A senior condo puzzler: Safety vs. privacy

From the opening day in the early 1970s, people loved living in the high-rise condo in Edina. In fact, they liked it so much that many never left.

Today, half of the residents are senior citizens. Last spring, someone tried to flush an adult diaper down a toilet. The overflow of water caused so much damage to walls and ceilings in units below that residents had to move out for repairs.

Thousands of high-rise condominium and co-op units have been built in the Twin Cities in recent years, many of them filled by empty nesters hoping to live out their lives in maintenance-free comfort. But as those people age -- the number of Minnesota residents 65 and older is expected to outnumber children 2 to 1 in the next 15 years -- the problems of growing old while living stacked on top of each other will multiply.

What happens when someone with dementia forgets to get dressed and wanders through the halls naked, or can't remember which doorway is the right one? When someone falls, are neighbors supposed to help? Can people be forced to move if they pour an entire box of soap in a dishwasher, filling their condo with an ocean of bubbles?

It's an emotional and legal minefield for neighbors, families and building managers who struggle to balance the rights of individuals with those of the community. While seniors who live in apartments often can be made to leave, as a condition of their lease, if their health begins to fail, people who live in condos or co-ops have the same property rights as someone who owns a house. It's nearly impossible to evict people without proving that they are a danger to other residents or to the building as a whole.

"It's all very touchy; you really have to walk the tightrope," said Ross Peterson, president of Multiventure Properties, which manages the Edina high-rise where the toilet overflowed. "Other residents don't understand that you can't just evict people. It's quite an involved process. And sometimes [people] won't recognize that they need help."This is no different than our neighborhoods," said Alice Finley, a condo manager for Ebenezer Management Services, which specializes in senior housing. "People love their communities and don't want to leave, and communities struggle . ...

"It's sad. It's going to get worse as we age in place. Where are we moving? Condos and townhouses."

No forced moves

At 7500 York Cooperative in Edina, the average age of the roughly 420 residents is 85. When the nine-story building was erected in the late 1970s, it was the nation's first senior housing cooperative. The building has had a waiting list to get in ever since.

The co-op's mission statement says it provides "a safe, healthy, and pleasant home for its members to enjoy an active, independent lifestyle." When Esther Schmidt, an 89-year-old member of the co-op's board of directors, gives tours to prospective buyers, she's seen some bristle at the sight of a resident with a walker or a wheelchair.

"I don't want to live in a nursing home," one man huffed during a tour. When the grumbling continued, Schmidt diplomatically pointed out that, someday, he might need that kind of help.

Frailty can be a sensitive topic. The co-op has had people flush objects down toilets or let sinks overflow. The board decided to install plastic flippers outside each door that flop down when the door is opened. Staff will check on residents who haven't opened their door by midmorning. But some residents have objected.

"Some people are very independent and they don't want anyone checking on them," Schmidt said.

Changing laws have curbed the co-op's control over who lives there. Once, new residents had to have a physical that showed they were able to live independently. New federal fair housing and disability rights laws changed that. Until a few years ago, the board of directors could ask residents who seemed to be a danger to themselves to undergo a geriatric assessment. If they refused, the board could revoke their membership, forcing them to move.

Now that's against federal regulation, too. The co-op can seek an outside assessment only if someone is deemed a risk to other residents or to the building at large.

Accidents happen

Finley, who has a degree in gerontology, said "dementia does not guarantee that people are going to cause a problem" in a building. Perfectly healthy people have been known to flush dentures and hairbrushes down the toilet. Kids clog toilets with toys all the time, and more than one harried mom has absent-mindedly dumped a baby diaper in a toilet bowl.

But if people's health begins to fail and creates repeated problems, managers need to document the events, Finley said. Adult children or guardians should be involved and need to know that building caretakers and fellow residents are not responsible for helping to care for aging parents.

In the most extreme cases, adult protection can be called.

"We go in when they're a danger to themselves," said Carmen Castaneda, program manager of adult protection services for Hennepin County. "They can't get food in, can't get to the doctor, or begin to have difficulty with memory or judgment."

The standard for county intervention is strict. Someone who rides the elevator for six hours a day or rings doorbells may be an irritant to neighbors, Castaneda said, but that doesn't mean the person can be evicted.

"It's eccentric but it is not a danger in itself," she said. "A lot of people are nuisances and others want social control over them. But we are not in the business of social control. We work for the client."

Social services may be able to arrange for a cleaning person to keep an apartment in good condition. Medication can aid memory. Disconnecting a stove in favor of Meals on Wheels may help keep people safe and in their home.

"Legal interventions are at the far end of the continuum," Castaneda said. "Nine times out of 10, the family steps in."

Gentle transitions

At 7500 York, Hulda Gieschen, an 88-year-old member of the board of directors, said the co-op is all about living, not declining. Last winter, she and another elderly resident went outside after a storm and made angels in the snow.

For her, she said, living at the co-op has been "a fountain of youth."

But people change. Friends notice. So does Lotti Matkovits, director of resident services and a licensed social worker.

Matkovits tries to develop relationships with residents. She watches for people who suddenly begin to isolate themselves, which can be a sign of dementia, and arranges for help with medication, rides to the grocery store and the doctor. She sets up home health care. All along the way, she talks to residents and their family members about options.

It's always a shock when a crisis hits and new living arrangements have to be made, Matkovits said. But the co-op's residents and their families may be better prepared for that because of ongoing discussion and education. Barbara Murphy, the co-op's director of marketing, said hiring a social worker like Matkovits and keeping a knowledgeable attorney on hand are the wisest moves a condo building full of seniors can make.

The desire to remain at 7500 even as people's mental and physical abilities fade is so strong that the board of directors has asked Ebenezer to consider building an assisted-living facility next door. About half of the co-op's residents eventually move to a nursing home.

Gieschen, who said she is "very much in love with this place," said she prays that she dies in her sleep before she has to face that.

Said Murphy, "There are no easy answers with aging in place."

Mary Jane Smetanka • 612-673-7380

Mary Jane Smetanka • smetan@startribune.com