Taking the Long View

I remember when I interviewed for my current job and was asked how I would handle transitioning to providing “long-term supports” - I was already working for this agency doing short term and crisis response work.  The director who was interviewing me stressed how challenging it can be for both worker and client to maintain hope, focus and direction over a long time.  I hadn’t really thought about it before, but must have come up with a reasonable answer, since here I am as a long term case manager.

I’ve now been in this role three, almost four years.  Some of my clients have been with me as long.  One of my very first clients has had problems with her housing situation since before I began working with her.  She also had mental health and physical health problems, family and financial issues amongst other challenges.  Basically, we both realized that until she had more suitable housing, it would be difficult to focus on her recovery, and I could basically only help her to “get by” in all the other areas mentioned.  Right from the get go I got heavily involved in working to address the housing problem.  There were family members, multiple agencies and her own issues to consider in this work.  What she needed was a first floor apartment (safety and accessibility issues) with three bedrooms (two kids of disparate ages and genders) in a particular area of town (so one child could attend a special needs school) with no carpet (severe allergy problems) and that would be eligible for the rent subsidy she receives (landlord would have to agree to work with that program, program would have to approve it and have the funds for it).  Like finding decent housing isn’t hard enough!

 

I won’t go into detail about all the ups and downs in this process over the past few years.  I will just say that a couple weeks ago, I got a call from a staff member at the housing agency.  I could hear excitement in her voice as she told me that she was looking at an apartment that she thought would fit all my client’s needs and criteria.  She could arrange a viewing in a couple days. 

The client came, kids in tow and looked around.  She couldn’t have been in the place more than 3 minutes.  It wasn’t going to work she said.  Why, I asked, as it had everything she wanted.  Did she want to take the kids to the park so we could sit and talk about it?  No, she wanted to catch the next bus, everyone was hot and she wanted to get home.

That was Friday, and on the Monday I met with her.  It went back and forth, she could see the advantage of the place, but there were certain problems…could she view it again?  I made the call and set this up.  My hopes were high, because I hadn’t even expected this much.  This time she came alone, left the kids at home.  Took a little more time looking around.  In my head I’m making plans about how to apply for grants to help cover the moving expenses, when I’m going to fit in an appointment to take her to get the key…the housing worker tells her she will need to know by the end of the day if she will take it.  I will call her in a couple hours to see what she has decided. 

When I do, she’s not ready.  Can I call later?  Of course I can.  This happens a couple times, until finally I tell her I can’t wait any longer and give her the housing worker’s number and tell her she will have to call directly.  I try to put it out of my mind as I go home that night.

Come the next morning, there are no messages for me.  It’s not until halfway through the day that the housing worker calls me to say that she will need a signed letter of refusal from the client, because she didn’t take the place.  The reason she ultimately gave was that the bedroom furniture wouldn’t fit.

I spent plenty of time that afternoon debriefing about this situation with my supervisor.  It’s times like these that it is difficult to remind myself of all those social work-y truisms – about client directed service, and individual right to determination and all that.  I will still be there to support this client either way, but I have to say I was mad.  As much as I can rationalize about her reasons, and empathize because of her history, I was mad.  Four years of work, for what?  I gave this woman my best and felt like it was totally disregarded that day. 

I know it’s not about me.  But this was one of those situations where BECAUSE I care, I couldn’t just forget about it.  It’s hard to think about possibly several more years of working with this client after this has happened.  This is where the long-term gets really tough.  This is where I start to feel tired and stuck.

The fact is, that what I need in order to keep going here are the same messages we use when talking about recovery.  Patience...hope...a willingness to fail in order to learn.  Finding the small successes that mark our progress.  Letting go of the things we cannot change.  Moving forward, because you can’t go back.  This is what will get me through the next four years of trying and trying again.  I can only hope that I will be able to inspire the same in my client.  After all, she is the one who must continue to live in her current situation.  And ultimately, she will be the one who determines when and how it changes.  Maybe I will even be there to cheer her on.

This Week Sucks Because....(drumroll please)

1. I have only completed 2 out of 9 assessments that are due shortly (usually we only have 1 a week)
2. AM is away so I'm lonely and looking after kiddo by myself
3. I've got a vicious head cold
4. It's cold outside (there was snow yesterday)
5. I haven't written any of my notes for this week yet, and still have some from last week to input
6. I can't even say TGIF because I am going to have to work from home this weekend to catch up
7. I also have to survive taking a car load of obnoxious noisy excited kids to the Santa Claus parade

*whine*bitch*moan*complain*

Thank you, internet, for being there for me.

