Huntington Manor

Apr 142016
 
Back where I belong.

Huntington Manor assisted living in Poway, California.

I recently returned to Huntington Manor assisted living after spending 15 months at a much larger, more expensive facility which I will refer to as “The Other Place.” People have wondered why I came back to Huntington Manor and, if I like it better here, why did I move in the first place? These are good questions and my answers may interest you.

Huntington Manor is a 27-bed assisted living facility located on the outskirts of Poway, California. My wife and I moved here in the spring of 2012 because it was the only place we could find that would accept my overhead lift system and was priced low enough that we could afford two rooms. My wife died a few months later but I remained here for another two years. I liked the location, had become friends with the owner, had gotten to know the staff well and enjoyed working on their website and blog.

Is this all there is?

My family felt that I was not taking advantage of some of the extra amenities that were available in larger facilities. So every once in a while I would check out a few of them, however I always got the same answer, “Sorry, but we can’t take care of someone as disabled as you and we definitely don’t want your overhead lifts in our facility.”

One day I was told about a place near the coast that might accept my physical requirements and my lifts so I checked them out. Like the other large facilities, they promised an extensive activities program, restaurant–style dining, frequent excursions, and several common areas where residents could mingle. When I asked about my overhead lifts, they said they would have to check it out with “corporate.” At the time I didn’t know exactly what that meant but I certainly do now. After several weeks they told me I was approved. But could I afford to live there?

Large assisted living facility

Could I afford to live this large?

Sticker shock.

Do you ever see those reports about assisted living that show the average cost by state and think “that’s not so bad.” It wouldn’t be if those were the actual costs, but sadly they are not. When the larger facilities publish costs or give them out over the telephone they are quoting the base rate for a room and the most standard care level available. (Smaller facilities are less likely to use this tactic.) There are very few people entering assisted living who could live with that amount of care. If you have difficulty transferring or walking or keeping track of appointments and medicines or dressing or feeding yourself, you will pay a lot more. The way it works is the facility will do an “assessment” and assign points for each type of care you need. Would you like help taking a shower? Do you have difficulty cutting meat? Do you have other bathroom issues? Based on the number of points, they will assess you an additional daily rate. In my case, the basic charge for the room was $140 per day, but the added charge for providing me assistance was $80 per day. That meant I would be paying $6600 per month for those months with 30 days — much more than I was paying at Huntington Manor. Nevertheless, they were advertising so many extra services that I felt I should try it out.

Corporate greed trumps senior need.

If I had known what was going on behind the scenes, I would have made a different decision. I had been given the standard story –a married couple started this chain of facilities out of a desire to create lodging for seniors that felt more like homes and less like hospitals. This was true, and from the stories I heard from people who had worked there for many years, life used to be very good for both the staff and the residents. But then came the economic downturns and the big corporations smelled blood in the water. Today The Other Place is owned by a real estate investment trust (REIT) that packaged several hundred senior living facilities together and offers shares to investors. They have no interest in the business or the residents — but they certainly worry about their shareholders. They contract with large property management corporations to run each of the facilities as profitably as possible. How do you get more profits? You cut costs and raise rates.

I experienced the cost-cutting first. This showed up in the number and quality of the activities offered, the quality of the food, and the number of caregivers available.

Activities – not my idea of good times.

The main reason my family wanted me to move to a large facility was for the activities. Even before the cost-cutting, I discovered that most of the activities were designed around the needs of people who were much older and especially for those who were suffering from early stages of memory loss. I’m sure my children picture me have a lively conversations, going to movies, developing close friendships, etc. Sadly, that did not turn out to be the case. Most of the activities focused on either playing bingo, or playing simple word games. There were crafts every couple of weeks but they were usually at the level of early elementary school. I understand that I was not the target audience for their program. Assisted living activities programs are mostly for people who are over the age of 80, female and with some form of cognitive difficulties.

The one program I truly enjoyed was the music. They brought in professional musicians who performed and encouraged residents to join in singing. Of course that cost money and it was one of the the first programs to be affected by budget cuts. The number of acts was cut in half and some performers just quit coming because the pay was too low. There were monthly excursions and weekly trips to local restaurants but I preferred my wheelchair and public transit for the independence it gave me. Besides, many of the residents needed to be watched carefully, so any trips away from the facility required at least one caregiver for every two residents to make sure no one wandered off. This limited the number of participants to about ten residents.

