LOCKED OUT: HOMELESSNESS IN LONG BEACH<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Help us bring context and take you inside the complexities of the issues and stories no other newsroom in our city can cover. Donate to the tax-exempt<\/strong> Locked Out: Homelessness in Long Beach project to make our coverage stronger. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Curtiss says her son has been arrested multiple times for non-violent offenses, with the exception of two. Once as a juvenile and then as an adult, he was taken into custody for battery against her. She told police he had, among other acts of violence, slapped and choked her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dating back to middle school, he\u2019d been prescribed an array of psychopharmaceuticals but mostly stuck to weed, which he started smoking at 12, eventually moving on to meth and ketamine as he got older.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For these reasons and dozens of others, Curtiss, who is a nurse, says she became convinced that the only way her son could be saved was if he was placed under an involuntary mental health conservatorship, giving her access to his records and control of his care. She believed he surely met the requirements because he was gravely disabled, a potential danger to himself and others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But if her son\u2019s troubles weren\u2019t painful enough to face, she would now be forced to confront a mental health system that left no statutory pathway for a despondent mother or other loved one to obtain the kind of highly restrictive court-ordered conservatorship she was seeking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Currently, under state law, only a physician in a hospital can initiate that process, which requires strong communication between public and private medical providers and a willingness by hospitals, insurers and doctors to take action\u2014all of which are in short supply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As homelessness rises among severely mentally ill individuals, she found herself at ground zero in a growing debate in California over whether restrictions for such measures should be loosened to confront the new realities on the street or kept strict to guard against potential violations of an individual\u2019s rights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe system is designed for people to give up,\u201d says Curtiss, adding that the only way to make it work for her and other similarly situated families is through the kind of sheer will she would need to summon in her two-year effort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI knew my son needed a conservatorship early on,\u201d she says, \u201cbut I was continuously told that he was not \u2018sick\u2019 enough or that he hadn\u2019t been in the hospital enough. What a travesty it is to know that your son is so very ill and so very lost and be told he\u2019s not sick enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Despite wide acknowledgement of the conservatorship system’s shortcomings in addressing rising mental illness among the unhoused, recent legislative efforts to reform the 56-year-old law that governs mental health conservatorships have failed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Strong pushback over the years has come from those who fear the state could regress to the era before 1967, when tens of thousands of people were locked away in state psychiatric hospitals\u2014heavily medicated, subjected to experiments and stripped of their rights and freedom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cConservatorship is the most extreme form of deprivation of civil liberties, aside from the death penalty,\u201d Susan Mizner, director of disability rights for the American Civil Liberties Union, said recently<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Reform advocates, meanwhile, say that as homelessness has reached crisis levels and the public regularly encounters severely mentally ill people on the street, the question they ask is: Why is no one doing anything?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s the question we\u2019re all asking,\u201d says Jessica Cruz, executive director of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, which supports reforming conservatorship requirements to make them less restrictive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The kind of conservatorship Curtiss was seeking was created under the Lanterman-Petris-Short Act, or LPS, which was passed in 1967. It is reserved specifically for people with diagnosed mental health disorders, usually schizophrenia or bipolar disorder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The law authorizes only hospitals and in-patient physicians to petition a county to obtain one\u2014a statutory precaution against individuals being unnecessarily committed to locked-down mental health facilities. But records show that such measures are rarely sought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Although 1,200 unhoused people in Long Beach said they suffered from severe mental illness during the 2023 homeless count<\/a>, Long Beach hospitals sought only 20 LPS conservatorships in fiscal year 2021-2022, according to Los Angeles County data.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Long Beach Memorial sought one, while St. Mary Medical Center didn\u2019t seek any. College Hospital, which has a contract with LA County to provide mental health services, sought 10, and the VA Hospital in Long Beach sought nine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In that same 12-month span, a total of 388 LPS conservatorships were sought by general acute care hospitals overall in Los Angeles County, and the majority came from public hospitals run by the county, none of which are in Long Beach. Jails, courts, state hospitals and other specialized psychiatric facilities recommended 354 conservatorships to the county.