The Eyes of Henry's Law

A Fight for Justice in Care Homes

Now, friends, we all know the world is brimming with fine speeches and noble intentions, but when it comes to our most vulnerable—our elders and those in need of care—it seems some folks operate with all the compassion of a hungry coyote.

Many well-meaning family have entrusted their loved ones to care facilities, expecting dignified treatment. Instead, they find themselves up against a system that regards human decency as an optional extra. Abuse, neglect, and outright cruelty have been the order of the day, hidden behind closed doors and sterile hallways.

Now, a picture, they say, is worth a thousand words, but when it reveals sores, open wounds, and people abandoned in their filth, it is worth much more—it is worth justice. Enter Henry’s Law, born of tragedy and hard fought by one determined sister who refused to let her brother’s suffering go unforgotten.

Theresa Bigay sounded the alarm in 2020 when her brother, Henry Owens, was left to waste away in Life Care Nursing Home. The name, it’s reckoned, was more of a jest than a promise.

Photos and videos showed neglect so vile it would make a man’s stomach turn. Sores left to fester, days spent in his waste, and a toe lost to sheer disregard—this was the fate of Henry Owens before he passed in 2021 at the age of 61.

But Theresa, God bless her, would not let his suffering be for nothing. She fought, hollered, and made enough ruckus to get Henry’s Law passed in 2023. Now, families could install cameras in care facilities, an extra set of eyes where before there were only blind corners and shrugged shoulders.

But laws, my friends, are much like fences—only as strong as the men and women willing to mend them. Henry’s Law, for all its promise, had no teeth. And what good is a watchdog if it’s got no bite?

Assemblyman Max Carter of Clark County is leading the charge, promising amendments to ensure that when cameras reveal wrongdoing, action is swift, and the public knows which facilities to avoid. Assembly Bill 368 would extend camera access beyond nursing homes to any assisted living or care facility. More importantly, it would slap consequences on those who flouted the rules—revoked licenses, civil penalties, and even criminal charges.

One heart-wrenching testimony came from Peggy Stephenson, whose 92-year-old mother endured rough handling, cold showers, and abandonment in a care facility while suffering dementia. Thanks to cameras, Peggy could see the bruises on her mother’s arms, the forceful dragging, and the indignities forced upon her.

And when she dared to raise her voice? The facility retaliated, banning cameras altogether and hiking fees, as if punishment were their right and justice their enemy.

Her husband, Michael—a retired military colonel—spoke plain truth: “Caregivers are often untrained, underpaid, and suddenly in charge of whether a person eats, bathes, or suffers.” A reality, yet one many lawmakers have been all too willing to ignore.

Then there was Andre Collins, a 29-year-old man with cerebral palsy, who, in his own words, expressed how much he loved living independently. Upon requesting cameras for protection, he learned he could not have them because his caregivers had a right to privacy.

The logic, dear reader, was as twisted as a crooked poker hand. In a world where you can watch your dog frolic in a daycare livestream or check in on your children at school, why should our most vulnerable be left in the shadows?