So anyway……..(you will have noticed I start many of the written blog entries this way and it is lazy and hardly original BUT it does kind of imply a continuing dialogue (*ed: Monologue, you eedjit! A dialogue suggests someone else is reading it and then responding!) ……..OK, OK so anyway……….

…………if you believe in Astrology many Aquarius's are (should be) having a good time lately………must be a rising sign issue or some such………

……………lately at The Drop-in for the Homeless things are changing………the charity sector concentrating on the homeless is changing…there are tenders put out, take overs from well meaning organisations taking over ‘essential services’ and that there is some kind of bigger picture or ‘hidden agenda’ frankly, all over the place like a cheap sub-plot in a soap is increasingly self evident.

…..but the human clay issues don’t go away, the human flesh and bone stuff of life goes unrelentingly grinding on………we have had a sense of mortality encroaching very very close of late…………….we lost one of our clients in the river…..a drug addict sure, a not very prepossessing individual it is true but I LIKED HIM…..he made me laugh and we got on….he was almost universally loved and, if not love, then a certain fondness was always a constant. He came in the day of his death and raised a smile and challenged me directly………He WAS almost COMPLETELY off his head……a heroin addict? you ask……Well, no not really….it would seem by and large his drug of choice was Valium, diazepam if you prefer and indeed it easy to understand why….we prescribe Valium for a multitude of sins as it were and he was………what shall we say?…….an enthusiast……he fell asleep or ‘gauched out’ on the nod….nodded off severally into his sausage and mash that lunch time……..rousing himself at one point raising his head from his mashed potato to hear a perceived argument between me and another client, my tag line for which had been “ …..and don’t forget that twenty quid you owe me!” to which our redoubtable subject had responded “Ere, does he [meaning me) owe you twenty quid?”

Ever the ones to raise a mashed potato clad eye for the main chance of a couple of ‘dollars’, he had thought he heard an argument between a staff member and a client whereby the client was owed a considerable weighty sum by a staff member and was about to join in the reclamation process ever hopeful of a couple of pound’s bonus

….wrong end of the stick as only Valium can produce! I encouraged his quiet and he fell back into his mash.

Later he went on the nod in the front room, right in front of the main window in plain  view of the entire population of Oxford………I had to wake him you understand…..it wouldn’t look good….needles in the drains and people openly ‘gauching’ in the window….he couldn’t see the problem but after the usual belligerent defence and knowing gap toothed smile he weaved his perilous way out into the street, narrowly missing a peerless exit by hitting the door jamb with his shoulder as he wove his intricate exit……..later on that day he was fished out of the River Thames by the authorities, seemingly having fallen off the bridge. Never a swimmer, his girlfriend told us, he was actually afraid of water, in fact it has crossed a number of minds as to whether someone had hurled him over and into that famous river.

Whereabouts was this? He appeared to have fallen, or was he pushed, off Foley Bridge. The name of this bridge not being lost on me. Gangster? No. Junkie? No, not really. Dirty filthy homeless scum? Definitely not. In fact a father of six, beloved and everyone called him:

“Bambi”

We have a ‘mental health patient’ recently released back into the community who pops by when he can on a regular basis and we are fond of him too. He is of Oriental extraction and has an endearing way with him to these tired old eyes of occasionally dressing in full drag and of calling me ‘Mr Andeeeee’. We shall call him Henry, indeed there is mystery even around his name. We have only recently learnt that at least part, if not his entire name, is complete invention. We have known him for years and always call him by the name he wished to be, and that which he introduced himself to our services by, Henry Lawless. The authorities have recently informed us his name is at least Chan…….. somewhere. Well, anywhere really they’re not sure exactly… forename, surname, beginning middle or end. But that neither Henry nor indeed Lawless are real strikes me as incredibly funny! Lawless! Brilliant! There is intelligence at work here.

He was recently been hospitalised [again] under section 136 of the Mental Health act whereby he is sectioned by law to be admitted. He comes out and is vulnerable, uncertain at first as to whether we may remember him or acknowledge him maybe. He is always kindly spoken and gentle and always polite, at least to me, and greets me with a smile and a cheery

‘Hello, Mr Andeeeee!’

