If you are a homeowner, nursing home administrators would love to have you as a client. If you own property, you are required to hand over your home to the institution as an alternative to paying them huge out-of-pocket sums for your care. Once the administrators feel your equity has been used up, then they agree to accept Medicare/Medicaid payments for your continued care. Sounds fair, huh? Well, not so fast. Nursing homes serve food high in fat and sodium, and its usually bargain-basement stuff, even if you converse with a dietician - you are still getting what everybody else gets. As to the quality of nursing homes - they vary widely with the institution down to the individual staff members. And some of the places are really baad!

While convalescing, I've experienced two - Aristocrat Berea and Falling Waters in Strongsville, Ohio - all in all, if I had to go back in one, I'd want to be in Falling Waters or any place that didn't have the name "Aristocrat" in it! The Aristocrat in Berea almost killed me a couple times over!

The Berea Aristocrat was initially the old Berea Hospital. And I thought the brick building was generally a sound structure. Well, to a degree it was. However, the bathrooms were freezing and even the rooms could get cold - and thermostats for your room were sometimes in someone else's room - meaning if someone liked it hotter, you sweated, if someone liked it colder, you froze. The food was unbelievably bad - consisting sometimes of a plain hot dog and flavored gelatin - they spared no expense in feeding you poorly. High fat, high sodium...the stuff was chosen to kill you! Keep in mind, the faster you go, the quicker they can latch on to someone else's wallet. Personnel varies by the person. At Berea Aristocrat, I met some good people - too few- and a lot of individuals who were bad to downright dangerous. These places don't pay well, so they will practically take anybody! This was especially true of the Berea Aristocrat. Now understand, there were some good people there, then there were others who seemed to have more mental problems then those in their Alzheimer unit.

But lets start with what got me there in the first place...

It was Thanksgiving that I tried cooking a turkey that had been donated to my church, First Church of Berea UCC, who in turn, gave the bird to me. I thawed out the bird - or at least I thought I had. Usually I would microwave a Turkey, but I decided to try the oven this time. A few hours later, the red temperature indicator popped out and I brought the bird out. It was a heavy mother and I discovered there was still brine in the bird, so I poured that out. The meat looked done and I cut off a slice to taste it and it was salty, but okay. After a few bites into it, I realized the turkey still had too much brine and really not good to consume, so I wrapped it well and took it to the dumpster in the back parking lot - if any rats got into it, they had quite a feast! I should mention I usually buy the pre-cooked birds, but couldn't afford one at this point.

The next day, my legs started forming blisters between my ankles and my knees. But my medical insurance would not kick in until the beginning of the new year, and I felt I could handle it on my own. So I bought some medications I hoped would handle the problem. The blisters were now see-through except for a tinted darkening on the top. Again, continued with some drying ointments hoping it would handle the problem. A week later, they broke, and they drained, and drained and drained! It got to a point where I could wet a pair of socks within an hour. It got to the point where I discovered through the use of a mirror, that I was actually dripping - it was bad, and I realized it was serious!

I called and made an appointment at a Cleveland Clinic satellite location and scheduled to see the doctor. It would be in two weeks from my call. The legs itched so bad from being soaked, that I was putting lotion on, but it had no lasting effect. I would wake up finding my legs would actually soak the sheets! Finally, I had to sleep in a chair a friend had given me. I just couldn't sleep in the bed anymore - the legs touching anything was irritating. Still, I made it to work day after day. Its a wonder how bad my legs were soaked that I didn't catch pneumonia on the really frozen days.

However, draining legs wouldn't be my only problem. In cold temperatures, I started having trouble breathing. My lungs acted as if they were stiffened by the cold no matter how warmly I dressed. I got to the point of wearing a painter's face mask to keep some of the warmth in, but it had little effect except for steaming up my glasses. Even with temperatures in the 40's, I'd start experiencing problems.

Perhaps the worst night of my life that concerned breathing came after work near midnight. Temperatures were in the mid-20's even before chill factors were included. I was fine in the car with the heater, but the moment I got out, I knew I was in deep trouble. My lungs started shutting down, unable to move them. It just seemed they wouldn't function. I had groceries in the car, but there was no way I planned to take them in. I was simply too weak, unable to really breathe. I had been forced to enter at the back door, all the handicapped parking spaces were full. It got so bad, I was unable to even open the door. As I struggled to hang-on, a couple carrying a cpu box approached. All I could hoarsely say was "Open The Door!" The couple did, and with as much strength as I could, I went by the rear elevators - by then I was having a death rattle which scared the people who held open the door - I describe as "my pipes banging." I got upstairs, grabbed a hospital urinal and took a fast piss, I couldn't hold it back much longer. Then I grabbed a can of Campbells Condensed Tomato Soup, added a little water, shot it in the microwave, and when I got it out, drank it to warm up my frozen chest. I started slowly coming back.

