When Therapy Runs Out

We have almost exhausted my father’s allotment of therapy for his stroke. Will supplemental insurance make a difference? For now he is seeing an acpuncturist twice a week.

Sometimes it feels like we are going in circles.

In order to get better after his most recent stroke, my father needed therapy. He could only tolerate so much therapy when we started. And then when he could tolerate more, and was starting to make progress, we had to decide how much therapy and which therapy to keep.

As you may have guessed, Medicare will only provide a certain amount of money for therapy. To complicate matters, speech and physical therapy funds come from the same bucket. And speech and physical therapy are what he needed the most.

We have already seen a difference in how easily he is able to sit up once he is moved from a wheelchair to a bed at therapy. When he was attending weekly, not surprisingly, it was easier for him.

If he needs therapy to get better, goes to therapy, then tolerates more therapy and makes progress, but then has to stop, how will he get better?

If he needs therapy to get better, goes to therapy, then tolerates more therapy and makes progress, but then has to stop, how will he get better?

I have looked into supplemental Medicare plans, but that will not help his current situation and get him addditional therapy.

A family member might be able to add him to his insurance, but that might not happen until next year. Which means my father, who is still making an effort to get better, will go half a year without therapy.

I asked what it costs to pay out of pocket for therapy, and it is not cheap.

The good news is he makes progress with mental stimulation exercises, particularly math and multiplication tables. He is now up to the “6” times tables and one of the activities persons at the skilled nursing facilty is supposed to review them with him (in addition to being mentally sitmulating, it is something he enjoys). For some reason his mind remembers addition and subtraction easily, but multiplication has become a challenge.

He continues to move his left arm slightly during occupational therapy exercises. The left side of his body was paralyzed whe he had his stroke last March.

And he recenlty moved his left thumb.

While these are all minor improvements, they are still cause for celebrating. I remind him that each small improvement will lead to more, and the more he is able to move, the easier it will become.

Acupuncture is going well, and his traditional Chinese acpuncturist immediately recommended herbs that have helped with his circulation. His skin color looks healthier, he is more alert and he is holding his head up better.

He is now tolerating twice-a-week appointments.

It is slightly easier for him to close his mouth, which is important for swallowing. Swallowing is still difficult, but when he closes his mouth and then “chews”, it is a little easier for him to swallow. But oftentimes he must be prompted verbally to do so, and sometimes verbally as well as physically (tactile sensation on his chin and tongue are usually the triggers to get him to swallow).

It is slightly easier for him to close his mouth, which is important for swallowing. Swallowing is still difficult, but when he closes his mouth and then “chews”, it is a little easier for him to swallow. But he must be prompted verbally to do so, and sometimes physically and verbally (tactile sensation on his chin and tongue are usually the triggers to get him to swallow).

We have our light moments.

My significant other, who is fluent in Mandarin, taught me to say, “I speak a little Chinese.”

Like an eager tourist, I tried out my Mandarin on a native speaker. My father listened, and then he started to laugh. I asked if my Chinese was OK — I wasn’t sure if he knew it was Chinese — and he nodded. Then I asked him to tell me if it was good (thumbs up), so-so (rotating hand side to side), or bad (thumbs down).

He graciously said it was so-so.

It reminded me of the time I called him several years ago to tell him I was taking a Mandarin class. He said to tell him something in Mandarin. I did. But he had trouble understanding me, so I repeated it a few times.  Then he said to just tell him in English.

His acupuncturist helps me translate and speaks a few words of Spanish to me sometimes because she knows I am part Mexican. A few times she has teased him, in Mandarin, for not teaching me to speak his language.

 

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My father, at acupuncture last week. Electric pulses course through some of his nerves when small clips at the end of the different colored cables attach to some of the needles in his face and body. Acupuncture has helped his paralyzed side move a little, improved his flexibility, and given him more energy and strength to participate in physical and occupational therapy. By being better able to participate in therapy, he has gotten stronger, and able to sit with little or no assistance at times.

 

And at a recent acupuncture visit he moved his left arm. He lifted it when I asked. It was a very natural movement, immediate and deliberate. For a second or two I forgot the left arm has not moved since the stroke last year. Then the realization hit me.

“Hun hao (very good),” I exclaimed. “You raised your arm, that’s great!”

And at a recent acupuncture visit he moved his left arm. He lifted it when I asked. It was a very natural movement, immediate and deliberate. For a second or two I forgot the left arm has not moved since the stroke last year. Then the realization hit me.

He could only do it once, and knows whether he can or cannot move it. It fascinates me to hear his occupational therapist ask him in Mandarin if he can move his arm or if he can move it again after an exercise. He answers honestly, and immediately.

