Battle of the Hoyer 1

October, 2020

For reasons that are beyond me, you are still reading my meandering screes. My fervent hope is that you will forever be cured of any desire toward this blog after you waste your time with this next segment. For this is the strange and terrible saga of the worst item of durable medical equipment, or DME, foisted on us pALS, the Hoyer Lift.

The Hoyer looks like those portable cranes on your degenerate neighbor’s driveway used to lift engines out of cars. The difference is that the Hoyer lifts people. Because I’m little more than 170 lbs of chuck roast these days, our Hoyer is used to lift me.

It’s difficult to decide what is worse, getting the damn thing or using it, so let’s just proceed chronologically. Unlike acquiring the LazyBoy on Wheels, acquiring the Hoyer showed the worst of the medical industrial equipment complex. There is a special place in hell for the suits who designed the DME procurement system.

For insurance reasons we are forced to use the vendor from hell. For insurance reasons we are forced to get the completely manual version even though we are willing to pay out of pocket for the extra charge for the electric version. So the vendor from hell drops off the lift. No invoice, no warranty information, and no instructions. Nada. Zilch. We finally get through to the vendor from hell and they send us six lines of directions which they copied from the web.

So we are able to get home health care to send over a physical therapist to train us in using the Hoye. From this clown we learn firsthand why PT is short for pain and torture. Bozo arrives and decides he needs to do an assessment of how well I can stand up to train us on a device that is used when I can’t stand up. I fail. Bozo then decides that it’s time for training. This consists of him scraping and bruising my legs while asking if I’m comfortable as I’m hoisted over my bed in a nylon sling.

Sling? What sling?

Time for a detour to the saga of the sling. A sling is used to lift your body once attached to the Hoyer. Getting your body wrapped in the sling, aka the cocoon of claustrophobia, is the tricky part. I’ll save the mechanics for later except to say that the type of sling used is critical. Which I found out when I tried to order the proper sling from the vendor from hell. I thought I used the right words but ended up with a burlap sack to which were attached thick chains. Positively midevil. After a few cycles (see my blogs entitled Not For Amateurs) got two new slings, one of which to be used for toileting by virtue of a conveniently located hole. Notwithstanding the new slings, it was taking two people aret least to get the sling under my butt so I could be properly lifted. This meant that every time solid waste called an answer would require a committee. Fast forward a number of monthsa and through the help of our caregiver agency we received a sling that could be installed under me by one person. A Goldmann Basic High for my pALS out there.

Back to the Hoyer. After discussing the matter with the manager of the home health care agency, a PT we had worked with in the past was sent over. She took one look at the manual Hoyer, a petite St. Laurel, and the 170 lbs of chuck roast they were going to lift, and promised to write orders for an electric Hoyer.

Vendor frrom hell does the swap with the same professionalism as before. No invoice, warranty information, or user documentation. It takes St. Laurel three or four calls to the vendor from hell to get a simple invoice to allow a flex plan claim for the extra cost associated with the electric version. Why the electric Hoyer could be purchased now when it couldn’t be purchased before is a question I choose not to explore.

By this time you are about to choose not to read any further so I’ll hold off on the details around using this beast until the next segment. So you’re off the hook for now. You may now return to your regularly scheduled program.