Art Buchwald And Hospice Of Southwest Florida

I was reading over at Dave Barry's blog about Art Buchwald. Art was one of the cleverest humorists that ever lived. Art has entered the Hospice program. He is not long for this earth at the present time. We will lose a great talent when he goes. I have always had the utmost respect for the man. When I saw a column in my local paper written by him it was always like finding a treat. I'll miss him. I miss him now and he's not even gone yet.

But I digress. This post is about a Hospice in southwest Florida. My parents retired there many years ago. I went down about every other month to help them and to entertain them. When I wasn't there I spoke with him on the phone. Every day. My father was one of a kind. He came over from the 'old country' on a boat after the war. Everything he owned was packed in a wooden steamer trunk. He was poor. But he was determined to make a life for himself and his family. He found a job in the steel mills. Worked during the day, attended college at night. And began climbing the ladder. He struggled for a while but within twenty years he owned his own business and homes. I say homes because he had a home in the city which Mother preferred, and a home in the country, which was more his style. And his business was a multi-national corporation that successfully did business globally.

He was always ambitious. As a younger man in Hungary, he raced motorcycles as a hobby and played professional soccer. He never, ever bragged. My Mother told me that he was on the best team in Europe and he was the best player on the team. He was the European Joe Montana. This ambition made him a wealthy man.

More recently, after his retirement (he retired at age 80), he had a stroke. Then another. And yes, another. After the third one, his doctor told me he wasn't going to make it. Wanted to put him into the Hospice program. Said they would handle everything.

He was about to be released from the hospital and Hospice was suppose to take care of all the arrangements. I was to meet with them. I arrived at their office and no one was there. I was hurting anyway, knowing I was going to lose my Father and hoped to count on these people for help. Right.

I finally got a hold of them and the case worker asks me what I'd like to do. What are my options, I ask? Nursing home is one they say. Never. NEVER I tell them. I know he wouldn't want this. Home health care is the only other, but it would only be six hours a day. Impossible, I tell them. There are no other options, they say. I am heartbroken. I am about to take him home with me, though I know I'm ill prepared for the task at hand. Still, he's my Dad.

I spent that night on the internet looking up options. Then I find one. Assisted living. Southwest Florida has some of the best. I look into this myself the next day and the facilities are great. Plus my Mother can be with him, unlike a nursing home. I call f*****g Hospice back. Why wasn't I told of this option? "We didn't think you could afford it" is the answer. I can. I put him into the best facility there is. He's happy. Mom's happy. Everything is working out, no thanks to Hospice.
With everything settled I get ready to head home. I have a business to run. I tell Hospice, who (shudder) is in charge of him because his doctor put him in their care. I tell them I have to go back to work, but call me immediately (on my 800 number, no excuses) if anything changes. I'll be speaking to him on the phone. Every day. Life is good, right?

Three weeks later, he's gone. No call, nothing. Hospice calls the next morning and says he's gone, what do you want to do? What? What happened? When did his condition worsen? Couple days ago. Why didn't you call? Forgot.

My Mother is at home (in FLA) and doesn't know yet. I'm 1200 miles away. I tell Hospice, can you send someone over to my Mother's to be with her when I tell her? Sure. I tell them to drive over to her house, DON'T TELL HER but call me when they get there. OK they say. I wait. No call. I call my Mom. She is in shock. The Hospice lady arrived and blurted out "He's dead." Never called me. Nothing.

The people from Florida are called Floridians. I call the Hospice people Floridiots. End of life care they call it. Dying with dignity they say. My Father died alone. Because of Floridiots. It's too late for my Father and me, but if this post helps one family avoid the heartbreak Hospice has inflicted on me, it's worth it's weight in gold.


Disclaimer: The above story is 100% true. I challenge, no I defy Southwest Florida Hospice to dispute any of the above claims.