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.