Dining

I had heard stories about the elegant dinners they used to serve, and you still see pictures of food from those events posted on their website. I never saw any personally however because by the time I arrived all menus were being planned from the central headquarters back east and the local chef was given almost no authority to change the menu or improve the quality of food being offered. In fact, the menus were printed a month in advance and shipped to the facility to be displayed for each meal. After a few weeks, everything seemed to taste the same. That was because many of the foods were based on the same packaged ingredients. For example soups were made from one of four stock bases. Very few items were cut from scratch in the kitchen.

No turkey loafing at Huntington Manor.

No turkey loafing at Huntington Manor.

At Huntington Manor, the first step in making chicken soup is to boil some chicken. At The Other Place, most turkey or ham dinners come from deli loafs of turkey or ham. Here, they come from turkeys and hams.

Cuts in caregiving.

Perhaps the saddest result of corporate greed is what happened to the caregivers and their relationships with residents. When I arrived there were seven or eight caregivers on duty during the daytime hours. They were charged with caring for approximately 70 residents. By the time I left, many days there were only five caregivers for the same number of residents. If you are doing the math you’ll see this works out to one caregiver for every 14 residents. Subtract from that the several hours per day they must spend on other tasks such as working in the dining room and there is obviously little time to get to know a resident well. By contrast, at Huntington Manor we have five caregivers on duty during the daytime for 27 residents – – an average of about one caregiver for every five residents. At night, the contrast is even more dramatic. The Other Place has two caregivers on duty at night for all 70 residents. Huntington Manor has three on duty for 27 residents.

At both facilities, the people who actually provide the care are competent and hard-working. Many of them truly enjoy what they do and like to help people. Because the pay levels are so low they typically work two or more jobs to support their families. They deserve our respect. Unfortunately many of the residents have personality disorders that go along with dementia, making them difficult to care for. In my four years of living in facilities, I have never experienced any kind of abuse but I have certainly seen caregivers on the receiving end of it.

Where does the payroll go?

Something else that comes along with bloated corporate ownership is bloated staff. It’s wasteful but may be necessary to keep up with the record-keeping and regulatory demands of a big corporation. Where I am now we have four staff who are seldom involved in direct patient care: the owner, the administrator, the cleaning person and the gardener. At The Other Place most of the common areas are filled with offices. There is the executive director plus people in charge of the business office, sales, assisted living, intermediate memory care, health services, activities, food service, maintenance, and reception. Many of these have their own staff. Every two months or so a carload of impeccably dressed executives descends on the managers and hovers over them making sure every procedure is carried out according to the corporate book. I’m sure the regional managers fly back to headquarters every so often for some of the same treatment. Almost lost from sight are the five or so caregivers themselves.

The big price increase.

When I was negotiating the price for The Other Place, I was given a chart showing price increases during the past several years. They averaged about 2% which made me feel comfortable that I could manage them. After a year I got my first actual price increase. It was just under 10%! Doing some investigating, I learned that a dollar increase of about the same amount was likely for the following year. There was no way I could afford to live here unless I changed to one of the smallest rooms. To do that I would need to reinstall my overhead lifts – an expense of about $2000 and adjust to a cramped lifestyle and wait for the next round of cost cutting and price increases. It so happened that I heard from Huntington Manor the next day asking if I would like to return. I really didn’t have to think twice. So now I am back here and far happier. I miss my favorite caregiver at The Other Place but I am back with good friends that I had here before. If only I had known all of this beforehand, it would have saved me tens of thousands of dollars.

Conclusion:

Despite my experience, I am not recommending people avoid larger facilities. For their target audience, they are providing the services those people seek and can afford to pay for. If someone has Alzheimer’s disease, it could be a very good choice. However, for those of us whose challenge is mostly loss of mobility, we may need to be more creative in our selection process. The big chains now control the largest portion of assisted living beds, but there are many intermediate and small privately owned facilities. Here in California, six-bed Residential Care For the Elderly (RCFE) properties are everywhere. They are less strictly regulated and can offer personally tailored types of care sometimes at significantly less cost. I was unable to find one that could meet my needs, but not many people are as mobility-challenged as I am. If you are facing the prospect of needing more care then you can receive at home, don’t be discouraged. During these past four years the good moments have far outweighed the bad and I’m looking forward to more.

