Yesterday I spent my evening working at a homeless shelter, tending to the medical needs of the people staying there. I really had no idea what to expect going in. I've never been to a homeless shelter and here I was going to one of the roughest ones in one of the poorest cities in the state I was in. It was a "wet shelter", meaning that it's not required to be clean to stay there. So many, if not close to all, of the occupants were under the influence of some sort of substance. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared going in.
There were about 30 people getting ready to bunk up for the night in a mere double wide trailer. We got there as they were serving dinner, and there was a coordinator there keeping a running list of the people who wanted to sit with the doctor to discuss any medical issues they may have. It was my job to get their vitals and interview them beforehand, finding out what their main complaint was and what actually brought them here. Most of the patients had common complaints like colds or ear infections. And since we didn't have the resources to do any real work up like get a chest x-ray or blood work, we'd just use our best judgment and give them a prescription if necessary.
There were a lot of musculoskeletal complaints, which is hard to really address in this sort of population because you have to be weary of drug-seeking. We never actually prescribe anything more than Tylenol or Ibuprofen. I actually tried to do some OMT on a woman with back pain, but given that we didn't even have a treatment table, it was quite difficult. Sadly there was also a pregnant girl who hadn't received any prenatal care. It's hard enough being pregnant, but to be homeless and alone is another thing. I felt so bad that there was nothing more I could do for her besides give her something for her nausea and write her a note to be allowed to have crackers and gingerale.
At first I thought, what could we possibly do to help these people? Here were are, a doctor, an intern, and a medical student. We're seeing these homeless, drug-abusers in a tiny little hallway of a trailer with nothing more than our stethoscopes, a blood pressure cuff, and an otoscope. Clearly they had physical and mental issues that required much more than 10 minutes with us. But I slowly started to learn that even though we certainly couldn't cure their addiction problems or find them a permanent home, just giving them a chance to talk to us, express their concerns, get them any prescriptions they need, and make them appointments at the clinic is really the best kind of health care we could give them at this time.
I got home around 10:30pm last night and was finally able to crawl into my warm bed, lay my head on my pillow, and snuggle up next to my hubby. And as exhausted as I was, I laid awake thinking of the people I met not too long ago and how they're spending the night in a cold trailer, cramped up in tiny rooms together, and not knowing what tomorrow will bring. I couldn't help but be reminded of how very blessed I am to have my family, my health, and a place to call home. I also am very thankful to be given this opportunity to be a physician and be able to do whatever I can to provide healthcare to people who truly need it.