I notice that morning he is walking with a really pronounced limp and I check with Henry as to whether he is OK and what he has done and does he need to see anyone a doctor or the nurse coming in on Thursday and Henry reassures me he is fine and has just pulled something and if he rests it will get better………the next time I see Henry his limp is worse and he struggles up the steps indeed seems to be finding it difficult to walk at all.

I think you should see the nurse Henry. Where does it hurt?”

He then makes a Michael Jackson style crotch grabbing signal and my heart sinks a little.

“What do you mean, Henry? Have you hurt yourself ‘down there’? “

“Oh it’s nothing I think I must have pulled a muscle or something…it’ll be alright”

Finally, later on I realise he is in with the nurse from the Luther Street Medical Centre who comes in on a Thursday and tends to those who haven’t a GP or won’t got to Luther Street for whatever reason. She comes out of the medical room to find me and tells me its bad. I listen as she tells me he has two abscesses, one on his groin and one on his arm….the size of a fist! The abscess on the groin has burst and whilst she has cleaned and dressed it as best she may she feels he needs to see a Doctor with some urgency and maybe needs a spell in hospital.

The Mental Health Team arrived later on to talk to Henry. A senior MH Worker and an assistant or two and he loses his temper with them relatively quickly even for Henry and promptly tells them to “Fuck off!”….I go out into the street after him to calm him down and he does so but wanders off up the street.

Now Henry has an interesting attitude to his health, as is common amongst so many of our clients who are treated with anti-depressants or mental health treatment medications that they are like Paracetamol for a headache….you take them once and the confusion or the depressed feelings go away. A regime of taking major tranquilizers to be taken daily and effective only in the longer term does not tend to signify as they take a few feel better and therefore stop. Yet Henry has another string to his bow, as it were, as regards to his health and some of this requires ‘self-medication’. It is at this point in the proceedings I recall the previous time Henry required medical interventions. He had a sore red shiny angry patch of skin on the back of his hand, the remains of a burst abscess that he showed me and this was some months ago now before Christmas, so it is with sudden dread I realise what he has been doing to bring about these abscesses on his groin and arm.

He has previously at some point in his life been a high functioning and intellectual man not unintelligent somewhere but the wires may have been getting crossed in more recent years and his common sense eludes him somewhat. But it seems to me that what is involved here is a kind of pure logic.

What Henry has been doing is when he feels an ache or pain, a twinge when pulling a muscle or some such similar physical sensation; he gets a hypodermic needle and injects the effected area. With petrol in this case.

 It can be toilet cleaner, household bleach or engine oil dependant on what he diagnoses is at fault. If it is dirty, the area concerned then clearly it needs cleaning so he injects bleach or Harpic. If, as he ages, a part of him doesn’t seem to be ‘running’ quite so well he will inject petrol…. to make him go better. Or engine oil to make his ‘engine’ run more smoothly.

I receive a call from the hospital some days later to say they have tended the infected areas and there is still some work to be done but generally he is in good health. I am surprised at the candour and frankness of the health worker at the hospital to disclose such information about a client so readily indeed they haven’t really asked who or what I am but I make appreciative noises and thank the friendly staff member of the hospital and he interrupts me….”You see, the thing is we need him back in sooner rather than later……Henry has discharged himself …….and if you see him can you phone me and we will try to get him back in?”

I agree of course and ………well, we haven’t seen him since.

One of our most regular clients has been having difficulty with a ‘trapped nerve’ or a ‘pulled muscle’ in his shoulder and his arm appears to have lost its strength. I will call him Billy. Now Billy is an ‘old stager’ as I say and has been around Oxford since the 80’s. He is musical and a dab hand on the guitar if you want someone to bash out a hymn or Carol at Christmas, a free festival jam session or a rock n roll set at the Cowley Road street Carnival. An old time ‘Speed’ and ‘Coke’ freak, he is clean for many years and may have a ‘bifter’ of an evening but nothing more serious than that. He is well liked amongst the community of the homeless and has been in supported accommodation with the City Council for quite a few years now. Once on the fringes of the hardcore criminals of the East End, Billy has quieted down as he gets older and set into a daily routine and pattern of places he goes to, he proudly tells you of his recent NVQ in social care and occasionally can think he is staff and behaves accordingly. At times he can have a ‘hissy fit’ of temper and behaves like a dry drunk, I have wondered if he gets flash backs of the feelings around withdrawal from speed. We deal with it when it happens and it does not impede our affection for him but some staff are prone to moaning about this occasional display of temperament.