Mike Shirk

Feb 252016
 
On the left, the way we were in 1996. On the right, with some of my grandchildren and great grandchildren, late last year.

On the left, the way we were in 1996. On the right, with some of my grandchildren and great grandchildren, late last year.

Normally, my “Chronicles of Disability” consists of annual reports on the changes in my health over the previous 12 months. I forgot to post a report for the year 2014, but perhaps it’s just as well because there were very few changes – – just more weakness in general. So now we come to this major milestone. It has been 20 years since I was diagnosed with inclusion body myositis (IBM). This rare muscle wasting disease is described as “slowly progressing”. That may be true one month to the next or even one year to the next. But when the person I was in 1996 is compared to who I am today, the contrast is jaw-dropping.

Twenty years ago I didn’t think there was much wrong with me. Yes I was slowing down in my running, and my golf shots seemed to be getting shorter, and I did fall once in a while, so what? I was 55 years old, just normal aging? I could still hike mountain trails, jog (slowly), show up for work every morning, work around the house, go to parties with my wife, take long driving vacations. Life was very good.

Now, I very nearly meet the criteria of a quadriplegic. I can’t move either of my legs or my left arm. I can only raise my right arm a few inches above my waist. I cannot stand, walk, or transfer without the aid of an overhead lift system and a caregiver. This will probably be the last year that I am able to continue feeding myself, unless the new drug (BYM338) gets released and actually works. My fingers don’t bend and my speech is getting quite weak. This is making my writing avocation more challenging and I may need to give it up within a year or so. Unrelated to my disease, but definitely affecting my life, my wife died of her own rare muscle illness in 2012.

My current home features the ultimate "open floor plan". My wheelchair loves it.

My current home features the ultimate “open floor plan”. My wheelchair loves it.

At the time of my initial diagnosis, we were living in a two-story four-bedroom home overlooking the mountains of southern California and a little slice of the Pacific Ocean. Today I am living in 250 square feet in an assisted living facility. The room is comfortable, the view isn’t bad (mostly of an ancient olive grove), the caregivers are friendly and helpful, and the food is very good. My days are spent doing what writing I can, either for Huntington Manor or for my Life Disabled blog, but that work is getting more difficult every day. So instead I am catching up on a lot of movies and television and doing a little reading. I also like to take my wheelchair out on long jaunts through the countryside and down to the local business district of Poway. Huntington Manor is launching a major renovation of the facility and I have been promised one of the beautiful new rooms that will overlook the garden and the hills beyond. That is enough to keep me motivated to stick around until the project is finished in 2017.

When I first started this blog, and when I wrote “Rolling Back: Through a Life Disabled” I suggested that the newly diagnosed read about my experiences to be properly prepared for what lies ahead. Now with a new treatment on the horizon, it is quite likely they may never have to experience this severe of a decline.

I have reposted many of the pictures and captions from the past 20 years. I think they tell an interesting story about the effects IBM has had on one person’s life. As you’ll see, I have remained generally happy and hopeful throughout that time, but I must admit that my general mood has been declining. Recently, I saw a neurologist who lowered my expectations for the new drug by pointing out that it would not be of any use for the muscles that were already dead and that, in my case, most of the muscles are completely destroyed. The most I can hope for is maintaining the minimal capabilities I have now.

By the way, one of the special pleasures I get these days is when someone purchases my book. It’s available on Amazon — just click on the link on this page — seven dollars for paperback and three dollars for the Kindle edition, or free if you are using Kindle Unlimited.

Nov 192015
 

My new/old home is calling me back.

My new/old home is calling me back.

My former assisted-living facility has been tugging at my emotions for some time. Then my current facility gave me a swift kick in the wallet. So I am moving back to Huntington Manor in Poway, the place that originally welcomed my wife and me with all of our disabilities, where I was living when she died and just a mile from where her ashes are buried. Compared to my current facility, it is one fourth the size, 30 miles further inland, and more country then luxury. But it is also much closer to my eldest daughter and many of my friends, more flexible in the kind and amount of care provided and surrounded by the mountains and trails I have enjoyed for so much of my life. So when I received the letter from Sunrise telling me my rates were being raised by nearly 10%, the message was clear: “Go!”

