Quite often, I talk to clients at work who say that they "are not the type of person to live here." I usually take that to mean something along the lines of, "I really don't want to be living here." The truth is, a good percent of the city's population is one catastrophe away from homelessness. One thing leading to another can land just about anyone, anywhere. Yesterday, I talked to a guy who used to be the CEO of a medium-sized oil drilling company in western Oklahoma. He's been at the shelter for weeks now. As far as I can tell, cases like this are not that unusual.
One client that really stood out this past week was a 40-something year old guy who just came into the shelter from Wisconsin. He got off the Greyhound bus and accidentally found his way to the shelter, which is just a few blocks south of the bus stop. He walked in with luggage in hand asking to use the phone. The Mission actually has a no-phone-use policy when it comes to clients because the employees have enough going on to not have to worry about being messenger people for all 500 clients everyday. However, I felt bad for this client and let him use my phone. (Don't worry, I disinfected it afterward.) But before I handed the phone to him, I wanted to hear some more of his story.
He told me that he had just come off of a Native American reservation in Wisconsin. He had been in school and had a part time job but couldn't keep up with the workload. He started drinking by himself in his apartment and lost all motivation to go to work or school. He lost his job and failed his classes. He got another job cutting wood, but he said that he wasn't making enough money to live doing that. He decided to come to Oklahoma City when he heard of the lower unemployment rate. As it turned out, he actually grew up in northeast Oklahoma. He told me that he hadn't been back since he was 17. He asked me if he could call a few of his old childhood friends to "let them know that [he] was in town." (...which was a call for help.) Since this placement would qualify as "shelter diversion," a growing part of my job, I thought it would be fine to see if he could get caught up with these two guys and get some help.
The first guy he called was a radiologist in Edmond. (You could guess the class differences between the two guys.) He had gone to middle school with this guy, but hadn't talked to him since then. I had the pleasure of listening to this semi-awkward conversation. But something was different about this conversation with the radiologist. The client told this radiologist that he was almost done attending school to become a social worker, and that he had been offered jobs in Oklahoma City, which is why he moved back down. He told the radiologist that he's starting classes down here to finish his degree this week. This pretty picture that he was painting for the radiologist was far from the truth and missing a gigantic part... the whole "Oh yeah, I'm also an alcoholic" part. He wraps up his elaborate story, then asks this radiologist for help. If I were this radiologist, I'd be slightly confused, as was the case here. After being told this grand story of middle-class living, the expected follow-up would probably not consist of asking for spare garage space so he could store his clothes. The radiologist refused to the offer outright, but agreed to meet this client downtown to catch up face-to-face.
Fast forward a few days. This client came back to my office, wanting to talk to me about treatment programs. He told me that he considered himself an alcoholic by the time he was 14 years old. He got messed up with gangs in northeast OKC and ended up dropping out of high school. He told me that he moved around to just about every corner of the US, drinking himself silly throughout the entire journey. Finally, in his middle-aged wisdom, he decided that it was enough and that he wanted to do something else.
The issue of pride that some homeless deal with is astounding. People come from a variety of backgrounds and contexts, some of which instill values like "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" or "don't ask for help until you're almost dead." At first, this client was definitely operating in this mindset, even unwilling to admit to me, a Mission employee, that he was homeless and needed some stability in his life to keep himself off of whiskey. He needed some grand "10 year high school reunion" story to help associate himself with his radiologist friend. That way, the help that he was asking for didn't seem like it was a homeless man asking a well-off man for help, but rather colleagues exchanging favors.
It is both fascinating and heartbreaking to me that people are stubborn or even unwilling to ask for help even when they literally have nothing more than the clothes on their back. For me, its one more barrier unmasked in getting clients within arms reach of the help they need.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Sick and near death... nine times.
I talked to a client yesterday who has had multiple near-death experiences... nine of them, in fact. He is one of those "stories" that you feel BAD for. Yes, of course you feel bad for the majority of the people here, but this client's story is one that makes your heart drop into your stomach.
He was self-employed for many years, leading a happy life with his wife and two children, a boy and girl. He had a few employees under him, and they were all covered with health insurance. Over a period of about a year, his health declined quickly. He had multiple conditions which led to massive internal bleeding. This took almost every aspect of his life down a turn for the worse. His marriage failed, his business failed, his relationship with his daughter failed, he lost all possessions besides those related to his personal identity (ie. social security card, drivers license, etc) and was kicked to the streets.