I notice a week or so later Billy has not shown any signs of improvement in his arm. Indeed it is hanging down like a limp rag doll’s. I ask him if it is getting any better. It soon transpires that after seeing the nurse at The Drop-in he has done nothing about the afflicted arm and I chastise him gently to go see the Doctor. “Well the nurse said it was probably a trapped nerve. So I thought it would get better”

‘Did you go to the Doctor’s like she suggested?”

Sheepishly he shakes his head. Showing that male thing of not really wanting to bother anyone. The homeless too do not regularly visit a GP ……..”What can THEY do?”

He can hardly grip my hand now to shake it Good-bye.

The next morning Billy is waiting with a stocky young man who possess a passing resemblance to Billy

“Erm, Morning Andy, can I introduce my son to you?”

‘Why indeed Billy, of course you can. It’s a pleasure to meet you’

We shake hands and I can see the solid young man in his thirties is a bit of a chip off the old block”

“Only the thing is, I came in to tell you, I went to the Doctors yesterday like you said”

‘Oh good, well done. What did he say?’

“Well the thing is that’s why Nigel’s with me. I’ve got a brain tumour”

It transpires that not only have they found a tumour on his brain but also one on his lung. This is what has been cause of the loss of use of his arm for the past several weeks.

I am ashamed to say at first I thought he was joking and asked him so. Such a shock was it, I went into a complete freeze and did not respond for what seemed like ages but in reality was probably only a few seconds at most. It did seem entirely possible that Billy could have actually been joking. The street can make for a blunt and often rather dark sense of humour. We stand there in the hall and look at each other. Suddenly Billy appears to crumple and looks very small and tired, older than his years [he is nearly as old as me] and I ask him if he wants to sit down. This entire conversation having taken place in the reception hall and I haven’t even taken my coat off since arriving at work.

He agrees and we repair to the medical room to talk things through…………

Over the next few days there comes a story, over the radio at first, that someone has drowned near one of the local swimming haunts on the river. It crosses all our minds that there is an enclave of our ‘clients’ that stay in tents around that area and the thought crosses my mind that I hope it’s not ‘one of ours’ as it were. The rumours start to fly around the building……who is it? What’s happened?

In this sunny summer [at last] the homeless and the traveller will pool around the favourite haunts and some stay under bridges when it’s warm enough. Other times there are several groups of youngsters who may well gather at the swimming holes around the town. To drink and enjoy the heat, a drink and to score, smoke cannabis or snort various chemicals and the cooling River Thames

Again it crosses my mind that we really cannot stand any more bad news…………

Eventually the news comes through. Firstly from the local police…………….

 It is ‘one of ours’

Not a ‘regular’ as such but still known to everyone in the place today……the news sweeps through the building like a crackling radio signal and the atmosphere changes in an instant. A young man comes to the airlock (the reception entrance has always been referred to as the airlock but given the occasional temperature and the smells it can contain, it’s just as well it isn’t actually airless

“Andy can you put up a notice about Stevie? Him what drowned. I was there. We all was. We thought he was just messing about, waiving his arms and that….. and well, we had all been taking drugs but he just slipped away into the current and was gone”

He bursts into tears and comes inside for a cup of tea.

Later I put up a notice saying ‘rest in peace’ and all that knew him might care to contact the guy who came in to ask me to put up the poster. By now there is something in the paper about his sudden death, how much he was loved by friends and family alike and his ambitions to be an artist with a nice picture of him looking happy and cheeky and upbeat.

I put this all together on a four sheet paper poster and just as I am finishing it, the guy who came in to tell me the news, sees what I am doing…..he asks to look at it. I apologise for not putting it up sooner and he reads it…the extracts from the paper……the pictures ……some of it makes him smile….some of makes him shudder ……I realise he is overwhelmed by each additional thing I have put o there….respectful….but unexpected……each item on the poster brings out an emotional response he can scarcely contain…….and then I realise he is racked with sobs, by turn sobbing and laughing, nervous and shoulders shaking with the pain of it……he looks up at me and tears are streaming down his face…….”Thanks man!” and he rushes off into the street.

Just another start to another day, …………………….