The abuse of my friend’s 90-year-old mother shows how broken our aged care system is | Ranjana Srivastava

This is the story of a 90-year-old woman, her mistreatment at the hands of Australia’s broken aged care system and how I gave the worst advice of my life. One day, I called an old friend of mine who sounded confused. His mother was discharged from a private hospital in a damaged form.

A healing wound needs to be properly bandaged, which means helping with personal hygiene. He is sensible but the risk of fatigue caused by fatigue requires one to be careful. My friend explains that visiting her mother every morning is becoming difficult and affecting her work.

“You need his help until you can get there.” I frowned, somehow forgetting that his three professional daughters would know this. When my friend says that he does not get such help, I say that it is unbelievable and I tell him that I will fix it. I don’t really know if my promise is worthless.

The hospital says the patient would have received temporary help if it had started at the time of discharge. In other words, it is the family’s fault for not asking.

A woman apologizing to the court explains that it started to change from being unstable to delivering food, now, helping families.

He takes me to My Aged Care, the government site I always use to register my vulnerable elderly patients.

The registration part is fast – and I emphasize instead of underestimating their weakness to speed up the review. If appropriate, patients are allocated money according to needs: from occasional to home care for the elderly. Then comes the most difficult problem: finding a service provider. The portal suggests this but the current wait of 12 months or more tests even the most durable definition of “short term”.

Like most people, my friend’s mother did not plan ahead. It could be said that it’s just his “fault”, but when you’re raising football in the 80s, you could be forgiven for thinking that nursing is for the elderly.

After a long wait for inspection, the package is received. Now, my friend comes unsettled to find a supplier. It defies belief that in a developed, “lively” city like Melbourne, there is no social service provider to help with a shower and a little non-carriage dressing. But surprisingly, when he is about to help himself, he can walk, hospitals will rush to repair his broken hip at a very high cost.

I call a geriatrician, who offers compassion without solutions. In disbelief, I call a second geriatrician, who says the only way out is for the family to pay for private assistance as a bridge to government support.

Curious, I call the private company and the manager answers. He is knowledgeable (“you will be waiting for services for a long time”), efficient (“we can send someone tomorrow”) and empathetic (“this must be a difficult time for you “). The service sounds too good to be true, so if I wonder if it’s fake or expensive. Last: the minimum three-hour package costs more than $200, not covered by private insurance.

If it was one of my patients, I would probably tell them to get their period. But although the money was initially possible for my friend, the open time sounds like a warning bell, especially if his mother’s needs increase.

I’m desperate, giving the worst advice in my career.

You can take your mother to the public hospital and leave her there, you say you can’t.”

These words fill me with shame. Doctors should protect public hospitals but I encourage their abuse. The bad part is that I know exactly what happens to such patients because I meet them in my clinical practice.

A tired citizen tells the tired story of an elderly person who has been admitted for “public reasons”. The family is written “acopic”. The test battery asks for nothing and finds nothing. Doctors call a social worker, who can’t do magic. When so many patients are admitted every time, there is no time for communion. Patients feel unwanted; relatives feel guilty; and “help work” feels incredibly useless.

In an unscripted event, my friend’s mother returns to the emergency department of a private hospital where medication causes a serious reaction. Hours later, the doctor declares him “ready to go”, after which he promptly collapses. Without seeing it, I would have dismissed it as a joke.

My friend complains and the hospital wants to ask what “result” she wants. Instead of saying, “I hope this does not happen to anyone”, (it will happen), he should have sought forgiveness from his poor mother and the care of for a while – a small return in my view for losing his sleep, losing money and losing. faith. But he takes his mother secretly.

This is just one example of how the health system is seriously failing our elders and needs an injection of reform. and personality. The problem is not only money but also directing money to the right places.

However, I take solace in the fact that the often troubling experiences in medical practice can become lessons for the future.

These are the three things I will be teaching my citizens.

One, the system of the elderly is so difficult to navigate that when the elderly end up in an emergency due to “social reasons”, we must treat them with great care and respect while looking for values higher ones.

Two, no 90-year-old falls while under medical supervision it should be sent home that night. No amount of “bed pressure” justifies doing the wrong thing. Administrators don’t release patients, doctors do.

Finally, the forgiveness type of grief has no place in health care. Officers who “protect” doctors in this way are doing us a disservice and helping to destroy the doctor-patient relationship.

Months later, my friend is still waiting for help. His mother’s despair is over.

If this can happen to English speakers, interpreters, professionals, we should all be worried when our time comes.