He couldn't, and still today cannot, work for any extended amount of time because of his blood condition. Just two weeks ago, he was doing some mopping here in the Mission when he started throwing up blood. He was rushed to the hospital and had six pints of blood pumped into him once his vomiting ceased. (Just for reference, the human body holds about 12 pints of blood... so he lost half of it in a matter of minutes.)
His daughter doesn't value a relationship with him because (his quote) "[I] was sick all the time, and no one wants to be around someone who is sick all the time." He said that he gets to have a quick conversation with her every 3 or 4 months, if he is lucky.
This man has literally been through it "all," or at least what I would consider the majority of "all." Heart attack, stroke, long periods of hospitalization, divorce, broken relationship with family, financial ruins, homelessness, addiction... the list goes on. Yet he still sat in front of me in my office and told me that he was blessed.
"In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’ " - Luke 3:11
He was self-employed for many years, leading a happy life with his wife and two children, a boy and girl. He had a few employees under him, and they were all covered with health insurance. Over a period of about a year, his health declined quickly. He had multiple conditions which led to massive internal bleeding. This took almost every aspect of his life down a turn for the worse. His marriage failed, his business failed, his relationship with his daughter failed, he lost all possessions besides those related to his personal identity (ie. social security card, drivers license, etc) and was kicked to the streets.
He couldn't, and still today cannot, work for any extended amount of time because of his blood condition. Just two weeks ago, he was doing some mopping here in the Mission when he started throwing up blood. He was rushed to the hospital and had six pints of blood pumped into him once his vomiting ceased. (Just for reference, the human body holds about 12 pints of blood... so he lost half of it in a matter of minutes.)
His daughter doesn't value a relationship with him because (his quote) "[I] was sick all the time, and no one wants to be around someone who is sick all the time." He said that he gets to have a quick conversation with her every 3 or 4 months, if he is lucky.
This man has literally been through it "all," or at least what I would consider the majority of "all." Heart attack, stroke, long periods of hospitalization, divorce, broken relationship with family, financial ruins, homelessness, addiction... the list goes on. Yet he still sat in front of me in my office and told me that he was blessed.
"In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’ " - Luke 3:11
Thursday, July 30, 2009
More education and a prosthetic WHAT?!
Yesterday at the Mission I sat down with a client to talk about his ATR eligibility. I got about three words into the conversation before he hijacked it and decided to talk about many many things, including his education. He informed me that he has TEN Masters degrees! Taken back by how much education a client in the recovery program has had, I asked him what they were in. He very urgently motioned for me to get some paper and a pen out so that he count "try to remember them all." He takes the pen and makes ten tallies on the paper, telling me, "this one is for gene therapy, this one is physics, this one is mathematics, this one is molecular biology, this one is..." and so on. Impressed with how much education he seemed to have, I asked him where he got his degrees from. His answer?
"The school of hard knocks."
He awarded himself ten degrees.
(It reminded me of something a friend passed on the other day, telling how a group of people decided that they were the "Super American Grand Jury.")
Lucky for you, the story gets better.
This client then proceeds to tell me that he spent some time in the Service. I'm still not sure what he actually did in the military, or if this actually happened, but if it didn't, darn if it isn't a good story worth blogging about anyways.
Somehow, injured soldiers were brought to this client. He did something with military inventions (he claimed he had 3 patent rights to items in the Department of Defense) that had to do with prosthetics or implants, along those lines. Anyways, he told me about this landmine-tripping system used in the Vietnam war where there would be a very thin, taught metal line tied between two securely-planted items, like trees or posts. When someone would walk into this line, a nearby landmine would explode. However, if you moved this line in an up-down (vertical) motion instead of a left-right (horizontal) motion, the landmine would not trip all the time. But when a soldier was to walk into one of these lines, it would "snap" in the direction that you were pushing it, not just have resistance against whatever way it was being pushed. So, if you're a male walking up to this trip-line, and it "snapped" in a vertical motion, "it could castrate you," this client told me.
He proceeds to tell me about a man of darker skin color getting a certain male genitalia part cut open, and then losing one of the two items that sit inside of this certain genitalia part. Like, cut open and out it popped on the ground. So, this man comes to the client sitting in front of me wanting a "replacement, so his wife wouldn't notice."
If I gave you all three guesses as to what the client did for this man, none, and I mean NONE of you would guess it correctly.
