The tranquility of a routine evening shattered when my mother’s screams pierced the air, a distressing prelude to the discovery of my father crumpled on the bathroom floor, a victim of a sudden heart attack. The ensuing days were a blur of hospital corridors, whispered conversations, and the pervasive scent of antiseptics as my father fought to regain his strength.

Upon his stabilization, the doctor’s words, “We will discharge him to a SNF,” introduced me to an acronym that was about to become a significant part of our lives. 

Skilled Nursing Facility (SNF – pronounced Sniff), I learned, was a bridge in the healthcare continuum, a place where patients transitioned from the acute care of a hospital to the eventual goal of returning home. 

Someone from the hospital discharge team came and informed me hours before my dad was to be discharged, “We have found an open bed at the facility in La Jolla, near prospect.”

Given that it was an even more affluent neighborhood than where we lived, I imagined the place to be clean, beautiful, and well run. I was in for a big surprise when we arrived. The staff was hard to pin down to get simple answers. 

The floor did not look clean, and I was unsure that my dad would get help in going to the restroom in the middle of the night in a timely manner.

I asked my friend who came to help me for the day, “Could you please stay with my mom for the night?”. I was so grateful to her that she agreed.

I stayed the night with dad, slept on the chair next to his bed. He was too tired to argue, otherwise I know he would have sent me home to rest. He got up twice in the middle of the night to go to the restroom and the first time someone came within 3 minutes of him ringing the bell. That I thought was an acceptable time.

However, when he rang for help at 4:30am in the morning, I helped him to get to the restroom. I know that made him very uncomfortable to have his daughter help him. Someone finally showed up in 30 minutes and said, “So sorry, we are understaffed tonight, do you still need help?”

The next morning, I called the insurance company and asked if he could be moved to another SNF. To my surprise, they told me yes that was possible and gave me a list of SNFs that were covered in his plan. 

I then embarked on a quest to find the best care for my father, a task I approached with the naivety of a first timer.

The facility I chose was a compromise of proximity, cleanliness and staff warmth, criteria that seemed paramount at the time. In retrospect, the experience taught me the importance of delving deeper, of considering factors like the qualifications of the medical staff, the frequency of their visits, and the facility’s overall rating and patient satisfaction scores. 

Also, conversations with other caregivers, stealthily initiated in the quiet corners of hallways, would have offered invaluable insights into the daily realities of the care provided.

Navigating the intricacies of insurance coverage added another layer to the already complex situation. The negotiations around the level of care and the duration of my father’s stay in the SNF were a delicate dance of advocacy, a relentless pursuit to ensure he received the maximum benefit allowed under our plan.

This journey through the healthcare system, with its unforeseen challenges and steep learning curves, underscored the profound responsibility of caregiving. It was a chapter that reshaped my understanding of patient care, insurance dynamics, and the critical role of informed decision-making in the quest to secure the best possible outcome for a loved one.