I can’t have my old room back with its gorgeous view, but they are doing all they can to make me comfortable in a different arrangement. I will be occupying two rooms that were recently constructed as part of an overall improvement project. (You can see them in the background of the photograph.) In a few weeks, once I am settled, I will share some of the insights I have gained into the big business side of assisted living. One little preview – – instead of a family–owned chain of facilities, I have actually been living in a real estate investment trust, VENTAS, comprising many hundreds of properties, each being run by property management firms, with the primary emphasis on returns to investors. Exactly what that means to the residents, and the hard-working caregivers who serve them, will be the subject of my next blog post.

Feb 132014
 

The paperback version of Rolling Back: Through a Life Disabled

The paperback version of Rolling Back: Through a Life Disabled

Rolling Back has been published in paperback and is available on Amazon for $6.99 ($6.64 for Amazon Prime members). There is also the Kindle version that costs $2.99. I have provided links to each of them below.

Writing and publishing Rolling Back as been a personally rewarding experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Several people have urged me to write another, and I will probably try. However I think I’m ready for a change of pace and may attempt a fiction novel next. I’d be interested to hear your thoughts.

Paperback:

Kindle:

Dec 192013
 

What if you liked to drive fast? And what if you couldn’t drive at all? What if the most exciting part of any trip was when you tried to negotiate your power chair onto the EZ-LOK system on the floor of your van?

Well, that’s basically my situation. But I do have a few advantages. I have a power wheelchair. It doesn’t go really fast, but I usually can catch up to most of the pedestrians on the sidewalk. More importantly, I have a GoPro camera that I can strap to my head or mount on the chair. And I have A brand-new iMac with Logic Pro X for manipulating sound and creating music plus Final Cut Pro X for editing video. Put it altogether, and what might be the result?

You are about to find out, provided you click on the video link below. It only lasts a minute and half, but it might give you a whole new idea of what life in an assisted living community could be like.

I call it Huntington Raceway Lap. You will see why.

Enjoy.

Nov 182013
 
Read more about my drinking problem below.

Read more about my drinking problem below.

It is time for my annual update of “Chronicles of Disability.” However rather than simply cover the changes that have happened this year, I have decided to add some new content. This is partially due to my work on a new book I am writing which will tell the story of the journey (or should I say forced march) that my wife and I traveled through the jungles of disability. My own struggle with inclusion body myositis began in 1985, 11 years before I was formally diagnosed, and it continues to this day.

Part of the new content is a gallery of photographs, some new, some from earlier posts on this blog. My goal is to eventually put the entire visual record of my attempts to adapt to inclusion body myositis in one place, organized in chronological order.

This past year has been very difficult. It began with grieving for my wife who lost her battle with myotonic muscular dystrophy October 11, 2012. That grieving process will probably never end although it does change and has become less intrusive on my daily life. During that time I have also experienced the worst decline of physical function of any previous year. Most of that physical loss has been focused on my shoulders, arms and hands. I can no longer hold a Beefeater on the rocks, a Johnny Walker Black with a twist of lemon, a Cadillac Margarita, or even a glass of Petite Syrah. I also can’t hold a glass of water, but that seems to be a minor inconvenience by comparison. Dressing myself is now completely out of the question as is holding a camera or picking anything up from the table, bed or floor. Eating has been reduced to a process resembling a scene from a Monty Python movie. Getting anything from a plate to my mouth involves a slinging motion that frequently sends food flying in unexpected directions.


Now before this pity party gets out of control, I should point out that I continue to find ways to adapt. For example, there is a terrific acrylic beverage cup on Amazon that I use for coffee, whiskey, and wine. It is lightweight, has a handle that fits my hand perfectly and is relatively inexpensive. I can sling it through the air, provided it is only half-full, and generally get it pretty close to my mouth. (There is a slightly larger mug that I use for water.) As to the photography, that problem was solved when I purchased my GoPro and installed the iPhone app to control it. (See an earlier post.) Eating remains an unresolved challenge although I would rather put up with a messy aftermath then resort to being fed. I can only imagine how the pressure to eat quickly and my swallowing problem would combine, with serious consequences no doubt.


Voice recognition continues to get better with each iteration. Now my new iMac with its Mavericks operating system has built-in voice recognition that is almost as good as Dragon Dictate but has the advantage of being launched immediately by simply pushing the function key twice. I still use Dragon Dictate for the longer projects such as this post.