The client goes over to his "invention shop" and take a can of RUBBER CEMENT, puts a wad of it in his palm, and moves his hands in a circular fashion to make a rubber cement ball (in more ways than one.) He then opens this piece of genitalia up, drops this rubber cement spherical object in it, stitches the man up, then tells him that he "might want to leave the lights off while you're making love for a while until that scar heals." If my client is indeed telling the truth, there is at least one among us with a rubber cement testicle. Be afraid.
Just another day on the job.
"The school of hard knocks."
He awarded himself ten degrees.
(It reminded me of something a friend passed on the other day, telling how a group of people decided that they were the "Super American Grand Jury.")
Lucky for you, the story gets better.
This client then proceeds to tell me that he spent some time in the Service. I'm still not sure what he actually did in the military, or if this actually happened, but if it didn't, darn if it isn't a good story worth blogging about anyways.
Somehow, injured soldiers were brought to this client. He did something with military inventions (he claimed he had 3 patent rights to items in the Department of Defense) that had to do with prosthetics or implants, along those lines. Anyways, he told me about this landmine-tripping system used in the Vietnam war where there would be a very thin, taught metal line tied between two securely-planted items, like trees or posts. When someone would walk into this line, a nearby landmine would explode. However, if you moved this line in an up-down (vertical) motion instead of a left-right (horizontal) motion, the landmine would not trip all the time. But when a soldier was to walk into one of these lines, it would "snap" in the direction that you were pushing it, not just have resistance against whatever way it was being pushed. So, if you're a male walking up to this trip-line, and it "snapped" in a vertical motion, "it could castrate you," this client told me.
He proceeds to tell me about a man of darker skin color getting a certain male genitalia part cut open, and then losing one of the two items that sit inside of this certain genitalia part. Like, cut open and out it popped on the ground. So, this man comes to the client sitting in front of me wanting a "replacement, so his wife wouldn't notice."
If I gave you all three guesses as to what the client did for this man, none, and I mean NONE of you would guess it correctly.
The client goes over to his "invention shop" and take a can of RUBBER CEMENT, puts a wad of it in his palm, and moves his hands in a circular fashion to make a rubber cement ball (in more ways than one.) He then opens this piece of genitalia up, drops this rubber cement spherical object in it, stitches the man up, then tells him that he "might want to leave the lights off while you're making love for a while until that scar heals." If my client is indeed telling the truth, there is at least one among us with a rubber cement testicle. Be afraid.
Just another day on the job.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
First week at CRM
The first week on the job has passed, and it moved by quickly. Most of the time was spent settling in to the office, meeting people at the Mission, learning the weekly routine, and making contacts where appropriate. I spent Monday and Thursday in training for the ATR grant, which took me to the Oklahoma Department of Mental Health and Substance Abuse Services building just north of downtown Oklahoma City. ODMHSAS was the official recipient of the grant, but since they are not a "service provider" they find others who help hand out the money. Basically the game goes something like whichever grant recipient does the "most work" with the MOST (note, not least) amount of money is highly favored to receive the grant again.
The first client that I met was a guy named Kevin. (Just an editorial note here: I will disclose first names and stories of those people, but I will never use client's last name or any other contact information. It's not like you were going to ask me for it all, but just so we are clear.) Kevin showed up at CRM the day that he was released from prison. He had been there for 28 months... this time, he said. He was very cordial, always using "ma'am" and "sir" when talking to coworkers and myself. By having a very brief conversation with him, I was offered a glimpse of a person's first day back on the street from being "locked up." Where would I even start, I thought? Kevin said that the extent of his possessions was the clothes on his back and a small plastic bag holding his needed medications. What an overwhelming feeling to be reintroduced to the world after being separated from it for over two years. We scheduled an assessment for Kevin (basically a in-depth 4 hour interview that shows what the person is/isn't capable of receiving as far as federal vouchers) on the next day. Unfortunately he didn't show up, and I didn't see him for the rest of the week.
I've also observed that clients memorize two pieces of personal information more often than any other information: a family member's cell phone number, and their Department of Corrections identification number. Beyond that, you are lucky to receive anything else. It is not uncommon to find clients who do not have a SSN, drivers license, state ID card, or even a wallet because of the probable chance of a wallet being stolen by another client.
One other story that comes to mind from this past week was a message that was left on my supervisor's phone. It went something like this: "Hi, I just got out of jail. I'm sitting at the bus stop outside of the jail and I don't really have anywhere to go or anyone to talk to. I don't know where your shelter is. If you could come get me, I am in blue jeans and a black t-shirt at the bus stop." No address to find them at, no cell phone number to call them at... just what they are wearing.