I learned quickly to carry a small plastic cylinder with me after one incident, where I just made it to the kitchen, and my bladder no longer held - I pissed all over myself. I cleaned it up, swearing that would never happen again. The little container came in handy a few evenings later. I just got inside the apartment inner entrance and I couldn't hold it any longer - I put my backpack on a brick planter and placed my back to towards the door, I made sure I was as close as possible to the bricks, opened my fly, stuck my penis in the container, and let it rip! I was hoping at that late hour no one would see me. Pretty much quiet, except a woman walked along the hall by the open railing above - I'm sure I was a strange sight, but it had to be.

An hour before work, I knew I reached the end of my rope, and it came down to a decision to go to work, or force the doctor to examine my legs. I called up work telling them I had to see a doctor and wouldn't be in. Next, a nice older woman who lived in the same apartment building who had shoveled snow off my car, came down and brought it to me. I climbed in while she put the wheelchair in the back seat and I headed to the Cleveland Clinic Medical Arts Building on Royalton Road.

It had been snowing and it was now dusk when I pulled into the lot. I struggled to get my wheelchair out when a nice man stopped by and gave me a hand, pushing me to the building - thankfully there were still receptionists at the front desk. I explained I had an appointment that was a few days away, but I was in bad enough shape and I couldn't wait. The receptionist called the doctor on the phone and I was ushered into an exam room. The doctor looked at my legs saying, "You are not going home tonight", advising me to get to the emergency room at Southwest General Hospital in Middleburg Heights. Thankfully the guard helped me get to the car and loaded my wheelchair in the back.

Before getting to the emergency room, I went to the McDonalds drive-thru Pearl at Bagley and had a Quarter-Pounder hamburger and strawberry shake - I had not had lunch, and it was past dinner. Outside it was 20 degrees and 10 degrees below zero with wind-chill factored-in.

When I arrived, I pulled into the closest non-handicapped spot I could, I really was not expecting I'd be leaving that night. Even with winter gloves on, my hands froze quickly. I made it to the ramp and thankfully a nice lady pushed me into emergency. Once there, I spent a few minutes with admitting and excused myself to go to the bathroom.

I found myself on a gurney shortly afterward in a hospital gown in a hallway waiting area. They pushed me into a room and a doctor checked me over, saying the same as the first doctor that I wouldn't be going home that evening. He was right, for over a year - I would find myself between hospitals and nursing homes.

A few doctors looked at me after I'd been given a room. Later, a wound specialist would make her visit - a big-assed BIG BERTHA type woman as fat as she was tall and a mean disposition as big as she. Her bedside manner was truly the pits - she scared the shit out of me...I still shiver when I think about her! She looked at my legs and made recommendations for putting yellow anti-bacterial wraps on them, gauzed over and an outer layer of ace bandages held together with steel clasps. I was happy when she left...however, I would end up in her company several times in the coming months.

Next day, I made a lot of phone calls letting family and friends knowing where I was. Angela and Shirley's mother, Paulette, my brother Mark and his wife Mary, my cousin Sheila, Doug. Next I called work and told them I would be out for a little while...in the end, I never went back.

I was facing my time at Southwest General Hospital pretty much alone. I'd use the telephone as an interface between me and others. When I wasn't being poked, probed or x-rayed, I spent most of my time watching tv with my headphones (remember my hearing sucks) on. Otherwise I'd have magazines when I could get them.

One of the things I hated most was getting weighed. My back wasn't the greatest in the world to begin with and in my weakened state it was hard to move around. The nurse would roll in a lift with a large long double-bar device, unwrap one side, telling me to roll over the hard cylinder wrapped in canvas. Next she would crank-up the device and get angry with me if I grabbed on the bars to steady myself. Once weighed, she'd crank me back down on the bed. I would be there for two weeks and found myself shipped to Berea Aristocrat Nursing Home.

The Berea Aristocrat was not my first choice because it had a questionable reputation under the Coury-brothers ownership. However, the other choices were further away and didn't sound any better. All the paperwork was finished before I arrived on a stretcher. I would be given my own room which was designed for two people if push came to shove - the hospital must have told them I snored!-) I was told I would not be allowed out of the bed for a few weeks as per doctor's orders.

