The son of this once-sprightly pensioner has been forced to battle the NHS over whether his dad qualifies for help he so desperately needs
Until recently my father, Ted Beales, was a gregarious 86-year-old. When he wasn't pruning his roses, he would be at church meetings.
But in May this year he suffered a major stroke that left him unable to swallow, speak or stand. I flew back from my home in Thailand to see him – but rather than spending quality time together I soon found myself embroiled in a fight with the NHS to protect his savings and the family home, a three-bed bungalow in Clacton, Essex.
When I arrived back in the UK, the local healthcare trust wanted a meeting to discuss whether my father, a widower, qualified for "NHS continuing healthcare". This is a little-known scheme where the NHS covers all the costs, including board and accommodation for someone in a care or nursing home. It is a package that is, in the official lingo, arranged and funded solely by the NHS for individuals who are not in hospital who have a "complex medical condition and substantial and ongoing care needs".
But despite making contributions all his working life, and his obvious needs, it turned out the NHS felt my father wasn't ill enough.
When he was moved into a nursing home, bills for £2,000 a month arrived – and the prospect that his savings could be seized became real.
Yet his needs are clear: he cannot swallow, so a percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy (PEG) has been attached to his stomach, through which medicine and nutrients are supplied. His speech is so poor it is impossible to communicate pain or any basic needs. When he was assessed he could only move his left arm and leg (he can move his right leg very slightly now but that actually creates more problems: he was trying to get his one good leg out of bed when I visited last week, so he's at risk of falling). He'd contracted MRSA in hospital. It is hard to tell how much he understands what is going on. He is doubly incontinent. The list goes on.
At the healthcare trust meeting, a senior nurse and social worker went through a checklist of needs. My father scored "serious" or "severe" in most categories but, as the meeting closed, the nurse told me she didn't think he had qualified.
It took a moment to register what this meant.
At first there was a feeling of shock that the health trust was apparently willing to wash its hands of him when he was so blatantly in need of medical help. This feeling was soon replaced by one of determination to fight for his right to receive help from a system he had always assumed would be there when he needed it.
My father lied about his age to join the army – he served with the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders for about seven years and spent time in Palestine on a peacekeeping mission after the second world war ended – and later worked as a council gardener for more than 30 years.
Once the nurse's recommendation had been made, there was a panel meeting with the North East Essex Clinical Commissioning Group, where I presented my case. It listened politely, nodded sympathetically and, a week later, told me that my father had not qualified for continuing healthcare.
I opened the letter while surrounded by removal boxes – the family home was having to be cleared to make way for tenants. After a series of platitudes, the health trust's document said my father's needs were mainly "social and personal". If you saw him, you may consider that's like saying all that Nelson Mandela requires is a cup of tea and a cuddle.
My father, now 87, is in a nursing home in Clacton. An appeal against the decision could take up to a year to be heard. For the time being, much of the £2,000 a month nursing home bill is being paid out of my salary and savings (I'm head of English at an international school in Thailand and a travel writer for Lonely Planet; I don't have any siblings). My father's pension should cover about half, but I've only just been granted power of attorney so I'm waiting for some paperwork to come through before I can access it.
As he had to go into a nursing home, he does receive NHS-funded nursing care – £109.79 a week for 2013/14 – and he has just been given an attendance allowance of £79.15 a week. Meanwhile, the only practical thing left to do is to let others know the potential pitfalls of falling ill under the NHS. To that end, I've set up a Facebook group called Give Ted a Bed to highlight the problem.
With hindsight, there were more things we could have done. When he was well, he could have signed his property over to someone else. But make sure you stay well … get sick within six months and the transfer can be blocked. And if you remain in the house you will have to pay the full market rent.
He could have transferred his savings elsewhere and, again, kept his fingers crossed he remained fit for six months afterwards. He could also have taken out critical illness insurance, but he is a proud man who drove, cycled and swam until his mid-80s, and the thought of monthly payments based on a "what if?" scenario would have seemed pointless.
Now he lies in his room most days and tries to speak. Sometimes you can make out a word or two; usually you can't. While I was trying to explain to him, in simplistic terms, that the NHS didn't think he was ill enough to help, he opened his blue eyes wide, looked straight at me and, I'm pretty sure, mumbled: "Bloody cheek."
• North East Essex Clinical Commissioning Group told us: "We can confirm we fund all cases that meet eligibility for CHC [continuing healthcare] funding. It is a statutory requirement. Excluding children the CCG spends over £14.7m in north-east Essex annually on CHC, with a year on year increase in numbers of cases."
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