appeared stiff and unfeeling. Her tone lacked patience.

The dog’s constant barking grated on my nerves. I was hungry and in no mood to deal with getting the dog calmed down to allow these three strangers into my home.

“I really needed more advance notice. My dog is difficult to get wrangled into place, and he’s going crazy right now.”

“I understand. We’ll wait in our cars for your husband. You go ahead and take care of your dog.”

My husband hadn’t been home in three weeks after a serious accident. Why did we have to deal with this after a rough day and his first time home? “Look, I’m very confused as to why you have to be here right now—”

“I told you twice already. We need to evaluate your home for healthcare needs.” Her facial expression remained blank, but her tone snapped like a whip.

I needed duct tape to wrap around my head so it wouldn’t blow off. “I was not made aware of you coming here tonight—”

“Yes you were. I called you last week and told you.” She interrupted me a second time.

“When you called me, you did not give me a date for your arrival. My husband hasn’t been home in three weeks. He’s been waiting hours at the doctor’s office. He’s in a lot of pain. He needs to eat dinner. He hasn’t even had a chance to pee. We’d like to get him settled in first. Why don’t you come back in a couple of days?”

“If we don’t evaluate him now, Workman’s Comp won’t pay for his home healthcare. The process will only take about 30 minutes. We’ll wait in the car for him.” She waved the other two women on, and they went back to their cars.

I stomped after that heartless woman and gave her a piece of my mind. (I no longer remember what I said. My adrenalin was sky-rocketing.)

“If you agree that Workman’s Comp doesn’t have to pay for his home healthcare, than we’ll leave.” Her devil’s warning burned me.

So, Jen and the others waited in their cars.

The dog settled down after I let him out and fed him.

It was 7pm, no sign of Gary, neither of us had eaten since noon, and those women waited for him outside. I called his cell phone to find out if the transport had arrived for him.

“Yes, but they’re telling me that they can’t take me home. They said their orders are to take me back to the rehab facility.”

Read what happens here on the next post in The Arrival.

Have you ever lost your temper with someone who was being unreasonably rude?

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