Homeless

I walked into the isolation hospital room where a newly admitted patient lay on a bed with high flow oxygen running. He was drenched in sweat and needed his gown and bedding changed. He asked if he could have help getting to the bathroom. My job was to assess his ability to walk safely, so I gowned up, adding an N95 mask, face shield, gloves...

The assessment involves asking where the person lives, who they live with, if they have stairs, and if they have mobility problems.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"I have been living in the woods for a while", he replied. 

The blue hospital gown, oxygen mask and IV pole hid the look of homelessness. 

As I changed his soaked bedding he told me of his previous life, of the wife and children he had not seen for many years. He held onto hope that his children fared better as adults than he had with his mental health and addiction issues. I didn't delve into his past or explore the traumas that caused his life to go in this direction.

He was a very nice, soft-spoken man, regretful for the loss of important relationships in his life. He was gasping for air after the short walk to the bathroom and later in the afternoon, test results were positive for COVID-19. Our marginalized community members have been hit hard by the virus. 

As I finished my assessment he said, "Everyone in this hospital is so kind."

I know that to be true. I am privileged to work with amazingly kind and caring people who will treat this sick, homeless man no differently than a wealthy benefactor of the organization. 

Maintaining good family relationships can be challenging at the best of times, and even more so when behaviours, differences of opinion and mental illness create wide chasms between members. If my patient recovers, what does life have to offer him? I can only hope that he finds human kindness, acceptance and assistance outside the hospital walls.