Reached by phone, LeDoux declined to comment on the status of her investigation as it is ongoing.
While LeDoux conducts interviews, runs criminal background checks and files the requisite paperwork, Hill remains warehoused at Lexington Place -- a facility not merely soul-killing but also physically dangerous.
Daniel Kramer
Margie Hill got sick, became a ward of the county and was moved to a nursing home. Son Marvin wants her back home. But she can't get out.
Todd Spivak
Margie Hill spends most of her days in this room at the nursing home, waiting for visitors.
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Opened in 1967, Lexington Place is owned by Pinnacle Health Facilities, which operates a total of three nursing homes in Harris County and accepts residents insured by Medicare and Medicaid.
During the last year, state investigators have issued dozens of citations against Lexington Place for everything from patient neglect to fire-safety hazards, according to records from the Texas Department of Aging and Disability Services, which licenses and oversees the state's 1,122 private nursing homes.
Perhaps most distressing were citations given last March for failing to store poisons separately from all drugs and for not properly caring for residents needing special services such as injections, colostomies and respiratory care.
Lexington Place "failed to provide a safe and clean environment for residents, staff and visitors," according to the state's most recent report, filed in November 2006. "There were some deficiencies that caused residents actual harm or immediate jeopardy."
Hill has her own litany of complaints.
For one thing, she receives scant attention from nurses. "Nobody comes see about me," she groans. At home, Hill bathed every day. Lexington Place permits just two showers a week. For the last week, Hill says, the water heater has been broken and everyone is taking cold showers. And the food is awful. Spoiled by years of her son's homemade gumbo and slow-roasted chicken, she now picks at plates of cornbread and beans or boiled cabbage and fish sticks.
During a recent visit, Lise Liddell's friend offered to bring lunch. Hill requested a cheeseburger with all the fixings. It was the first meal she finished in weeks.
Marvin Evans often fantasizes about marching into Lexington Place, hoisting his mother out of bed, flagging a cab and taking her home.
"But I'm afraid they'll throw me in jail," he says.
His fear is justified; interference in the possession of a ward is a felony-level offense.
Evans is grateful for the financial help he receives from the Liddells. Without it, he figures his mother would have no choice but to spend her last years at Lexington Place.
The Liddells are paying their attorney a whopping $380 an hour to handle the case. Clearly many families lack the resources necessary to grapple with the county.
"We're repaying a debt," says Robert Liddell, who plans to continue to support Evans if he outlives his mother. "She was somebody who was always there when we needed her."
Maxine Hill says her mother is welcome to live with her in Louisiana. But she decided to let the Liddells seek guardianship so her mother and brother can continue to care for one another in their own place.
Evans is hopeful his mother will return home soon. He continues to visit her at Lexington Place almost every day.
But he worries about her resolve. Never before has she appeared so dejected.
For Christmas, Evans always decorates their apartment with lights, tinsel and a six-foot-tall artificial tree and prepares a small feast. This year he sat alone in his darkened bedroom, atop his heating pad, and downed a bacon and egg sandwich on plain white bread.
"I lost the spirit; what can I say, my Christmas spirit just went out the door," he says.
His mother, too, stayed in bed: "For the holiday I did nothing but lie here."
On New Year's Eve mother and son usually stay up late together and toast the season with a glass of bubbly. This year both turned in early.
Hill has anxiously waited to leave Lexington Place since she arrived nearly three months ago. She has waited through several holidays, from Thanksgiving to Martin Luther King Jr. day.
This Wednesday Hill turns 77. She's still waiting.
