First thing Monday, I asked to see the nursing home administrator. He came to my room and I blurted out, "Why did you fire a member of my wellness team?" First, he stuttered that he wouldn't say it was really a case of firing Mike. Then he quickly followed that with, "Where did you hear this?" Not surprising he would ask, since no one at the home had notified any of Mike's clients that they wouldn't be seeing him again. I just answered, "Oh, I hear things."
Then the administrator said that they would provide another counselor to me. Whereupon I gave him an education on the relationship between a client and therapist. I told him how it takes a long while to get to know and eventually trust your therapist enough to feel safe enough to confide in them before progress can really begin. I told him that therapists are not legos -- you can't just pop one out, and pop another one in. They're not interchangeable parts.
Then I scolded him for not giving me, or anyone else here, a heads up. I still have no idea whether or not any of Mike's other clients here know why he never came back to see them.
That conversation yielded very few results, except for a few platitudes and empty reassurances. I was still pretty sick and weak, so that was all I had the energy for that day. I was still furious, but fury can only generate so much energy before a sick body like mine was gives out. But when I was able, I called the agency Mike works for. I explained what had happened, how furious I was, and how I wanted Mike back as my therapist. The woman I was talking to said they were waiting for my home's administrator to return their call and, once he did, they'd try to work something out. I was educated about the state law that ensures a therapist is to see any nursing home resident who requests it and, if that resident is on Medicaid, that the nursing home is required to pay for it.
Unfortunately, there is a federal law that prohibits billing Medicaid for mental health therapy if a person is a resident in a nursing home. This is, in my opinion, a very stupid and inexplicable law. So the nursing home had been paying out of pocket for Mike's services and decided to stop, cold-turkey.
I was also told that I could, if I wanted, file a complaint against the nursing home for violating state law. I really, really didn't want to do that. I told this to our social worker when she suddenly appeared without being summoned. I also told her that I wouldn't start over with a new therapist, that I wanted Mike as my therapist, and if that wasn't approved, I would file the complaint. Then the administrator came down to see me. I told him the same thing, except for threatening to file a complaint. He patted my arm and said he'd see what he could do and that he wanted me to be happy.
He finally returned Mike's agency's calls. By that Friday -- tah-dah dah-DAAAAH! Mike srrived for our next session.
We've had two sessions since all that happened. I appreciate all the help I got. But I did persevere, despite my depression and the two infections. I was sick and weak, yes, but I was way more angry than I was depressed and sick.
There are consequences, of course. This has set me back some and I feel very insecure. After all, I've seen many times in the past how quickly and unexpectedly people and things and health can be taken away. This was just the most recent in a long line of losses. So I'm having trouble trusting, in general. I'm in wait-and-see mode right now. I can feel fear in the pit of my stomach about what bad thing will happen next.
But I'm also in a very, very good mood and have been since I succeeded at getting Mike back as my therapist. Yay for me! I did it! (as Lyra used to yell after she had accomplished something difficult). I am celebrating my strength and ability to continue trying under difficult and discouraging circumstances. I'm wondering how I did it, of course. But that's because I'm Wonder Woman.
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