Jun 282013
 

Dear bidet, you have no idea how much I have missed you for the past 24 hours.

After struggling with inclusion body myositis for more than 17 years, it was a bout of constipation that finally sent me to the hospital. After 17 days, I owed too large a debt to my toilet to ignore the problem any longer.

I checked into Scripps Green Hospital late in the afternoon. I was in my Permobil C500 power chair, but I was forced to abandon that for a gurney. The hospital staff seemed shocked when I told them that I could not stand up and transfer, they would have to find a way to lift me. A Hoyer lift I suggested. They shook their heads. “We will get a lift team,” one orderly said.

Silly me, I expected to see a few rejects from the San Diego Chargers show up. Instead, it appeared that their lift team consisted of anyone who was not on break at the moment. I tried to explain that I had contractures on my left arm and left leg and that I would be no help whatsoever, not because I did not want to, but because I could not. Nevertheless, they each grabbed a limb and said “one, two, three!” and lifted. I have a fairly high tolerance for pain, and even when something really hurts I try not to make too much of it. I literally screamed out loud at the top of my lungs. But on a positive note, they didn’t drop me to the floor. This process was repeated when they transferred me to the x-ray table, then transferred me back, then to my final destination––a bed in room 466.

At last! Oh how wrong I was. You see in order to cure my bout of extreme irregularity they were going to administer “GoLghtly” which is mostly used to prepare for a colonoscopy. It makes you Go, but certainly not Lightly. In my case it was a way to force the issue. After drinking a couple of quarts of the stuff, I was ready for the next phase at about 3 am. A nurse’s aide came in response to my call button (eventually) and I explained what was about to happen. She extended her arm and wondered if I needed help to the toilet. Obviously the second shift had not been told about my condition. When I told her that I could not walk, stand, or even roll from side to side, she left quickly in search of help. Help consisted of two more aides and a bedpan.

Their technique was simple, but brutal. They would shove me to one side of the bed, rolling me in the process, then put a very uncomfortable plastic thing beneath and roll me back the other way so that I was perched on top of it. Now my pain was complete. In order to shut me up, they brought in several more pillows and placed them in areas that bothered me the most. Of course the entire process had to be repeated to remove the pan. And both processes were repeated five more times during the night.

By morning, I was declared “fixed” and a nurse asked if I would like to have breakfast. You would not think I could have an appetite after all that, but since I had not eaten for nearly 24 hours, I let them bring it to me. I don’t need to tell you what hospital food is, but fortunately it was not possible for me to eat any of it. My dysphagia means I must be sitting upright but the hospital bed wouldn’t take me to that position.

“Can’t you just sit on the edge of the bed with your legs dangling over the side?” the nurse asked. Once again I had to explain about having no upper trunk support. So they put the breakfast on the over-bed table and shoved it up close to my face. Of course I could not raise my arms high enough to even pick up a fork, let alone get something to my mouth. When the nurse returned and saw that I had not eaten anything, she offered to feed me a few bites. A few bites was all it took to send me into violent coughing spasms whereupon she promptly decided I needed a consult with a respiratory therapist and a speech therapist. For that matter, why not also have occupational therapy and physical therapy? (I was on Medicare with a good supplement after all.)

So, for the three hours before lunch, I was visited by all of them plus a case manager, charge nurse, resident doctor, dietitian and nutritionist. Then came lunch and once again they tried to feed me, and once again it was nearly impossible. By then they were ready to fill out my discharge papers and send me home. But there was one last minor detail. They had to get me out of the bed and onto my wheelchair. This time they did get a Hoyer lift, but none of them had used one before, so it was a part scary/comical procedure that lasted for the better part of half an hour and ended with me kind of in my wheelchair.

Now I am back at Huntington Manor, sitting in my very comfortable Permobil, secure in the knowledge that soon my two caregivers will use the overhead ceiling lift to painlessly lift me from the chair and place me in my bed.

I had asked one of the nurses why the hospital was not better equipped to handle people like me. Her answer was that they had all kinds of patients, not just people like me. Of course that is true, however local grocery stores also have all kinds of people shopping there, but that does not prevent them from having wide unobstructed isles, handicap parking out front, and automatic doors. Time and again I read of people complaining about the inaccessibility of healthcare facilities, yet nothing is ever done about it. if I were a little bit younger I might take this up as a cause. It is not that I am too old for the work, it is just that I know I would never see any progress during my lifetime.

