I got a call from Raymond at the hospice office yesterday. Unfortunately, he called my home number and not my cell or my work (both of which he has). He left a message and said that it was not an emergency, but to please call him back.
I called the hospice office as soon as I got home. Raymond had left for the day, but the gal on the phone explained what was going on ~ at least, somewhat.
It seems that when a patient is enrolled in hospice care, one of the first things the program does is order liquid morphine to be delivered to the patient's house. This is to ensure that unmanageable pain is treated whether or not the patient can be seen right away. Well, that's good. Why the hell should she suffer as she is dying, right?
But, the question the woman couldn't answer was, why did Raymond call me? Were the parents out of the house? She didn't know. She just wanted to be sure that we knew that the pharmacy would be delivering the morphine that afternoon.
I called my parents and let them know. It seems that Raymond had called and my mom had basically told him to bugger off. She didn't know who he was and she didn't have time for him. She told him that she wasn't interested and hung up on him. He called back and she told him to stop bothering her. I guess she thought he was trying to sell her something. Sigh.
At any rate, it got sorted out and there is now a bottle of liquid morphine on the mantel. The nurse has called and given instructions as to its use.
Here's something else, though. When I was talking to the woman on the phone, her tone of voice and phrasing were creeping me out. She is clearly used to talking to people who are in distress, but I was expecting more of a matter-of-fact tone and not the unctuous sympathy and hushed voice that I got from her. It was a little weird.