It is heartbreaking to recount the journey my husband and I have been through. My husband, an award-winning triathlete, and I had a rich and vibrant life together. We traveled extensively, taking nine trips in 2014 alone, including attending the World Triathlon Finals in London, visiting Paris, cruising the Hawaiian Islands, and enjoying a helicopter tour. Even in his late 80s, he had a strong spirit, shaped by years of discipline and resilience.
In 2013, he underwent a cardiac ablation for atrial fibrillation (AFib), which successfully resolved his condition. Yet, years later, a new doctor misinterpreted his medical records, assuming he had suffered from uncontrolled AFib ever since, despite no evidence to support this claim. This error was compounded by further assumptions. When my husband couldn’t answer some questions and remained quiet—traits natural to his personality—he was labeled as having dementia. This assumption snowballed into a diagnosis of severe dementia and delusions, even though no documentation supported it.
The situation worsened when he was moved to a nursing home. During his stay, he began to fear for his life, a fear tragically validated when he was strangled there. I have pictures documenting the injuries, and subsequent tests confirmed swallowing difficulties stemming from weakened neck muscles. Despite my protests, the facility and the overseeing doctor dismissed my concerns. When I insisted the doctor be removed from his care, I was told I had no authority to do so.
My husband was later transferred from the nursing home to the hospital after becoming hostile during his removal—a reaction born of fear and confusion. I wasn’t there, and he didn’t understand why he was being taken away. The trauma of the experience caused him to suffer a heart attack. The hospital staff administered oxycodone every eight hours for pain, alongside Metoprolol for his heart. However, the latter caused him to code, a devastating complication.
Adding to our challenges, our life took a significant turn in 2019. A van recall due to a fuel line issue caused an accident that left me with a fractured rib. Shortly after, we stopped driving altogether. Around the same time, my husband’s diagnosis of osteoporosis—made in 2012—was inexplicably replaced with dementia when medical records were transferred between systems.
Our move to a senior living facility was another ordeal. We chose it based solely on a floor plan after a quick visit, not knowing how disorienting it would be. Even though I had lived in this city decades ago, I couldn’t navigate our new surroundings, which made the transition even more challenging.
Looking back on our life together—the adventures we had, the hurdles we overcame—this chapter has been the most difficult. My husband, once a strong and capable man, was subjected to indignities that no one should endure. I share this story to shed light on the failures and assumptions within the system that have caused us so much pain. It is my hope that others can learn from our experience and push for better, more compassionate care.
The author is an anonymous patient advocate.