More stories to come this week.
The first client that I met was a guy named Kevin. (Just an editorial note here: I will disclose first names and stories of those people, but I will never use client's last name or any other contact information. It's not like you were going to ask me for it all, but just so we are clear.) Kevin showed up at CRM the day that he was released from prison. He had been there for 28 months... this time, he said. He was very cordial, always using "ma'am" and "sir" when talking to coworkers and myself. By having a very brief conversation with him, I was offered a glimpse of a person's first day back on the street from being "locked up." Where would I even start, I thought? Kevin said that the extent of his possessions was the clothes on his back and a small plastic bag holding his needed medications. What an overwhelming feeling to be reintroduced to the world after being separated from it for over two years. We scheduled an assessment for Kevin (basically a in-depth 4 hour interview that shows what the person is/isn't capable of receiving as far as federal vouchers) on the next day. Unfortunately he didn't show up, and I didn't see him for the rest of the week.
I've also observed that clients memorize two pieces of personal information more often than any other information: a family member's cell phone number, and their Department of Corrections identification number. Beyond that, you are lucky to receive anything else. It is not uncommon to find clients who do not have a SSN, drivers license, state ID card, or even a wallet because of the probable chance of a wallet being stolen by another client.
One other story that comes to mind from this past week was a message that was left on my supervisor's phone. It went something like this: "Hi, I just got out of jail. I'm sitting at the bus stop outside of the jail and I don't really have anywhere to go or anyone to talk to. I don't know where your shelter is. If you could come get me, I am in blue jeans and a black t-shirt at the bus stop." No address to find them at, no cell phone number to call them at... just what they are wearing.
More stories to come this week.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
New jobie
Hi all. I'm officially applying the defibrillator on this blog. Before now, I was broken on whether or not to blog. I believe in blogs that are useful and timely to read. I do not believe in reading/writing blogs when they fail to serve a purpose that is relevant to me. (Sounds egocentric.) But seriously, when I thought, "Hey, I should blog" what would really happen would be me thinking about what to blog about, then realizing that my life does not have an x factor that would warrant blogging about, then wallowing in self-pity for leading an average lifestyle.
Well, that has changed in the past week. Monday was my first day working at the City Rescue Mission in downtown Oklahoma City. I'd love to tell you what my job title is, but the honest truth is that I don't even know what it is. My supervisors do not know what it is, either. What I can tell you with certainty is that I will be working with a federally-funded grant called Access to Recovery (ATR). The City Rescue Mission (or CRM) has never before received any sort of state or federal money before now. I will be overseeing the execution of the grant, and interview literally every client that walks though the doors at CRM and determine if they qualify for federal vouchers. CRM will qualify for these vouchers too, based on the services that they offer the clients. The hope is that my position will be funded by the billing that we turn in to the ATR offices for the services that the Mission offers.
With the new job, I will be talking to lots of homeless, marginalized, addicts, and others. I figure I should take a page from Josh's fun in the ER and keep my blog up to date with stories from work.
Well, that has changed in the past week. Monday was my first day working at the City Rescue Mission in downtown Oklahoma City. I'd love to tell you what my job title is, but the honest truth is that I don't even know what it is. My supervisors do not know what it is, either. What I can tell you with certainty is that I will be working with a federally-funded grant called Access to Recovery (ATR). The City Rescue Mission (or CRM) has never before received any sort of state or federal money before now. I will be overseeing the execution of the grant, and interview literally every client that walks though the doors at CRM and determine if they qualify for federal vouchers. CRM will qualify for these vouchers too, based on the services that they offer the clients. The hope is that my position will be funded by the billing that we turn in to the ATR offices for the services that the Mission offers.
With the new job, I will be talking to lots of homeless, marginalized, addicts, and others. I figure I should take a page from Josh's fun in the ER and keep my blog up to date with stories from work.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
What's crapnin'
Life has been busy. But what's new? Who isn't busy? No excuses.
I'm finishing my last semester (kinda) of my BS degree. That would be Bachelor of Science, not the other one. I'm graduating only kinda because I will "walk" still needing two classes before I am awarded an actual degree. I'm short my science credit and a general education business class credit. It's no problem, I'll be able to take these two classes in the fall of 2009 and get the degree in the bag. I've been thinking a lot more about NTS and their in-service program. I think I may take a few classes and try it out... make sure it is something that I'd like to do before some other greater action is taken.
