Chat@Caregiving: Does Remington Take Reservations?

If you’re a faithful follower of this blog, you may have noticed that I haven’t been very faithful this year. For several months there were no Friday blogs. I grew up with the “if you don’t have anything good to say” mantra and since I really didn’t have much to say either way, I just kept quiet.

Then there was Travel Here.  I had a good run of it for a while, but then I had digital failure.  Though I planned to write a post while I was on the Lemonade Tour and even knew what I was going to write about, I was  new to my smartphone and didn’t have it set up right to blog on the road.  I tried replying to comments, but my blog thought I was Anonymous. Talk about a humbling experience!  Even my own blog didn’t recognize me!!

Well, I fully intended to have a blog last Monday, but then life happened.  You know that stuff that goes on when you’re out making other plans.  I planned to spend Saturday the eighth getting caught up, but then the phone rang. So, I spent the week at Presbyterian Hospital with my Mom – congestive heart failure on top of her broken arm and the still unresolved bladder issues.  They’re getting to know me pretty well over there. About mid-week they started making noise about sending Mom to skilled nursing for convalescence and rehab.

Unfortunately, I know more than I really want to know about health care facilities – in McKinney, in Dallas and in Temple.  If it hasn’t been my own family, well then I’ve been holding the hand of many of my friends as they go through the same sort of thing. I gave the social worker a list of the places I definitely never wanted to walk in again and a few suggestions of places we’d consider. Then the transition coordinator from Remington showed up and she impressed the heck out of me.

First, she had the credentials – registered nurse.  I wasn’t talking to some marketing schmuck who’d just tell me what I wanted to hear.  Next she looked professional.  I’m so over the casual, sloppy, yet still too-tight look that people call fashion these days .  (If you’re with me on that, you’ll enjoy this: Nation of Slobs .) This lady’s hair was neat.  Her feet had been informed of what the rest of her body was wearing.  Her shirt tail didn’t hang out from under her jacket. (I don’t care if it is fashionable.  I hate that look.)  Her clothes actually matched and were not two sizes too small. First impressions count, but you need to do more than look good.

A couple of days later, the transition coordinator did just that.  There was some glitch on the day they transported Mom.  I don’t get bent out of shape about glitches.  I was in the office equipment industry too long.  It doesn’t matter how well you prepare for something or how well equipped you are to handle things, stuff happens – especially if more than two people and a vehicle are involved.

So, when eleven thirty arrived and we were still waiting for orders from the hospital, in spite of the fact we’d been told we’d be transported at eleven, I didn’t get too bent out of shape. The hospital flailed around and seemed to be stymied, so at twelve thirty, I called the transition coordinator.  I didn’t have to explain who I was. She recognized me immediately.  She also knew exactly what was going on.  Then she really impressed me.  Instead of wasting time, trying to assign blame, she just told me the wheelchair van was on it’s way and the driver would be there shortly.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to know exactly who dropped the ball on Benghazi and why our government fed us a bunch of horse manure, among other things, but in my opinion, entirely too much energy is wasted in everyday life on the exercise of assigning blame. JUST FIX IT! I’ve got a recent Nordstrom’s story I could use to demonstrate what I mean, but I’ve already rambled enough for today.  Anyway, Remington and Nordstrom’s both get it.

So, why do I want to make reservations for a stay at Remington Medical Resort?  Well, if the transition coordinator wasn’t enough to convince you of their superiority, come back next week.  You’re not going to believe it!

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