The Wild DME Chase: Hospital Discharge Without Clarity | Part 1

If you’ve ever faced a hospital discharge, you know the clock starts ticking the moment someone says “it’s time to plan for going home.” That’s when the maze begins—phone calls, lists, insurance jargon, and the sinking feeling that if you miss one detail, you’ll pay the price later. When my husband was getting ready to come home from rehab, I learned just how broken the system can be—and how much falls on the caregiver’s shoulders.

Why Didn’t the Discharge Team Handle This?

Truths from the Frontlines

• Even healthcare advocates need an advocate. No one can catch every detail while also being a spouse, caregiver, and employee.

• You don’t have to accept rude or dismissive treatment from reps.

• Getting equipment is only half the battle — getting it paid for is the real fight.

Why You Shouldn’t Fight Alone

If you’re in the middle of a discharge and feel like no one’s giving you straight answers, you’re not alone. A free 30-minute consult can help you get clarity before the bills arrive. Schedule yours HERE.

If you’ve ever faced a hospital discharge, you know the clock starts ticking the moment someone says “it’s time to plan for going home.” That’s when the maze begins—phone calls, lists, insurance jargon, and the sinking feeling that if you miss one detail, you’ll pay the price later. When my husband was getting ready to come home from rehab, I learned just how broken the system can be—and how much falls on the caregiver’s shoulders.

You might wonder: “Why didn’t the discharge planning staff handle this for you?”

The short answer? I couldn’t risk trusting them to get it right.

Here’s why:

No guarantee of timely delivery.

• I asked more than once if they could ensure all the equipment recommended by PT and OT would be delivered before my husband came home.

• No one could give me a straight answer.

• He was bed- and chair-bound at the time—where exactly was he supposed to sit or sleep if the equipment didn’t arrive on time?
  
  

Not everyone is qualified just because they have a job title.

I wish this weren’t true, but I ended up teaching the discharge planning staff basic things they should have already known, including:

• The difference between inpatient and outpatient treatment plans

• The difference between the length and width of a hospital bed (a critical distinction when you’re trying to fit it into a room)

• That a wheelchair with rims wider than a doorway won’t fit through the door

• That I needed written prescriptions before taking my husband home, because I work full time and couldn’t risk being stuck later if something went wrong

These weren’t minor details. Every mistake, every delay would fall on me—not them. So while I wish I could have relied on the discharge planning staff to handle everything, I couldn’t. I had to do it myself.

His physical and occupational therapists were clear— we needed this equipment to keep us both safe:

• Hospital bed

• Wheelchair

• Shower chair

• Slide board

• Hoyer lift

So I did what you’re “supposed” to do—I called the insurance company to confirm what would be covered. Thirty minutes on hold, and the rep finally picked up… only to tell me they couldn’t give me that information. Instead, I had to call a third-party company that “handles DME networks in your area.”

I pushed back. “Shouldn’t the answer to what equipment is covered be the same before and after I call them?” The rep wouldn’t budge. The “process” had to be followed.

With only two days left before discharge, the runaround officially began.

The List That Didn’t Help

A second 30 minutes on hold, and I finally got to speak with a rep at the third party company. The third-party rep rattled off names so fast I couldn’t keep up writing them down.

As a former social work discharge planner, I know the major players in this industry. But as she sped through the list, not one name sounded familiar. For context, we live in a rural North Carolina county—but we’re not far from the state capital. Finding a DME supplier shouldn’t have been this hard.

I finally interrupted and asked her to slow down. Since my husband’s surgical complications, I’ve developed anxiety, and it slows my auditory processing. (Translation: I just needed her to talk slower so my brain could keep up.)

Asking for clarification is normal. The dramatic sigh she gave me? Not okay. That’s when it hit me—something about this list didn’t add up.

Taking a Calculated Risk

Something felt so off that I tried another tactic. I called a trusted local provider and asked directly, “Are you in-network with our commercial insurance?”

After verifying my insurance details, they confirmed they were—even though they weren’t on the official list given by the third-party company whose job is to provide me with the list of providers.

Here’s why this was risky: the accuracy of insurance in-network information is only as good as the person you’re talking to. If this DME rep was wrong, I could have ended up with a massive, out-of-network bill. But the risk-to-benefit ratio mattered because we were only two days from discharge. Delaying his homecoming wasn’t an option, and every detail to make it happen was on my shoulders.

So I chose the local provider. They guaranteed the equipment on time, and honestly, that “official list” didn’t seem reliable.

My husband needed care, not paperwork delays.

Back to the Beginning: What’s Covered?

For my fourth call that day, I went back to the insurance company and asked what specific items were covered. I was overwhelmed, exhausted, and juggling ten mental caregiver tabs while working full time. I took notes in the margins of a journal—but critical mistake—I forgot to get the rep’s name and the call reference number. Here’s the thing, when your anxiety is up, your hours of sleep are down, and the stakes are high, it’s easy to let an important detail drop.

That detail would come back to haunt me.

The Equipment Arrived. So Did the Bills.

The equipment arrived on a Tuesday morning, with the delivery staff working diligently to set up everything. My husband came home two days later. I exhaled.

It felt like we'd made it across the finish line.

A few months later, the bills started showing up in the mailbox. And that’s when I re-learned:

• Getting the equipment was the easy part.

• Getting it paid for would be the real fight.