Kate’s Latest Insurance Evaluation Interview

Tuesday afternoon, we had an appointment with a nurse representing the insurance company that provides our long term-care insurance. They send a nurse out every six months to conduct an evaluation interview with us. It is part of their due diligence effort to prevent fraudulent claims. I understand why they do it, but these are often uncomfortable interviews for Kate. They ask many questions that she simply can’t answer. In addition, she thinks many of the questions related to activities of daily living are silly. They include things like “Can you turn the shower on and off?” “Can you dress yourself?” “Can you touch your toes?” And “Do you have any problem walking?” Although Kate recognizes her dependence on me, she still thinks of herself as “normal.” A lot of the questions call that into question. To say the least, they annoy her. It is also awkward for me since I want to give them accurate information and don’t like to say that Kate can’t do things that she tells the nurse she is able to do. Most of the time the nurse looked to me, and I was able to shake my head or silently mouth to confirm or deny what Kate told her.

Coincidentally, I read a section of A Most Meaningful Life: My Dad and Alzheimer’s by Trish Laub that very morning. She and her dad had a problem with these interviews as well. Her father suffered depression afterward. She contacted the insurance company and told them they would not accept such evaluations in the future. I had this in my mind when the nurse arrived at our house.

This was the second visit for this particular nurse. I had spoken with her in advance of her visit and explained that Kate is now at Stage 7. She wasn’t familiar with the stages and didn’t remember having seen Kate before or that she has Alzheimer’s. I found that disappointing. As a nurse doing evaluation of someone with Alzheimer’s, it seemed to me that would be a given. On the phone she agreed not to go through the routine dementia test questions (“What day is it?” Who is the President?” etc.), but it became clear that this would have been a better interview if I had been answering the questions without Kate’s presence. Late in the interview, I asked if she and I could talk privately. Fortunately, she wanted to see our bathroom to check it out for handicap accessibility. We left Kate in the family room, and I was able to respond more openly to her remaining questions. She closed the interview after that. I will make sure that I exercise more control over the next interview.

Although Kate was quite annoyed at many of the questions, she didn’t immediately give any signs that it had a negative impact on her. She started to work on her iPad. Then she said she was tired and got in her new recliner to rest. It wasn’t long before she asked if we couldn’t go out to get something to eat. It was only 3:30, but we hadn’t been to Barnes & Noble in several weeks. I took her there. She didn’t say anything more about eating, so I only got her something to drink. In a short time, she wanted something to eat. I got her a cookie. As soon as she finished it, she wanted to go home. She had been working on her iPad and was frustrated, but it also seemed like she was restless and needed a change. I don’t ever recall her being this way before. Coming off the interview, I couldn’t help but wonder if the experience might have affected her mood. There is really no way to know, so I am withholding judgment; however, the change did occur after the interview was over even if it wasn’t immediate.

We were home about forty-five minutes before going to dinner. She enjoyed the dinner but wasn’t as cheerful as usual. When we got home, she worked on her iPad for a while but got frustrated and quit. She decided to go to bed. While brushing her teeth, she said, “Maybe I’ll be all right in two or three days.” I said, “You’ve had a rough day.” She agreed.

I am still left wondering how much, if any, the interview influenced her. I know that she has trouble working her puzzles anyway, but she was especially discouraged. The good thing is that she still felt optimistic that, perhaps, she would get better. This is not unusual. Many times, when she is trying to remember things, she mentions improving in the future.

Once again, I take note of the fact that even at this stage of her disease, she knows something is wrong with her and is still bothered by it.

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