While the main floor halls looked nice, the rooms were a different situation. They were a dark green and mine had a small window behind me where I was unable to look out onto the outside world. My light, day or night was provided by a wall-hung long tube florescent. The walls were a drab green making the place all the more depressing.

The nursing-home doctor came in and told me in broken English, I was on a fluid-restricted diet. The dietician stopped by to get my preferences - low salt and low fat - however in the end, I got what everybody else had - and it contained a lot of salt high in fat! I couldn't win!

As to a review of Berea Aristocrat...

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ARISTOCRAT BEREA NURSING HOME Click For Quality Trends & Staffing	DATE: ANNUAL SURVEYS	10/31/02	01/08/04	03/03/05
BEREA (COUNTY: Cuyahoga)	RATING
TOTAL CONFIRMED VIOLATIONS BY SURVEY DATE	.	14	12	11
STATE AVERAGE VIOLATIONS BY SURVEY DATE	.	6	5	5
REPEAT VIOLATIONS: Develop a complete care plan that meets all of a resident's needs, with timetables and actions that can be measured. Give each resident care and services to get or keep the highest quality of life possible. Give proper treatment to residents with feeding tubes to prevent problems (such as aspiration pneumonia, diarrhea, vomiting, dehydration, metabolic abnormalities, nasal-pharyngeal ulcers) and help restore eating ski lls, if possible. Keep accurate and appropriate medical records. Keep each resident's personal and medical records private and confidential. Keep the rate of medication errors (wrong drug, wrong dose, wrong time) to less than 5%. Make sure each resident is being watched and has assistance devices when needed, to prevent accidents.

The above unbiased survey was conducted by "Member Of The Family" nursing home survey...

My experience;

First and foremost as I've discovered, The Berea Aristocrat was not too informative as to what was covered and what was not under my insurances...I had no idea of the bills I was racking up. I tried many times to get them to understand if I'm not covered, I can't afford it - find out before they do any procedures...it all fell on deaf ears.

As to my needs, well, each individual was different. Some were very good aides and nurses, too many sucked wind! Give an example. The wrapings were to be performed once or twice daily. I had some very good nurses who were great - and others whom I would experience initially, I wouldn't want them within a hundred yards of me thereafter.

Medications? Sometimes I'd be slipped the wrong ones - and in some cases could have been a deadly result! One nurse gave me some meds that made me itch badly. About a half hour later, she walked-in, took a look at me and turned white as a sheet. She told me to keep my mouth shut, quickly rolled me to the nursing station and gave me an antidote - she wouldn't let me leave until whatever happened subsided - I didn't have a mirror to see what she saw.

As to assistive devices, well that consisted of me and my wheelchair, otherwise I was on my own. Sometimes my bedside urinal was to the point of overflowing, and I still couldn't get anyone to empty it!

The bathrooms were freezing cold and the heaters in those rooms were non-existent! Part of the reason I was getting sicker by the day! In all three rooms I occupied, I was forced to wear my winter jacket when I was on the can during the colder months! It brrrrr-sucked!

There were some good people in all departments, however, they were overshadowed by the bad. Berea Aristocrat pays its workers shit, hence they don't get the cream of the crop - not even the leftovers, they get a lot of people off the street! Untrained! Okay, I've knocked many of them - but even in a place like Berea Aristocrat, they do have some good people. I've had some good nurses and aides and a really great maintenance man with a heart I'll always remember - more on that later.

While I was in that initial room by myself, I received my last paycheck from WalMart. I was in the wheelchair when an aide who looked like a surgeon (sort of a "way-over-the-hill" Joe Nameth look-alike") walked up behind me. He grabbed the back of my chair while the check was still in my hand and jerked me around, quickly rolling me to the billing office, where I was forced to sign-over the check - I was stunned! The same asshole almost played a part in trying to kill me - more on that later.

When my daughter Ange heard I was in the nursing home, she stopped by with Shawn who was just a baby when I last saw him. Ange is a great kid who is now an adult. In a matter-of-fact way, she looked at my legs and wanted to peel off the dead skin...now that's gutsy. I made her wear surgical gloves before I would allow her to touch me - I didn't want us both to regret it later! Meanwhile Shawn wanted me to play "You-Ge-Oh" with him. I did watch the cartoon and knew about the cards - however, I have always sucked at cards, and this would be no different. I really felt bad for him trying to teach me the game...but I tried!