Aug 042012
 

Note: At the time this series of articles was written, my wife Beth was still with us. She died October 11, 2012.

There is downsizing, and then there is moving to assisted living. Downsizing presents difficult choices of what to keep and what to take with you. Moving to assisted living presents impossible choices.

One way we managed to deal with it was to simply not make many of the decisions. Instead we had our daughters go through our stuff and make a lot of the choices for us, without us being present. Did we agree with every choice? Of course not. But it at least it let us whittle things down to a manageable size.

Another way to approach it is to choose between what you really need and what you think you simply can’t live without. In my case, since I knew I was going to continue to do work in the website design and graphics arts field, I definitely had to take all of my computer gear and cameras. Plus my manuals on software and programming. Beth wanted all of her art supplies, of course.

How do you downsize this?

How do you downsize this?

Clothing was also easier for me, since I really can’t wear standard clothes anymore. I just needed to bring along half a dozen of my specially constructed pants, and a dozen or so shirts. Plus some jackets.

Beth wanted to bring enough to fill several closets so we compromised by storing winter clothes off site and bringing all of her summer clothes. Then we will have to make the switch in the fall and hope we guess right on the weather. I also gave her half of my closet for coats.

Then there are the keepsakes. How could we possibly get rid of any of the vases that people had given us over the years? Well we had to, and every few days we will remember one that would’ve been just perfect for a particular location or occasion. The other really big issue was Christmas decorations. We have been allowed to store some here underneath the facility in their basement, but that still begs the question of what we will do with them come holidays. Perhaps we will be able to use some in a common area here at Huntington Manor.

It’s my belief that the key to this whole process is to try your best to live in the present. Every time we start thinking about things we left behind it becomes difficult. But in truth, nothing we left behind is needed for our daily lives. And the real memories aren’t stored in vases or garment bags. They are in the mind.

Which reminds me to return to working on my first book, “The Society of the Creek.” It is a book about childhood, written for an adult audience. I plan to post some excerpts here.

Index for this series of articles about assisted living.

Introductory article plus updates.

Is it time for assisted living?

Making the decision to move to assisted living, emotionally, practically and financially.

How we chose the facility we did.

Deciding what to take, what to leave, how to adjust our expectations.

What life in assisted living has been like.

How can we make assisted living better for the physically disabled?

Jul 132012
 

Note: At the time this series of articles was written, my wife Beth was still with us. She died October 11, 2012.

Beth and Mike in the Huntington Manor courtyard.

Beth and Mike adjusting to life at Huntington Manor.

I may have over promised when I said the next article would be about adjusting to life in assisted-living. I have always embraced change, and therefore I thought this would just be one more change to assimilate.

I didn’t realize this would be a different kind of change. Most of life is marked with milestones of achievement – moving away from home, graduations, first love, first home, marriage, children, a bigger home, promotions, recognitions, vacations, retirement.

Even the downsizing that goes along with later stages of life can be viewed positively as you are shedding excess baggage, allowing you to have more time for travel and fun.

But this is different. If most of life is like climbing a winding mountain road in a sports car eagerly waiting to see what’s around each turn, what we are going through now is like stalling and coasting back down the mountain in reverse, with the certain knowledge you will never make it back home.

However, blaming assisted living for our sense of loss is like blaming your garage for no longer holding a car. Physical and personal circumstances have altered the trajectory of our lives. Well-meaning family and friends try their best to make us feel like we are still part of their circle, but the truth is we are not. We are part of a completely different life, one that is necessarily highly regulated and predictable.

Mike, Drew, Linda, Howard, Jennifer and Beth at Huntington Manor

Family members joined us at the Huntington Manor Summer Picnic.


So how does one adjust? I believe there are some key steps:

1. Accept the change. Dwelling on what used to be your life is a sure path to depression. In an earlier post I said I needed to rewrite my life’s script when I learned I had an untreatable, progressively disabling disease. Perhaps now it is time to tear up the script altogether and improvise!