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Of the total of 742 that were referred for LPS conservatorships, 700 were pursued by the county, records show. Of those, more than half, or 450 people, were placed into conservatorships, with the courts naming the county as the conservator for 284 people, and assigning private conservators, such as family members, for the rest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n These court-ordered arrangements can be denied for a number of reasons, which include physicians not showing up to court to testify, or the person being able to prove to a judge they are not gravely disabled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Connie Drexler, the county\u2019s deputy public guardian, cited one case in which an unhoused man successfully argued that he was able to care for himself because he had a tent on Skid Row and that he could get food from a nonprofit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt may not be your or my first choice, but he had a plan for food, shelter and clothing, and the judge said that was acceptable,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/b>The turning point\u2014the boiling point\u2014for Curtiss in getting an LPS conservatorship for her son came in 2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By then, she had compiled a 10-page chronicle of his deteriorating mental health in all its manifestations, from his 5150 psychiatric holds to his brushes with the law to his turbulent relationship with his mother. She had to piece together some of his medical odyssey after he turned 18 because she could not directly access his records. (At Curtiss\u2019 request, the Post agreed to withhold her son\u2019s name to protect his privacy.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her \u201cdeclaration in support of conservatorship\u201d was intended to demonstrate that action was needed immediately, given his long history of life-threatening\u2014and worsening\u2014mental health crises.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI have received NUMEROUS telephone calls from concerned police officers, security and members of the public whom he reaches out for help,\u201d she wrote, detailing incidents in which he had been beaten bloody on the street, become lost after aimlessly riding trains and buses and plagued by paranoid fantasies of being tracked by \u201cThe Cartel,\u201d among others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She recounted one frightening incident while he was still in middle school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One morning, he rode his bike to his former campus\u2014where he\u2019d experienced bullying\u2014instead of his current one. There, he was arrested when staff discovered a Bowie-style knife in his backpack. His mother says he was placed in a juvenile diversion program.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Curtiss wrote that she agreed to a recommendation that her middle-schooler be given medication for a diagnosis of ADHD. His grades improved a bit, she said, but that didn\u2019t last. Soon, he was getting busted at school and by police for having marijuana pipes and other paraphernalia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His troubles mounted even as he played football at Poly High, then at Wilson, with dreams of someday suiting up for Notre Dame. Curtiss enrolled him in multiple diversion and treatment programs, and doctors prescribed an array of medications, including Seroquel, Trazodone, Prozac, Haldol and Abilify.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As his illicit drug use escalated in his late teens, he began \u201cto be motivated by some unknown internal stimulus to suddenly need to leave,\u201d his mother wrote. \u201cIt is now so bad that he can not stay in any one place for greater than a few hours before this sensation drives him to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n At 18, he was taken to Orange County\u2019s St. Jude Hospital by Fullerton police after threatening suicide in a call to his mother, with whom he was no longer living. When Curtiss arrived at St. Jude, her son was rocking back and forth, holding his head in his hands, shouting \u201cturn the cameras off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He was placed on a short-term involuntary hold\u2014one of many over the years\u2014before being transferred to College Hospital in Long Beach and then to a Kaiser outpatient psychiatric program. It was there that he was diagnosed with schizophrenia and acute psychosis. He continued to spiral out of control.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In 2019, with her son now 20, Curtiss was at wit\u2019s end. She took her 10-page litany of trauma to the Los Angeles County Probate Court and applied for a conservatorship that did not need to be initiated by a doctor in a medical facility, like an LPS conservatorship.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Probate conservatorships can be requested by family members or concerned caregivers. They\u2019re typically sought for older adults with debilitating conditions such as dementia and, thus, are usually permanent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n LPS conservatorships are reviewed annually with the goal of giving a person back their autonomy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The probate court appointed an attorney to represent the interests of Curtiss\u2019 son in the proceeding, a breakthrough for his mom, who had filed her document in the court record.