This is the story of a 90-year-old woman, her ill treatment at the hands of Australia’s broken aged-care system and how I came to dispense possibly the worst advice of my career. One day, I call an old friend who sounds frazzled. Her mother has been discharged from a private hospital in deconditioned form.
A healing wound demands an intact dressing, which in turn means help with personal hygiene. She is cognitively intact but fatigue-induced risk of medication misadventure calls for oversight. My friend explains that travelling to her mother every morning is becoming logistically difficult and affecting her job.
“She needs home help until you can get there.” I frown, somehow forgetting that her three professional daughters would know this. When my friend claims she can’t find such help, I declare it unbelievable and tell her I will fix it. Little do I know how hollow my promise is.
The hospital says that the patient could have accessed interim help if initiated at the time of discharge. In other words, it’s the family’s fault for not asking.
An apologetic woman at the council explains that it first became unsustainable to deliver meals and, now, home help.
She refers me to My Aged Care, a government portal I regularly use to register my most vulnerable elderly patients.
The registration part is quick – and I emphasise rather than downplay their vulnerabilities to hasten the assessment. If eligible, patients are assigned funding based on needs: from occasional home help to........