Today I took dad to his first official appointment with his new family practitioner. I love this guy. He is old-school medicine. He believes that a general practitioner should be just that...someone who is knowledgeable in general medicine...so basically just about everything. When specialists are needed, that's great. But he believes that the art of medicine is dying away and doctors are losing touch with their patients and taking temperatures and sending them out to someone else. He doesn't practice that way and I'm so glad we found him.
Over the past few weeks, I've noticed a significant decline in my dad. His memory had become very poor. His speech was confusing. He could barely carry on a conversation. AND...he couldn't win a game of bingo when he used to be the group's ringer!
I became concerned. I'm always a little on edge and apprehensive about Parkinson's dementia. And then it occurred to me that his neurologist had added a new Parkinson's med at his last appointment at the end of August. It was the first thing I discussed with the doctor today. He took dad's blood pressure and it was 90/50! No wonder he's confused! And then I found myself so frustrated. The staff at the assisted living community are taking his BP every day. There had to be times when it was low like this. Why wasn't I called? Why didn't someone think this was concerning? Why didn't anyone else notice my dad's confusion? And then I was annoyed with myself for not automatically thinking blood pressure. This is what happened in rehab too.
The doctor looked at me and said, "Good job paying attention! Sometimes, oftentimes, daughters know best". And he immediately wrote an order to stop the newest med. It's not just daughters, but husbands and wives and sons and nieces and nephews and caregivers in general. We're the ones that are paying attention. We're the ones that MUST pay attention.
But could I have caught it sooner? My work schedule has changed. I'm almost working full time now and I'm trying to adjust to the new schedule and I feel as though, perhaps, I haven't paid quite as much attention to dad. But I also feel that at $4100/mo, we should be getting people to pay attention at the assisted living community as well. Yet, the bottom line is that no one is going to know my dad the way I know him. They know dad today. They don't know the dad I've known my entire life.
And then I have to remind myself that I'm only human...and ultimately, I DID catch it. I'm curious to see how things play out over the next few days. If he returns to his more normal self (normal as far as Parkinson's goes), I'm going to sue for lost bingo winnings! ;) I truly believe now that it was the med. And that frustrates me and aggravates me. Four and a half years ago, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I didn't understand that it was going to be me who was going to be researching meds and side effects and drug reactions and interactions. I also never truly understood how little the medical system works together. But the last four and a half years have shown me this problem close up and personal. Over and over and over. It's so much of a concern of mine that my masters thesis is based, in part, on coordination of care (or lack there of).
These are humans we're dealing with here. They aren't numbers. They aren't lab rats. These are humans and my dad lost a month of his life over one medication. And he could have lost more had this continued and his blood pressure kept dropping. What happens to the people who don't have a loved one nearby paying nearly constant attention? That idea scares me.
Something needs to change in this system. I don't know how the change happens just yet, but I know there is a large part of me that wants to be a catalyst in that change. If nothing else, at least an advocate for patients and caregivers as they muddle their way through this system of ours.
Today was a good reminder to remain vigilant.
To end on a funny note, after what dad called, "the most thorough prostate exam I've ever had" :o, the doctor told him today that he has the prostate of a 60 year old. I think I'm going to get him a t-shirt. ;)
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