I'm coming close to that magical time that I am lame-ducked in my position with SGA. Elections for the year of 09/10 happen the first week of March. NSLC is here on campus the first week of April, too. I'm excited for it, despite not getting to travel to another school. I've had my time at Olivet, and my time at Point Loma twice, so I guess it is only fair that the group gets to come to us once.
Before you ask, no, I haven't found a job yet. I'm pretty sure that as soon as I graduate I will just be an indentured servant to Marty and his garden. However, I have foiled an eveil plan set in place by Marty and Robyn to keep Cher and I here in OKC. They keep lending us appliances and services! They lend these to us so often that I believe that we have become co-dependant on them. I can just imagine this conversation:
Me: "Hey Cher, let's move to Kansas City."
Cheryl: "Okay. But what are we going to use to keep our food cool? And how are we going to keep our clothes clean? And what if I have the car, but you need to use a car?"
Me: "Crap."
See? Before we can move anywhere, we need to either buy a fridge, or get some money for a fridge, find a good place to do laundry, and move someplace where I can bum cars from people. Plus, this summer, I have a feeling that Cheryl and I are going to become dependant on the garden that is going to flourish in the backyard of M2R2 Properties LLC. See? Our hands are tied!
In other news, we are going through Financial Peace right now, too. Dave Ramsey is smart. He is smart because he is now a multi-millionaire telling people what common-sense decisions to make. We are working our way through the baby steps, and doing pretty well at it. We definitely are not as bad off as others in the class/on the videos in the way of debt and other bills. Of course, I am not saying that in a way that is "above" them, just in a way that is hopeful for our financial situation.
Lastly, I am excited that Andy and Cesiley are moving in exactly one block away from us! That means the Whitesides, Zochs, Morschs, Bousemans, and Michelsons are all within three blocks from us! It's like the dorm, but better.
If you want to keep up with me in 140 characters or less, follow me here: http://www.twitter.com/svandervort
I'm finishing my last semester (kinda) of my BS degree. That would be Bachelor of Science, not the other one. I'm graduating only kinda because I will "walk" still needing two classes before I am awarded an actual degree. I'm short my science credit and a general education business class credit. It's no problem, I'll be able to take these two classes in the fall of 2009 and get the degree in the bag. I've been thinking a lot more about NTS and their in-service program. I think I may take a few classes and try it out... make sure it is something that I'd like to do before some other greater action is taken.
I'm coming close to that magical time that I am lame-ducked in my position with SGA. Elections for the year of 09/10 happen the first week of March. NSLC is here on campus the first week of April, too. I'm excited for it, despite not getting to travel to another school. I've had my time at Olivet, and my time at Point Loma twice, so I guess it is only fair that the group gets to come to us once.
Before you ask, no, I haven't found a job yet. I'm pretty sure that as soon as I graduate I will just be an indentured servant to Marty and his garden. However, I have foiled an eveil plan set in place by Marty and Robyn to keep Cher and I here in OKC. They keep lending us appliances and services! They lend these to us so often that I believe that we have become co-dependant on them. I can just imagine this conversation:
Me: "Hey Cher, let's move to Kansas City."
Cheryl: "Okay. But what are we going to use to keep our food cool? And how are we going to keep our clothes clean? And what if I have the car, but you need to use a car?"
Me: "Crap."
See? Before we can move anywhere, we need to either buy a fridge, or get some money for a fridge, find a good place to do laundry, and move someplace where I can bum cars from people. Plus, this summer, I have a feeling that Cheryl and I are going to become dependant on the garden that is going to flourish in the backyard of M2R2 Properties LLC. See? Our hands are tied!
In other news, we are going through Financial Peace right now, too. Dave Ramsey is smart. He is smart because he is now a multi-millionaire telling people what common-sense decisions to make. We are working our way through the baby steps, and doing pretty well at it. We definitely are not as bad off as others in the class/on the videos in the way of debt and other bills. Of course, I am not saying that in a way that is "above" them, just in a way that is hopeful for our financial situation.
Lastly, I am excited that Andy and Cesiley are moving in exactly one block away from us! That means the Whitesides, Zochs, Morschs, Bousemans, and Michelsons are all within three blocks from us! It's like the dorm, but better.
If you want to keep up with me in 140 characters or less, follow me here: http://www.twitter.com/svandervort
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
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