Broke a Hip, Now What?

You HAVE TO FIGHT! For your RIGHTS! TO DIE IN AMERICA!

By Julie A. Franklin

Written, Reluctantly, Without the Benefit of AI, in a Post-Apocalyptic Worldunder the Influence of the Asinine Trump (6/17/26 Iran cost us a proposed 300+ billion)for Whom Through Gerrymandering or Otherwise (i.e. Hook or by Crook, and he is that)Keeps Getting Elected Because Americans are Terrifyingly Inept

(look that up, and by that,  I mean, specifically,  inept)

And yes. That Oxford comma was on purpose. See if you can spot it. Guess who!

                So, it turns out, that when it comes to an old person you love who was fine the week before but ended up tragically (killing a spider, reaching too high, doing too much, thinking they were 67 instead of 83) falling and breaking a HIP, you have to be hyper aware.

First. One must ensure that they (*your loved one,*)  has previously engaged in an asset protection plan, years before, so if you did not foresee this happening more than five years ago because you hate looking at the negative and enjoy your loved one and thought, rightfully so, that they would thrive and survive…

#YOUDIDITWRONG.

# GETTHEIRLIFE.

                Objectively, there are certain inalienable truths to the world in which we occupy. You are born. You suffer. At some point, hopefully, you experience joy. But in any event, you eventually die. Planning for this occurrence, knowing what you know, being privy to the sort of human conditions that you were unequivocally made aware of, (with you as a witness, of your great-grandparents, possibly your grandparents, and perhaps your actual parents passing out and refusing to speak or breathe, effectively…) dying before you, it’s either you OR your siblings, or worse, your children, if you are so lucky (who make questionable decisions, choosing to live less long for whatever their reasons), you MUST plan for this inevitable fact, but only of course, when you are lucky enough to call your early 60s young and you were omnipresent enough to handle the situation, at that time.

                When your loved one cracks their fucking femur on a supposition for a handwashed garment and a hanging of same on a light fixture, and they go in for surgery, make sure you have some things.

1.      A Health Care Directive 

(A document executed and/or in favor of, given to someone who is not going to inherit from the loved one’s estate because to do this would be objectively a great way to murder people for gain, witnessed by 2 disinterested witnesses and notarized.)

                                                              i.      DO YOU KNOW WHY WE WANT THAT?

1.      Because there are 3 people present that witness whether the individual signing the document is with it, (OR NOT), and these people, who are not related to you and do not stand to inherit from your estate and therefore cannot profit from your passing, are presumed to be honest, enough.*

*NOTE  OF IMPORT: A lot of times though, the notary doesn’t know you. The people that witness your signature also don’t know you. They are either staff of a law firm,  who don’t have paid maternity leave or nice insurance and have no other choice because they officially got out of food and beverage, or your worse, their friends.

These routine witnesses, they don’t ask you questions, they literally (if they do it right) require you to pull out your state issued driver’s license to prove your identity, a thing you’ve been doing since before you can remember, on purpose, to not get caught…you could be anyone. They don’t particularly care. You passed the threshold.

                2) Hutzpah. Be prepared to fight back.

                Turns out that health care systems are governed exclusively by insurance companies, and insurance companies are run on actuary tables, and therefore they give LESS THAN ONE-HALF ZERO shits about your 83 year-old rockstar’s particular health and well-being. In fact, as de-regulated as they are, the more you die, the less they care. They’ll get paid.

                And if, and when, they seek to discharge your 83 year-old rockstar, verbally or via writing, fight back. Fundamentally disagree. Even though it breaks your absolute heart to allow them to stay in this facility where you know that everyone isn’t getting paid enough (thanks Mamdani for giving us a new hope, this is some star wars shit up in NYC lately, I’m all about that Jedi new hope), you have to fight to keep them there. You can’t handle this. A new front rolling walker, accommodations above and beyond the current living arrangements already, and the possibility that if you are not skilled nursing, at 2AM on some errant Thursday she will move about the cabin, disable the videos, not trigger the sensors, and die so that when you go in for breakfast the next day, she is dead and cold in her tracks, and it’s probably your fault.  

GROSS. So another thing you need to know.

3) Your Loved One is NOT READY to be discharged. 

But the attitude, or the money, isn’t right.

Because the money man from the facility has bottom line requirements, she can’t come home, so get the number of the appeal company the MOMENT the facility verbally tells you the discharge date and call it. Fun facts:

a)      Don’t take the call initially.

b)     If you do, tell them you disagree and want it in writing. In that call, ask for the date (AND TIME, get this shit) that you are required to appeal, and ask for the phone number. Write down the number.  HANG UP and call these people.

c)      Tell these people that your rockstar can’t come home because they would benefit from additional SUPPORT services, including to the extent they would prefer, OT and PT. Ask for hospice referrals. Do it in writing.

d)     An independent physician who is not monetarily compelled by the facility weighs in on the case by virtue of the appeal. When they agree with you, you’ve WON the appeal.

4) This is STILL NOT ENOUGH. REQUEST FROM THE FACILITY IN WRITING EITHER LONGTERM CARE OPTIONS THRU MEDIDCAID PENDING APPROVAL OF SAID APPLICATION, OR HOSPICE.

                You need a few markers for hospice. Substantial weight loss. Ulcers. Contractions. Demetia. Pick your fucking poison. Find a liaison subpart Medicaid group that is basically a “no kill shelter” and work with them, put in writing to the facility that you want to be referred.

IF they send you shit and demand you do it, look it over with care and if it sucks, decline.

5) ALWAYS BE PREPARED TO DECLINE.

                Let’s get serious, the fight is not with the staff, it’s with the accountant. The business office. Make them spend so much energy trying to get rid of your person that they just quit for the sheer fatigue of giving up, it’s fucking 2026.

6) Get absolutely everything in writing. Don't start no shit, won't be no shit.

YOU GOT THIS! Life is hard, wear a helmet. If they raised you up, you can help them gracefully agree to stand down. Believe in your titties! Go YOU!!!!