<\/p>\n\n\n\n With the history supplied by Curtiss, the attorney assigned to the case prevailed upon a psychiatrist at Del Amo behavioral health hospital in Torrance, where Curtiss\u2019 son was then being treated, to sign a \u201ccapacity declaration\u201d stating that the patient was unable to provide informed consent for his medical care because of his impaired mental functions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPatient in the past will have periods of stability,\u201d the treating psychiatrist wrote, \u201cbut frequently decompensates due various factors leading to behaviors that complicate his existing condition of schizophrenia.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ultimately, Curtiss\u2019 probate court request was rejected when the court ruled that the son\u2019s schizophrenia diagnosis would specifically require an LPS conservatorship initiated by a doctor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But with the psychiatrist\u2019s declaration in hand, Curtiss was able to persuade the Torrance hospital to begin the LPS process, which was completed just months later and named her as the conservator of her son\u2019s affairs. She placed him in a locked facility in Long Beach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe conservatorship is the ONLY way I\u2019ve been able to help him, the only way I have been able to participate in his care, advocate for him, develop a care plan for him,\u201d Curtiss wrote in a recent email to the Post, adding: \u201cI had to keep pressing everyone to do something. I couldn\u2019t let up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As Curtiss\u2019 experience illustrates, the hurdles to obtain LPS conservatorships remain high. Beyond questions of rights and freedoms, advocates contend that hospitals and physicians are disincentivized to participate for other reasons, including money.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The state\u2019s insurance provider, Medi-Cal, pays hospitals the highest rate for providing acute care, when a patient is facing an emergency. Reimbursement rates are nearly cut in half if a patient is stabilized but waiting for a bed somewhere else or waiting for the conservatorship process to be finalized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In Curtiss\u2019 case, this took several months. Throughout that period, her son was kept in the emergency room at Del Amo hospital without access to activities or personal items. Curtiss says she shuttled back and forth between her nursing shifts to bring him fresh clothes and other necessities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe was miserable,\u201d she says. \u201cHe was begging me to take him home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hospitals readily acknowledge there simply aren\u2019t enough alternative places, like subacute facilities, for patients like Curtiss\u2019 son to go, says Sheree Lowe, vice president of the California Hospital Association, a trade and advocacy group.<\/p>\n\n\n\n According to a 2022 RAND study<\/a>, Los Angeles County has just 5.2 subacute psychiatric beds per 100,000 residents, the lowest rate in the state. To meet the existing need, that number should be 24.6, according to the study.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Gov. Gavin Newsom in March proposed a 2024 bond measure<\/a> to raise an estimated $1 billion annually for thousands of new mental health beds, from subacute to residential.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s unacceptable what we\u2019re dealing with, at scale, in the state of California,\u201d the governor said at a media event.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Waiting for the courts to act, combined with this shortage of subacute options, means patients awaiting possible conservatorships are often discharged back to the street once they\u2019re stabilized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What\u2019s more, such crucial decisions might be made without the benefit of knowing a patient\u2019s full medical history because of inadequate communication between hospitals where an individual may have been earlier treated. They might not know, for example, such basic information as whether this is a patient\u2019s first or 10th psychiatric hold or any previous attempts at outpatient treatment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s advantageous when a patient is treated at the same facility multiple times so physicians have at least some history, says Lowe of the hospital association, noting patient privacy laws are very strict about sharing medical data.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s really no way around that,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Curtiss and many others have lobbied hard for changes to the law that governs LPS conservatorships, including recent efforts to loosen the standard of who qualifies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A state bill introduced in March would expand the criteria to include any condition that causes an individual to be \u201cat risk for serious harm\u201d due to a mental illness or a substance use disorder\u2014a new category of illness that could be taken into account for LPS conservatorships.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Although a similar measure failed in 2022, state Sen. Susan Talamantes Eggman, D-Stockton, who has authored several bills over the past five years to change mental health law, says the increasingly visible toll of mental health and homelessness could open a window for this one to succeed.<\/p>\n\n\n\nInvestigations like this rely on your support. Here\u2019s how you can help.<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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<\/a>A clash of rights and realities<\/b><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
At wit\u2019s end<\/b><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
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<\/a>A system bursting at the seams<\/b><\/b><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
Pushing for change<\/b><\/h4>\n\n\n\n
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