It was over 3 decades ago, but I still remember the elegant surroundings I saw when I stepped out of the car: the freshly clipped lawn, the stone façade, the oak door. It was the first day of an audit at a long-term-care facility. I’d come equipped with my briefcase, working papers and calculator. But nothing prepared me for what I’d find inside.

When I opened the door, I was greeted by the smell of bleach, of institutional food, of despair.

To reach the accountant’s office, I walked past people sitting in wheelchairs who reached out, trying to catch my attention. I walked past people in rooms, calling out from their beds. And I walked past a nursing station where staff talked and laughed, seemingly oblivious to the misery around them.

Every day I walked down that hall; every night I went home and wept. It may be 30 years later, but the problems remain.

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