2. Celebrate the advantages. While assisted living may limit your options, it also can improve many aspects of your life, especially if you have been struggling with the activities of daily living. Being helped out of bed, bathed, dressed and fed a nutritious breakfast is a wonderful gift. So is having help available at the push of a button. Cheerful caregivers bring us water and snacks, make sure we get our medicine, drive us to doctors, serve us lunch and dinner on our patio and help us to bed when we are ready.

3. Find purpose. In my case, I’ve taken on the job of building an internet presence for Huntington Manor by updating their website, adding two blogs, one on facility news and one on cooking for the frail elderly, and a Facebook page. I am also dusting off my old php/sql skills to build a database to be used for administration and marketing. I have also given myself the longer term objective of writing one or more books.

Index for this series of articles about assisted living.

Introductory article plus updates.

Is it time for assisted living?

Making the decision to move to assisted living, emotionally, practically and financially.

How we chose the facility we did.

Deciding what to take, what to leave, how to adjust our expectations.

What life in assisted living has been like.

How can we make assisted living better for the physically disabled?

Jun 112012
 

Note: At the time this series of articles was written, my wife Beth was still with us. She died October 11, 2012.

Ceiling Lift installed in my room at Huntington Manor

The owner of Huntington Manor was willing to have my ceiling lift installed.

Once we decided we needed assisted living, there was another choice to make — which facility. We knew the change was going to be huge, whichever facility we chose. so we tried to find as many ways as possible to keep our life intact. This included finding a place not too far away so the overall community would still be familiar to us, and one that would allow us to bring enough personal items to continue our lifestyle as best we could. For example, we both use power wheelchairs and wanted to continue to do so as they give us the independence to travel several miles into the surrounding area. We are both artists and wanted to be able to bring our art supplies and our table. Of course we wanted to remain together for as long as possible.

We did a CANHR (California Advocates for Nursing Home Reform) search and it yielded nearly 700 facilities just for San Diego County. Most are converted single-family homes where they are able to keep six residents, two to a bedroom. Small facilities such as this do not have as restrictive licensing requirements as larger ones and they may be less expensive. For many people this might be a good alternative, however for us they were not appropriate.

Huntington Manor Dining Room

Every few days, before signing a contract, I would roll into the Huntington Manor dining room unannounced.

We needed wide hallways and doorways and adjoining separate rooms to accommodate our large wheelchairs — a physical layout rarely found in a single-family home. Since I cannot help with transfers, I needed a team of caregivers or an overhead lift system. I was also concerned whether a small facility would have the level of care we needed for Beth’s complex medication management and my challenging physical state due to inclusion body myositis.

There are several large assisted living facilities in the county, but they have fire code restrictions that prevent them from accepting non ambulatory residents. Most have associated skilled nursing facilities which is where they suggested I stay, but that would totally restrict my freedom and be very expensive. Also, because our needs were different, the large facilities planned to put my wife and I into two separate buildings.

After eliminating hundreds of facilities, we came upon Huntington Manor, just five miles east, in Poway, California. At 27 residents it was neither large nor small, which for our needs was just right.  It came with good online recommendations and had beautiful surroundings. What really caught my eye was their statement that they accepted nonambulatory patients. Huntington Manor specializes in caring for the frail elderly and has done all of the necessary legal groundwork to be able to accept up to 21 residents who are unable to bear weight. Also, for the first time, I found a facility owner who was willing, even eager, to let me install an overhead lift system in my room.

I stopped by several times, unannounced, to observe the staff and sample the food (friendly, delicious).

A plate of BBQ chicken, carrots and peas

With plates like this, Huntington Manor passed the taste test.

One drawback, which the owner made sure we understood, was the age of the other residents. Most are in their nineties, so we may need to look outside the facility for social interactions.

Price was an issue of course and although Huntington Manor was less expensive than some of the very large facilities, it is still more than we can afford indefinitely. Eventually we will need to sell our home and after that within a few years we’ll need to find some other living arrangement.

In the meantime I am looking for additional sources of income. (Any potential sponsors for this blog site, please take note.)

Index for this series of articles about assisted living.

Introductory article plus updates.

Is it time for assisted living?

Making the decision to move to assisted living, emotionally, practically and financially.

How we chose the facility we did.

Deciding what to take, what to leave, how to adjust our expectations.

What life in assisted living has been like.

How can we make assisted living better for the physically disabled?