watching people, I could see the action spill over
boundariesthewayitdoesinrealhomes.Twomenwere
playingcardsinthediningroom.Anursefilledouther
paperworkin thekitcheninsteadofretreatingbehinda
nurses’ station.
Therewasmoretothedesignthanjustarchitecture.The
staff I met seemed to have a set of beliefs and
expectationsabouttheirjobthatwasdifferentfromwhat
I’d encountered in other nursing homes. Walking, for
instance, wasn’t treated as a pathological behavior, as
became instantly apparent when I met a
ninety-nine-year-old great-grandmother named Rhoda
Makover. Like Lou Sanders, she’d developed blood
pressure problems,as well assciatica, that resulted in
frequent falls. Worse, she’d also become nearly blind
from age-related retinal degeneration.
“If I seeyou again, Iwouldn’t recognize you.You’re
gray,”Makovertoldme.“Butyou’resmiling.Icansee
that.”
Hermindremainedquickandsharp.Butblindnessanda
tendency to fall make a bad combination. It became
impossibleforhertolivewithouttwenty-four-hour-a-day
help.In anormal nursinghome,she wouldhavebeen
confinedtoawheelchairforhersafety.Here,however,
she walked.Clearly there were risks. Nonetheless,the
staffthereunderstoodhowimportantmobilitywas—not
merely for her health (in a wheelchair, her physical
strengthwouldhaverapidlydeteriorated)butevenmore
for her well-being.