Residential
Long Term Care
Forty residents, nursing staff at every hour, and no rule about when family can come.
This is where people live when staying in their own house is no longer safe, and it should feel like living somewhere rather than being stored.
Licensed nurses are present at every hour. Aides know each resident by name, by preference, and by what kind of morning they are having.
Breakfast is not at 6:45 because that suits the schedule. The kitchen serves across a window, so a resident who wakes at five eats at five, and one who would rather sleep in eats at nine. Small thing, large difference.
There is something on most days, though nobody is made to attend: cards, music, the garden beds in summer, visits from the elementary school, and a fair amount of sitting on the porch watching the road.
Being next door to the hospital matters more than it sounds. A resident who needs an X-ray, a blood draw, a therapy session, or an emergency physician gets there through a covered walkway rather than an ambulance and a transfer. For someone with dementia, avoiding that disruption is itself a form of care.
We also do respite stays, up to a couple of weeks, so a spouse or a daughter who has been doing this alone can take a break before they break. Call and ask. It is not a failure to need one.
When a resident is dying, they stay here with the people who know them, and we work alongside hospice partners we have used for years. Nobody gets moved at the end.
Come visit whenever you want. There is no sign-in window, no two hour limit, no restriction on grandchildren, and the dogs are welcome if they behave. If you want to show up at six in the morning and drink coffee with your father, do that.