Our trips to USC Keck Medical Center for outpatient rehab have become less frequent for the moment, which is why I increased his acupuncture treatments. It seems to me it is a little easier for him to close his mouth, and I wanted to get his feedback. So I asked.

Google translated for me and when I played the question for him in Mandarin, he listened. Then he nodded.

 

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Google translated my question to my father into Mandarin, and then I played the translation for him to hear. My father has shared with me that my Mandarin is so-so (which is generous of him) and I translate and play back questions or phrases whenever possible.

 

This might sound like a simple question. Or an odd question. But for a person recovering from a massive stroke — who cannot eat and has difficulty swallowing, closing his mouth and being able to keep it closed, and command the muscles to obey and move and swallow — the ability to answer that question affirmatively is quite a feat.

Practice makes it easier. And having someone help him practice when he is not at USC for therapy, or with his acupuncturist or with me, is a challenge. We will soon see if with some additional training the staff at the skilled nursing facillity will be up to the challenge of helping him perform some basic exercises to trigger a swallow.

 

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I recently provided this list of common words the staff at the skilled nursing facility can use with my dad. At least one nurse expressed interested in learning Mandarin when I mentioned during a training session I translate words to Mandarin to make it easier for him to understand what I am asking. 

 

He is scheduled for a visit with my acupuncturist later in July. Some readers of this blog may recall I had a complicated ankle injury that involved damaged nerves, a sprain and a minor fracture. I had difficulty moving my toes, could not move my foot to the left and was on crutches for half the year.

My official diagnosis was Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) which in severe cases make life extremely painful and dibilitating. Not to say that my time on crutches was a pleasure. I rarely take medication, I prefer the natural route. But the pain was so severe at times I had to take pain meds, and then suffered the side effects.

The CRPS was causing false pain messages to be sent to my brain and with physical therapy and acupuncture, I was eventually able to walk and run again. My acupuncturist essentially “rewired” me so that messages would no longer travel on the paths that were sending the pain message to my brain.

I am curious how this will help my father after a stroke. I know that it will, that has already been made clear. But with her particular bag of tricks, things will get very interesting.

 

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My father, after an acupuncture treatment. 

Father’s Day Is Sometimes Complicated

The holiday has caused such confusion and questioning that for a long time it was easier to ignore it and its significance.

I never knew how to feel about Father’s Day. 

As a little girl, I probably was obligated to make a card for my father in school. As I grew older and sparred with him verbally, I chose not to celebrate Father’s Day. My father was not the “World’s Best Dad” or “No.1 Dad” — I knew this at a young age. Then as adult, I eventually understood that he knew he had made mistakes as a parent and father, and I had started to meet him for lunch or dinner and share my life with him.

My father was not the “World’s Best Dad” or “No.1 Dad” — I knew this at a young age.

Last year he had another stroke, and I became his caretaker.

And then Sunday was Father’s Day.

It had occurred to me to get him a card, or enlarge a photo that he indicated he liked, or do something to mark the occasion. After all, he is still alive, aware of his surroundings and continues to make progress during therapy.

But making the journey from Orange County to L.A. for his appointments (three or four a week, depending on his therapists’ and acupuncturist’s schedules) is not easy, and the physical and emotional strain is high.

I accompanied him to acupuncture Saturday, and the coward in me thought it might be best to not acknowledge the holiday. If I did, I knew I would start crying, and then I would surely upset him. While I have told him that we both made mistakes and that I would prefer to have him in my life, there are so many little things we have not said.

As it turned out, I was in the area after all on Sunday.

My compromise with myself was to stop in on him at the skilled nursing facility, say hello, ask him how he was doing and let him know I’d be back in two days to accompany him to speech therapy. I told him my visit would be brief because I was on my scooter and wanted to get home before traffic became too heavy and the day became night.

He raised his arm and moved his hand in a way to indicate he felt so-so on this day, and after a few more questions I said goodbye.

The stroke has changed him, especially physically, but even before that, he had been humbled by other strokes and age. He was no longer the commanding and frightening authority figure. He became a man who waned to communicate with his children, although he lacked the tools to do so.  

The stroke has changed him, especially physically, but even before that, he had been humbled by other strokes and age. He was no longer the commanding and frightening authority figure. He became a man who wanted to communicate with his children, although he lacked the tools to do so.

I am certain I am not the only one who feels ambivalence or confusion on this holiday. Even the president of the United States has complicated feelings towards a father he hardly knew. It brought me some comfort to read the article about the trove of letters written by Barack Obama, Sr., preserved, sitting in a box, awaiting the day his son is ready to read them.