Five years on the streets of Phoenix had taken a toll on Vance Blair's body: His eyesight had deteriorated, his speech had slowed, his hands had started to cramp, his pelvis had bulged and he needed surgery for a hernia, and the vacant lot where he slept was no place to keep his bandages clean.
Mr. Blair would linger near a shady building, where a few women who worked there took a liking to the shy man who asked to stay out of the sun. They brought him food and learned of his dilemma: Medicaid would cover the surgery, but hospitals would discharge patients quickly, and surgeons wouldn't go ahead with the operation if there wasn't a place for him to recover.
They later learned that a Phoenix organization runs a nursing home-like facility for the homeless, where Blair has been living since her surgery six months ago, and says the care may have saved her life.
“After being outside for a while, I started to feel like I didn't want to live anymore,” he said. “This place has been a big help.”
Respite care for homeless people, those who are well enough to leave the hospital but too sick to live on the streets, is growing rapidly. The increase reflects an aging homeless population and a decade of expansion of Medicaid, which helps cover the costs. Many programs are also subsidized by hospitals and insurers eager to shorten hospital stays and reduce readmissions.
The number of mostly nonprofit programs has nearly doubled since 2016 to more than 165, according to the National Institute for Medical Respite Care. The movement has spread to places like Memphis, Missoula, Montana, and Greenville, South Carolina, highlighting how homelessness is everywhere.
The Phoenix program, Circle the City, is one of the most sophisticated, with two 50-bed facilities and dozens of clinicians. The average age of its patients is 56, and they look much older. The hallways are packed with wheelchairs, walkers, IV tubes and colostomy bags, signs of frailty and, without shelter, the risks of infection and assault.
Respite care advocates have hailed the movement as a humanitarian imperative and a smart way to control health care costs.
“We're making sure people go to a humane place and don't end up going back to the emergency room,” said Kim Despres, CEO of Circle the City.
But some programs offer only basic care and are more like shelters than nursing homes, and critics worry the move will divert patients to second-rate nursing homes and obscure the need for permanent housing.
“Hospitals use respite care to get indigent patients off their hospital lists, but then when they're discharged, they often end up homeless again,” said Dennis Culhane, who studies aging and homelessness at the University of Pennsylvania.
Homeless patients should receive care in licensed nursing homes just like the general population, he said.
A big challenge in respite care is what to do when patients recover. Many have nowhere to go. Caseworkers at Circle the City often spend months helping patients come up with a plan, but rising rents and a lack of housing assistance mean some end up back on the streets.
“It's very scary for the kids to be with us for a couple of months and then have to leave,” Despres said.
Visitors to Circle the City learn about the obstacles that can come with homelessness. Sheila Mead, 62, uses a walker after a hysterectomy. Armando Sanchez, 42, lost five toes to diabetes. Quintin Alston, 62, had a hip replacement. Kenson John, 50, is paraplegic and recovering from toxic shock. Until recently, all of them slept outside or in shelters.
Homelessness may clearly lead to health problems: After years in the Phoenix sun, Blair, a hernia patient, was nearly blinded by cataracts that he had to have removed.
But health problems can also lead to homelessness. Lawrence Mora, 57, was born with spina bifida and had long made a living as a translator, but as he grew older he was no longer able to walk and was too depressed to work full-time. He was hospitalized with kidney problems and evicted from his apartment the same day.
He was discharged from the hospital to Circle the City and praised the mental health treatment he received there. “I may have the title 'homeless,' but we're given a great deal of dignity,” he said.
The aging of the homeless population is a notable demographic change.
In a soon-to-be-published study, Culhane of the University of Pennsylvania and Thomas Byrne of Boston University's School of Social Work, finds that by 2020, the largest group of homeless men will be in their mid-50s, up from the mid-30s 30 years ago. The share of the population over 60 has more than doubled, to 19 percent. The trend reflects the plight of late baby boomers, who came of age during deindustrialization and high housing costs and have carried the scars for their entire lives, he says.
Margot Kushell, director of the Benioff Homelessness and Housing Initiative at the University of California, San Francisco, has found that homeless people have health conditions similar to those of patients 20 years older, with similar rates of incontinence, dementia and falls.
Dr. Kushell's research shows that older adults — consumed by poverty, debilitated by high rates of addiction and injury, and unable to cope with treatable diseases like diabetes and cancer — are 3.5 times more likely to die than the general population.
