The PACE model of care strives to be best practice for the patient and family as well as cost-effective for the community at large.
The only downside -- and one that is not insignificant -- is financial. You must be Medicaid-eligible to enroll in PACE at no personal cost. The middle class seems to fall through the cracks. It was humbling and eye-opening to hear this professional, hard-working woman admit, "If I have a stroke tomorrow, I couldn't afford a nursing home. And I don't qualify for Medicaid. What happens to me?" The faces of my parents, aunts and uncles, and countless church parishioners ran through my mind as she spoke.
We made our way to the main gathering area, where I spoke with one of the residents, Ms. Audrey. Her granddaughter had encouraged her to enroll with PACE about 6 months ago. Her biggest stress before PACE was keeping all her appointments and medications straight, and because PACE coordinates everything at the center, even allowing her to pick up her medications there, she felt that much of the burden had been lifted.
I concluded my trip with two PACE team members who serve in the clinic. Sharon ran the administration of the clinic, and as the first person to meet with new PACE enrollees at each clinic visit, she took on the mantle of hospitality. "People here are not patients, they're people." Charlene, who served as a pharmacy technician and managed medication distribution, smiled at Sharon's observation, "Oh, everybody loves Charlene!"
Charlene went on to speak of some of the enrollees who had especially touched her. One enrollee had recently passed away, and as she spoke she became a bit teary. I thought to myself, "I hope that a pharmacy tech cries over my grandma someday."
As I drove away from the PACE program I thought about where I would want the senior members of my family spending their time. PACE may not be perfect for them, but the philosophy of the system intrinsically honors that each person enrolled is unique and deserves genuine opportunities for engagement, growth, and fullness of life. Each of us should be able to live in our communities of choice and live well.
Currently there almost 1500 casinos in the United States, and that doesn't count the recent onslaught of "sweepstakes" businesses." But there are only 82 operational PACE sites, and these sites only truly benefit the indigent. As our senior population soon explodes, we have an opportunity to be inspired by the PACE model of care and disgusted by the sham of casinos that draw on senior citizens. Be it a slot machine, a movie, a conversation at a clinic, or even indirectly through our tax dollars -- when we give the gift of our time, money, and attention, we breathe into a world that either facilitates life or death. In my experience with hospice care, our mission aimed to serve those facing death, but our every move focused on how even the inevitability and immanence of death cannot deter us from facilitating life.
If a person can no longer drive or work a traditional job or even complete tasks of daily living, we, with the privilege of relative health, must adjust our definitions of life. We must learn what individuality and community means at every stage of existence. As I thought of those seniors I met in the casino, I felt the onus on me and my generation: If we don't create and support environments that foster dignity and connection -- where the most vulnerable among us can participate in opportunities for service and recreation that honor our intrinsic worth at every age -- shame on us.