A Celadrin Rebellion in the Nursing Home
I work for Swanson Health Products because I get excited about the natural health industry. I believe in supplements--at least the ones I take--and their potential to improve health. Yet, I have to confess, even I'm amazed at how good a few of them really do work. I have another story for you about my dad. If you're a softy for the concept of good triumphing over bad, and an impossibly happy ending, then please keep reading. I promise not to get too mushy or sentimental.
Lately I act more like a parent to my 87-year old dad than the rebellious child who caused untold grief for him during the early 70s. That feisty spirit of my teenage years is now working on his behalf, though, as I recently fought yet another battle for him against the conventional medical authorities (see my blog post from February 11, 2008). Last month dad moved into a full-care nursing facility. I felt like his mom taking him to the first day of school when he checked in on October 9th. I filled out paperwork with him, took him to all his "classes" like Physical Therapy, Occupational Therapy, Singing and Computer Bowling. I ate in the "lunchroom" with him and I met all his "teachers," the aides and nurses who look after him each day. By evening he assured me that he liked his new home, and he was going to be ok. Music to my ears!
I felt good about the facility and staff, too. His caseworker is a genuine sweetheart! Still, I've seen one too many exposes about nursing homes on 20/20 to assume that I didn't have to visit regularly--daily, to begin with--and get involved in his care. Ten days after his arrival, he greeted me in a wheel chair as he excitedly pulled up the left leg of his pants to reveal a puffy knee that looked like it belonged to an elephant.
"What on earth happened to you?" I asked.
"Nothing," was his answer. "But I can't walk. My knee is so bad I can't move it. They have to use a 'crane' to get me out of bed, which doesn't feel so good, either."
I talked to the nurse who had no idea what happened to him. My guess was that he twisted it during the night and had no recollection of it. Whatever happened, he needed some relief. The staff didn't seem too concerned, but said that a doctor could possibly x-ray it sometime that week. Whatever! In the meantime, I had just the thing to help. I drove home and got my Celadrin cream, which always works great for the tendonitis in my right thumb. At least the cetyl myristoleate in it would cause any inflamed cells to settle down a bit. As I unscrewed the jar and started to apply it to his swollen knee, the nurse walked by and caught sight of me.
"What are you doing?"
I explained the cream and my plan.
"You can't do that. Everything has to be approved by his doctor."
"Well, this isn't a prescription. It's just a topical cream sold through a health food store," I assured her, or so I thought.
"Doesn't matter. Give that to me and I'll call his doctor to get approval," she said, taking the jar from the palm of my hand.
"Ok. I'll just wait here and as soon as you hear back, let me know." I was anticipating maybe an hour tops.
"He might not return my call until tomorrow," the nurse informed me.
"What does my dad do in the meantime?" I asked.
"Does it hurt, Warren?" the nurse inquired in a rather condescending baby voice.
"You know it does. I've been complaining about it all day! It hurts like he**!"
"We'll get an x-ray this week and see what's causing it, Warren. You just hang on."
I looked at my dad, whose eyes clearly said "Help me!"
"He needs that cream," I insisted.
"I don't know what that cream is. And even if the doctor approves it, we wouldn't know where to get it," the nurse challenged.
Uh, I brought it in. Obviously, I could get it.
"It's from the company where I work. I can get as much as he wants. Honestly, we should try this stuff now. He needs something. And this will work. I'm sure it will. Seriously, I'm not leaving until he gets some help!!"
Boy, "I'm not leaving" seemed to be magical words. Obviously the nurse wanted me gone, so she threw the cream at me and said, "I don't know you have this, and I've neer seen you using it. Do whatever you want, but know that you're violating the policies of this facility."
I again looked at my dad, whose eyes were actually twinkling now as he said, "Let's do it." I imagined how much fun we would have had together if he was actually my peer instead of my dad back in the 70s. We're really two of a kind. Renegades!
As soon as the nurse shut his door, I pulled up his pants leg and rubbed a generous amount of the cream on his knee. Then I went back to work at Swanson. My brother visited him later that afternoon and reported to me that dad was up and walking like nothing was ever wrong with his leg. I don't know which was the bigger miracle...dad walking so soon or the nurse letting me use the cream. Reluctantly, she did get approval for it from his doctor, and now my dad insists that the aides give him a backrub with Celadrin every night before he goes to bed. The aides love the cream because they get less resistance from my dad when they try to dress him and take him to activities.
Oh, this is ironic...the nursing home just called while I was writing this to tell me that I have to stop by the nurse's station when I bring in beer for my dad. They had to get a doctor's approval for that, too, and he can only have one per day. Apparently we were a little too rowdy in his room during Lawrence Welk Sunday night. Looks like I'd better bring in a beer for the nurse, too.


I fell asleep at my desk last Thursday afternoon. I don't mean a brief nod of the head or a three-minute catnap. I mean fast asleep with dream sequences that I can still remember. I awoke 20 minutes later with a crick in my neck, which I counted as just penance for my impropriety. Honestly, I've never done that before--ever. Not at work. But last Thursday was a different story. I'd been awake for over 34 hours straight, and I couldn't fight my lack of sleep any longer. 


