Tuft is important of Hazen, but she knows what kith and kin think of nursing homes.

It's a altercation both incurable and homey: On a sunny downturn afternoon, as the world rushes former times on Redwood Road, a dozen past it people doze under handmade afghans in the living space of Hazen Care Center. Behind these doors, lives are unequivocally winding down inconsequential by side, each in a comfy recliner. Romaine Tuft inherited Hazen from her parents, who opened it in 1962, so big ago that an aunt who helped deal it back then is now a resident. In this out-dated setting, with its cheery no dining range filled with Tuft's Betty Boop collection, well-known consumers get back rubs at sunset and hugs all day.

Tuft is lofty of Hazen, but she knows what kinsmen think of nursing homes. "At its best, it's a antagonistic industry," she says frankly. "It's about something we don't want to see.

" The hate is so marked that many of the nursing people's home administrators and employees the Deseret News interviewed unapologetically said that they foresee never to end up in one. Reportedly half of residents never pick up a caller from "outside." Some have no one about to visit, but the find is often that the case and the place — sometimes just the notion of the place — is depressing. So progenitors and friends stay away.

Story continues below Part of the industry's graven image riddle harks back to recollections of nursing homes from a crop ago, a full-sensory storm that included the reek of urine-soaked cloth diapers and the espy of old people belted into their wheelchairs. If you haven't updated your archetype of nursing homes for 25 years, you won't differentiate about the gardens, the delight decor and the cats wandering leisurely amidst the residents' legs — all elements you may glom in up to date Utah nursing homes. You won't recollect about the productive pain administration and the updated ventilation systems and moisture-repellent fabrics (only one nursing effectively the Deseret News visited smelled bad), or the deed that restraints and viewpoint rails are no longer used. That's not to translate that Utah's nursing homes are a stop of choice. Or the best the trade offers. Some have embraced change, some haven't.

And the changes themselves are often superficial. Even today you can witness a unoriginal helpmeet dressed in rosy sweatpants, wheeling herself down a linoleum hallway at 6:30 on a well-spring morning. A nursing aid has awakened and dressed her, then handed her a cookie. Now she aimlessly wheels down the hall, the cookie between her legs.

Later she will meet at a steppe in the dining cubicle for over an hour, peaceably staring at the table, waiting for the alpenstock to be the source everybody under the sun else in so breakfast can be served.

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