After fighting with the Florida Hospital for days my grandpa's doctor decided to just discharge him because "there was nothing they could do." No transfer, nothing. Can't even begin to explain how much I fucking wanted to get up and slap the bitch when she said she was going to discharge him that night, and in the middle of a severe storm at that.
She had just gotten finished telling us SHE BELIEVES IT IS SARCOMA and that it is possible it's benign but unlikely. She told us the other day if it is sarcoma it is getting into the advanced stages. And yet, still, instead of trying to help us she wants to kick us out. How someone can sit there and admit this man is dying of fucking cancer and want to send him back home to cry and eventually die in a few weeks or so I have no fucking clue. We even explained to her that WE HAD TO BRING HIM TO THE HOSPITAL, WITH HIM CURLED UP IN THE BACK OF A MINIVAN ON THE FLOOR. Not on a seat, on the fucking floor of a minivan. The man is 5'11". Imagine him curled up in the back with only a few feet of room. They wanted us to bring him home that way. Halfway through the conversation my mom started crying and got up and left the room.

We're in a huge fucking mess and the amount of lies they told at that hospital is absolutely disgusting. I have to say, the nursing staff was WONDERFUL. When my grandpa's CNA overheard the conversation about him being discharged she was in disbelief and even came in later that night to ask what was going to happen.
We got them to let my grandpa stay there over night but we couldn't get a hospital to transfer him. Most cancer centers want a diagnosis which we can't get without a biopsy which we can't get without getting him into a cancer center.

This morning three people from the Staff came up, including someone in Risk Management, and they agreed to get us FREE transportation to my grandparent's house [and into it because they live in a trailer about seven steps off the ground] and also made the Case Manager get us set up with a walker and home help through Medicare. Which - get this - the Case Manager actually wanted to include Physical and Occupational Therapy in the home help! SHE WANTED HIM TO DO PHYSICAL THERAPY WITH AN ACKNOWLEDGED MASS IN HIS LEG AND PROBABLE SARCOMA. We told her NO and she still told VNA we wanted it.

On our way home from dropping my grandparents off and running a few errands for them my grandma called to say Moffitt called her. Which for some stupid fucking reason she made them wait for my mom to call them instead of talking to them herself, so my mom called and left a voicemail and we are waiting to hear back. It turns out the lady who called is in their patient admittance section so we might actually get him fucking admitted.

My mom is looking for a lawyer next week unless Mark calls her back and agrees to help her with the case.

This is a veeeeeery shortened version of the last few days. We're hoping he gets accepted into Moffitt, but if he does it will be another week or so until they'll be able to admit him. Everything - small and big - has been fucking up so bad lately so I'm hoping, for once, this one thing can go right.