A wife's Journey to Beehive Homes

          We were enthusiastically planning for Victor’s retirement a few short months away and were moving from California to Arizona so he could play golf to his heart’s content while I would continue my work in assisted living as well as spend more time with my parents who were snowbirds from
Wisconsin. The call that changed our lives forever came January 4th, 2004. Victor was on the golf course and experienced debilitating symptoms. By the time he called me and 911, he could no longer
walk. We were to learn it was an ischemic stroke and that he would in all probability never golf again.I didn’t believe a word of it. He continued rehab immediately and we expected he’d be walking again and possibly be able to golf. As the months and years passed, as we moved four times, tried everything traditional and experimental including hyperbaric oxygen treatments, one of the many out of pocket expenses we incurred always hoping for the best. At each new study on stroke research, our hope rallied and we clung to every shred. Eleven years passed and I remained his sole caregiver our routine now firmly in place. We put our trust in one another. I became his care manager, scheduling his doctor appointments, keeping track of his extensive medications, taking him to more rehab appointments, physical therapy, occupational therapy, acupuncture, chiropractors, psychiatrists, in and out of ER, hospitalisations, pneumonia, heart stent and pacemaker. These 11 years brought us closer and we became a formidable team. In the 12th year after his initial stroke, Victor had a severe change in his health precipitated by a fall. I was told he would probably die within a few months. Again, I didn’t believe a word of it. I was given palliative care information and instructed to discharge him to a nursing home for more therapy to see if he could regain any of his strength. In the midst of my grief, I toured several recommended skilled nursing facilities and selected one with strict instructions that he was a fall risk and seriously ill. The first night there, he fell out of bed, the nursing home failed to put in place the safety measures required for a fall risk. It happened one more time. Within two weeks of substandard care bordering on negligence, I pulled him out. Grief engulfed me, my decisions and my ability to process clearly. My brother and wife flew in from Wisconsin to help me select an assisted living facility that was staffed to care for Victor. We toured several places and agreed on the small home whose owner promised gourmet meals, outings to the local park and a family environment.

Within days, it was clear to me we’d been lied to. The owner suggested hospice for Victor. Through a veil of tears, I signed Victor up for hospice believing he would be dead soon. I complained to the owner, to the hospice social worker, and nurse, and to some of the caregivers there that Victor was not receiving the kind of care promised. It fell on deaf ears.When a home health care nurse visited one day she took one look at Victor and asked to see his medications. "Get him out of here, now!" She then explained that they were sedating him to keep him more manageable. Once again I enlisted a friend to help me tour assisted living options. Having been told Victor had dementia, I shifted my focus onto secured facilities and found two. I deposited on one of them but they had no availability in the room I wanted for Victor, so I chose another. Both told me they were trained specifically in Alzheimer's and their caregivers also had specialised training. I was told I couldn’t get the deposit back why? I asked. They didn’t have a room for Victor and they had done nothing administratively to warrant keeping the check. The marketing person said she’d talk to her boss. They refunded half of it. I was too exhausted to fight it. Imagine that you are told your husband will likely die within a few months. You are bombarded with decisions that directly and immediately affect his well-being. Then imagine the medical community lets you down bordering negligence with a patient who is already fragile. Now picture trusting the owner of an assisted living who tells you his business is top notch, that his family is well known in New Mexico and that his whole family is involved in providing quality care for residents. Then, you discover you’ve just been sold a bucket of lies. So I chose another assisted living this one secured. Yes, I believed what they told me they are family owned, their caregivers are specially trained in Alzheimer's, I am family, Victor will be treated like family. Another deposit. I move Victor in. After a series of TIA’s, Victor started to improve. I am there daily. I start seeing things that bother me. I stock cleaning supplies in his room so I can clean the bathroom. When I ask the caregivers to clean, they tell me it’s not their job. (house cleaning comes twice a week, I am reminded). Regardless of the condition of the toilet or floor, the caregivers do not lift a finger. My new friend is Swiffer! I start complaining. I take pictures of dead bugs that are never vacuumed. By the time I took Victor out of this place, he was screaming at night to get someone to help him or just to let him know he was not alone. They told me he was too difficult for them to work with and that they reported him to the department of health. I was told I was to mind my own business and not to talk to staff unless it directly applied to Victor’s care. Their management style, for good or bad, was not my concern. I called in an ombudsman and had one last meeting with the care plan team. Again, I enlisted a dear friend to be there for me.

At each meeting, I came prepared with a list of concerns and cried through each and every one of them. I felt abandoned, emotionally abused and doubted my ability fo find the kind of compassionate care for Victor that I had provided. My friends told me I was asking too much. Onward and upward, right? I continued asking nurses, social workers, doctors and anyone I met whose opinions I valued about assisted living. Could they help guide me to a better place? BeeHive Homes kept coming up in our conversations. I decided to pop in on a weekend to see what the staff was doing when management wasn’t there. I met Amber-friendly, relaxed, calming Amber. She impressed me. There was no sales pitch here. Just a compassionate caregiver who obviously loved her job. I went back one more time on a surprise visit and had the same warm homey feeling that I did the first time. I scheduled an official tour with Amanda, and saw the room for Victor! At the end of the hallway, private bathroom (he shared the bathroom at the last place), spectacular views of the mountains and open space, and it just felt right. Amanda said they would treat us just like family. Been there, done that, I thought. But as I looked around this home for that is what BeeHive Homes are-I saw family members visiting, laughter, and some staying for dinner. I asked how much they would charge if I ate there, Amanda gave a giggle and said, "You’re family, we don’t charge family!" Then as curiosity would have it, I asked, how many times can I eat here before you start charging me? With a quick response, I was told, "As many times as you want," Amanda smiled, as we continued the tour, I felt something melting in my heart. Maybe, just maybe, these folks were for real!

I told my brother I was moving Victor to BeeHive Homes and he said to wait till his honeymoon was over. A month passed. The cook brought Victor’s meals to his room where he preferred to eat. The caregivers laughed and talked with us. They expressed an interest in us both. Victor’s room and the bathroom are clean daily. The manager pitched in with the caregivers as needed and was a personal presence. If Victor wanted a snack, it was delivered with a smile. I stock his favourite snacks and drinks in the pantry and all he has to do is ask. I felt compassion. I was brought into the loving embrace of everyone at BeeHive Homes and began to relax in their love. After about two months, I called the owner and shared my negative experiences at other assisted living and skilled nursing facilities. Then I praised his manager, cook, and caregiving team for making Victor feel special. "You’re spoiling him," I said, "and that’s just what I want you to do." It’s what I’ve done for 11 years. Whatever you do, I said, don’t change your business model. It is one of compassionate care it is demonstrated in everything you do. Today Victor is doing better than expected. His only complaint was that he wanted more channels and a DVR on his TV. Presto! The owner made it happen.
I truly believe BeeHive Homes with the assistance of hospice, saved my husband’s life.

I’m a BeeHIve Homes BEE-liever!

Charlene Walker