It was hot in there for me, so I gave Ange my ATM card and had her pick up a small fan for me at WalMart in Strongsville. She made a great choice in one with a vortex design that worked well. Ange would stop by or call me a lot while I was at Berea Aristocrat, visiting with her girls and with Paulette as well. It made all the difference in making me feel not alone! All through this and more, she's been very supportive. Shirley also would stop by with her daughters. However in her case, she was stunned to see me as helpless in a hospital bed. All she could do was stare and unable to talk much - I just wished she would relax and be her normal self. However, Shirley went on to become a nurse since then, so she will be less speechless in the future! I'm proud of both girls...er, women!

Another pair of visitors were my first cousin Sheila and her youngest sister, Patty. They usually came as a pair. Sheila would handle my bills for me, including banking and paying rent. We really didn't spend a lot of time talking, Patty had to get to work, so our time was usually short. However, the two made things a lot easier than they would have been. Their efforts made sure I wouldn't lose my apartment in Strongsville.

The administration at Berea Aristocrat and my counselor from Job and Family Services (they administered my "pay-monthly" Medicaid, and not too well at that) were really pressuring me to give up my apartment in Strongsville. However, I wanted eventually out of the nursing home and I didn't want my stuff to disappear. I just simply would not allow myself to be "bullied" into a situation that might benefit them, but be a disaster to me. So I held on tight!

As time went on I would be pretty much chained down to the bed. That meant using the small plastic piss jug a lot, and my less-favorite - the bed pan. Personally, I preferred going to the bathroom myself - and would attempt to whenever I could. But as time went on, I was getting weaker and my back pain was flaring-up with even two or three hours out of bed. Just going to the bathroom turned into an hour affair. It was so cold in there that my back would get cranky and the sudden spasms would shoot me into space! Making it from the toilet seat back to the wheelchair became an adventure unto itself! As to having someone else wiping your rear, you had some who were good, and others who were horrid! Granted, it's not a great part of an aide's job, and if I could save them the misery of it, I would.

It took a while, but some mail finally started coming to me - an aide would roll a cart down the hall, dropping off the mail to each room. Some greeting cards would come, mixed with bills. The only thing I could look forward to was mail, meals and visitors. There was television - and without it I would have gone stir crazy, but you could only look so long at the flickering tube before getting bored.

I was on a liquid restriction, too much so. Thank-goodness for Ange. She would sneak me in some bottled water and an occasional fruit drink or soda in a reseal able bottle which kept my throat from getting too dry. When I was up and around, I would go into the employee vending lunch room and grabbed something to eat from there - Ange and Sheila would give me money through my ATM card so I'd have some spending money. So between breakfast, lunch, dinner and bed, one would usually find me there. It was a great place to usually find a free newspaper to read, or I'd take a magazine from the common room to the break room to read.

Being on the main floor, I was considered a "rehabilitation" resident - meaning I would be required to do exercises. Well, I admit to the need, so I'd do it. However as time went on I began to get weaker and found them harder to do.

Eventually, they moved me out of the single room to one I'd share with a room mate. He was a nice older guy who was a new amputee, having lost both legs. They were in the process of fitting him with prosthetics so he could walk again. My room mate was a tall guy to begin with, and watching him taking his first steps gave me a tremendous respect for him. I know I couldn't have done it.

The bathroom in this room was much worse than the first - with two outside walls, it was downright frigid! If no one was in the room, I'd leave the door slightly open to allow some heat to enter. But it was still damn cold - impossible to stay warm with a gown on, a little more tolerable with a knit hat and coat on! I would continue to tire easily. One time while I was in bed, my body temperature took a nose dive, I couldn't stay warm even with a blanket on me. I had to call a nurse to put several on me before my body temperature came back to normal.

In the room, I had been given a pan of water, a wash rag, a towel and a bar of soap to wash myself with. The water cooled quickly - too quickly, and I'd find myself trying to wash quickly, putting a piece of clothing on afterward. Then I would go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and shave. When Ange couldn't sneak in liquids, I resorted to using the small toothpaste cap to use as a cup for water while the door was closed, thankfully, I never got caught!

The nurses started giving me whirlpool baths one a week to try to get some of the dead skin off my legs. I liked the fact it was a model I could transfer from my wheelchair to, however, it was still tough and I was getting weaker. Sometimes the nurse would run the water hot (my preference), And some ran it on the colder side which I hated! I learned quickly to run the water myself when possible. The problem, I would get repeat infections to the point they decided to stop.

As I was growing too weak to continue physical therapy, the home stopped the service and with that, I was placed on a second floor unit with two other men. They were okay, a little cantankerous at times - but one would go stir crazy, knowing they would not likely ever get out of there. As I write this, I know I feel very lucky to be back home.