How Many Points Is Your Mom Worth?

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      How Many Points is Your Mom Worth?
     Four years ago we moved my step-dad and mom to Trevista, a leveled care facility in Antioch, CA. Up until last year it was a perfect fit. In the beginning, they were both on the level two care plan. I used all of their social security and Veteran’s benefits to pay their monthly bill. Then John, my step-dad, fell and broke his hip. He was sent to a MediCal facility in Concord. I tried to bring him back to be with his wife of forty years, but he had too many “points.” The point system is used by some private facilities to determine a resident’s level of care and monthly cost. The head nurse told me he would need to be in the Villa, the section deemed for memory care patients. The minimum cost for this is 10,000 a month, twice their income.
      On Monday I called Trevista. I decided to bite the bullet and ask about the email I received. The email explains the new point system and informs families that their loved ones are going to be evaluated in July to determine if their level of care will be changing. Originally I did not want to ask this question because I know my mom has been needing more care than she’s been getting for a long time. She  has been flying below the radar, so I didn’t want to call any attention to it.
      “How many times is she getting medications per day?” I asked.
     “Twice, once in the morning and once at night.” Ifrana, one of the head nurses,  answered.       “ Does she need to take them  twice a day?” I asked.
     “Yes because some of the medication she needs to take at night with her sleeping pills.”      Ifrana answered.
     “I’m asking because of that email we got with the new point system.” I said.
     “I know, I’m dreading July when I have to talk to families about this.”Ifrana commiserated.
     “So what’s my Mom’s level going to be?” I asked, accepting our fate.
     “Let’s see, your mom has 392 points so she’s currently at level 3. In July her care plan will be a level 4.” she answered.  My stomach dropped, recalling the graph of the prices from the email.
     “This would be an additional 800 dollars per month.” she explained. I felt the blood rush through my body as my heart sunk further into my belly.The photo of Ifrana’s eighteen month old baby on her desk flashed through my mind reminding me of her humanity. Still I had to say something.
     “Our health care system sucks!  We need to be more like Finland where they take care of their seniors for free,” I chuckled to lighten the sentiment. I felt numb. In the past I would feel the rage surging through my body when I brought the unjust system that affects my life so deeply to the surface. Today I was numb. I’m desensitized just as I am to the gun shots that pervade my neighborhood.
     “Some families are taking their relatives to the doctor to see if they can get some of the medications removed from their lists because each one is worth points. Other families consider a shared room to cut costs.” Ifrana explained.
​     Looking at the analog clock in my classroom, I thanked her and ended our conversation abruptly. I heard the sound of my fifth period students at my classroom door and panicked. I was overwhelmed by my  increased financial burden.  I felt like a ton of weight was on my shoulders and my voice was stuck in sludge in the deepest pit of my stomach. Only five minutes remained  until the bell rang. I sucked in as much air as I could, breathing deeply, reveling in my solitude until I had to heave my voice to the surface to teach again.