The Medicaid expansion that began with the Affordable Care Act of 2010 gave respite programs a new avenue for cost recovery by insuring an additional 15 million poor or near-poor people, a major risk pool for homelessness. Five states, including California, have federal authorization to cover respite care directly. In other states, respite programs can bill Medicaid for individual services, such as providing wheelchairs or conducting tests.
Respite care has also grown, albeit modestly, in the 10 states that rejected Medicaid expansion, due to the high need. Less funding tends to mean fewer services are offered.
Opened in 2012, Circle the City was founded by a Phoenix nun who raised money through shoeboxes. Today, the nonprofit has a $32 million budget and 260 staff members, including doctors, nurses, licensed social workers and a mobile medical vehicle.
Seven emergency room “navigators” help manage homeless patients, find alternative care for those who don't need to be hospitalized, and develop discharge plans for those who do. Some local hospitals are helping cover the costs.
The biggest challenge for respite care may not be medical care, but housing: Many patients are too ill to work, rent assistance is scarce, and many have run out of family support.
About three-quarters of Circle the City's patients leave with housing plans — subsidized apartments, addiction treatment programs or temporary stays with friends, Despres said. Still, another quarter end up on the sidelines or in shelters, while others end up without makeshift housing and back into homelessness.
There are a lot of difficult cases: John, the paraplegic, is an illegal immigrant. Alston, the hip patient, is a convicted murderer (he says he killed someone who sexually abused him as a teenager). Mead was meant to live with his daughter, but she lives in a park, the same park where Mead has lived for 10 years.
“You don't want to just throw them out on the street with no options, but if you keep them for too long you're not going to be able to bring in new people, so it's a very delicate balance,” Despres said.
Circle the City offers hospice care to its terminally ill patients, including 57-year-old Douglas Botsford, who arrived in April with a weak heart. Mr. Botsford uses his talents as a storyteller to share his life story, which includes a job in auto parts sales, a vengeful ex-girlfriend, a methamphetamine addiction and living in his car with his best friend, a pit bull named Mia.
She died in his arms two years ago after saying goodbye, and two days later he suffered a heart attack and learned he didn't have long to live.
“When my dog ​​died, my heart died,” he said.
Botsford suffered another heart attack, was hospitalized, and was released to a shelter, but they couldn't care for him and he was sent back to the hospital — exactly the scenario respite care is meant to avoid. Before Circle the City offered him care, Botsford thought he would die on the streets.
“I'm a very lucky man to have had the chance to die here,” he said.
Mr Blair, who is recovering from a hernia, also considers himself lucky: he went looking for shade and found a good Samaritan.
A taciturn man with a graying red beard, he offers only vague details about the life he lived before he became homeless: The factory he worked at near Cleveland closed, his girlfriend died, he couldn't afford the rent on their apartment, and it was too cold in Ohio to live outside. He took a bus to Phoenix and fell asleep behind an Italian restaurant, soothed by patio music.
“Being around people is hard for me,” he says. “Sometimes I get anxiety attacks and it's really hard.”
He survived on food stamps and scavenged canned food, but life outdoors had worn him down and given him dark thoughts. Ten days in a psychiatric hospital helped him. Returning to homelessness did not.
When Tatiana Foss, 27, started work at a dermatology clinic in a building with a carport, a mild-mannered, gray-haired man asked her to sit in the shade. His hands were shaking and his mouth was moving as if he was chewing invisible gum. She was impressed by his politeness.
She and a colleague referred him to a dermatologist, who treated the wound, diagnosed a hernia, and realized that without a place to recuperate, Mr. Blair couldn't undergo the surgery. By coincidence, Mr. Despres, the leader of Circle the City, was one of the dermatologist's patients. Mr. Blair got a bed.
The stay could be a path out of homelessness: With the help of a case manager, Blair was diagnosed with a “severe mental illness” and given priority placement in supportive housing.
Ms. Foss visited Mr. Blair recently. The soft-spoken, empathetic woman praised Mr. Blair for getting psychiatric treatment. “Taking care of your mental health is really important,” she said. She expressed gratitude for their unlikely friendship.
“Thank you for letting me be part of your journey,” she said.
Vance clasped his trembling hands and stared at the ceiling, searching for the right words to express his gratitude. Finding none, he simply said, “Thank you for all your help.”