Forgive me...

...while I take this (small) moment to gripe.

Last week I (hesitantly) let my supervisor know that I am ready to pick up a new client, as I need to increase my monthly contact numbers.  Some of my current clients are doing well and decreasing their support.  She pushed me to take two new people, but I insisted on one for now and letting her know by weeks end when I would take the other.

Monday morning we received an email that one of my co-workers will be off for an indefinite period, and her clients will be reassigned. 

So I got three of them.

*headdesk*

I'll be okay.  And I sincerely hope my co-worker is alright.  Just needed to whine for a minute.  I'm done now.

Social Work Summer Look Book

Summer provides a particular set of challenges for the housing worker dress code. As always, we must look professional enough for the office, but causal enough meet comfortably with clients in their homes.

Temperatures have been in the 30’s, and even hitting 40 with the humidity so we must try to stay cool. Getting in and out of the car is inevitably hot and sticky. Most clients do not have A/C at home. The office, on the other hand, as well as the many coffee shops, libraries and other public spaces we frequent are chilled to what I’m sure is minus 5 degrees, so layers are important. I’m toting cardigans with me in the middle of a July heat-wave.

We don’t get paid enough to maintain a particularly generous wardrobe which means I rotate the same 2 pairs of shorts and one skirt with great frequency. They are the only things that will allow me some relief from heat, while also allowing me to sit comfortably in some of the less than sparkling clean apartments and rooming houses I visit regularly.

And then there are the shoes.

I read with jealously when SocialJerk disparaged the social worker stereotype of wearing Birkenstocks, because frankly, I’d take any type of sandal right about now no matter how “social worky” they may make me look. But that’s a big no-no. Along with outlawing high heels (makes sense when we are entering all types of settings with a wide variety of health and safety disasters problems concerns) my agency has decided that a fully enclosed heel and closed toe are the only way to go. So the choices are sneakers and socks (which look AWESOME with my shorts and scrawny legs) or some type of flat dress shoes. Either of which leads to sweaty and stinky.

And the cherry on top of this sweaty, sweater-toting, scrawny legged mess? There are some clients who do keep a very neat and tidy home and want me to take my shoes off when I come inside. I’m not allowed to do this, and it’s too bulky to bring along “indoor shoes” so I end up popping on these babies:

Who ever said social work isn’t sexy, hmm?

Monday, Monday

Last night was nice and cool, so I decided to sleep with the windows open.  Somewhere around midnight (waaay past my bedtime) I was roused from my slumber by a man across the street yelling and shouting.  I went to the window to check it out.  A resident of the low-rise on the corner was speaking to him from his balcony, and the man was shouting up to him from the parking lot.  Since he seemed to be handling it, I went back to bed. 

At least 20 minutes later, the man was still shouting and it seemed my neighbour had given up and was no longer trying to deal with him.  He seemed very distressed, and as I moved back to the window, I could better over hear what he was saying - making declarations of love, crying out to God, cursing and threatening seemed to be the dominant themes.  At this point I decided he was more than likely psychotic, or at least in some kind of crisis, and that I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep until I had done something. 

Deciding it was not exactly a good plan to dash outside in my pj's and try to counsel this stranger, I got on the computer to look up a local mental health crisis number (I live outside my work area, so I am not as familiar with resources in my own neighbourhood).  By the time I got it and went back to the window to try to see him better, he was gone.  I hoped he was safe.

There seemed nothing better to do than go back to bed and try to sleep.  Unfortunately, my furry nocturnal neighbours decided we hadn't had enough excitement in the neighbourhood for one night, and decided to start fighting over my organics recyling bin.  At least, I think that's what they were doing.  Have you ever heard racoons fight?  It sounds like a cross between a dog fight, cats in heat and an 18-wheeler running over somebody's toes. 

Needless to say, I'm feeling less than lively this Monday morning.  How is the start of your week going?

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I’m breaking up with a client. At least that’s what I’m trying to do.

I’ve been seeing her for two and a half years. I picked her up from another program, and she has had case management support since 2002.

She doesn’t need me anymore. She’s said as much herself: she’s got an active life in her community, great family and professional supports, medication that works well for her. But she sticks around because she wants a ride. I drive her twice a month to her trustee, which is a fair way from her house.

This arrangement made sense when she started it with her previous case manager. She needed help not to miss the appointments, and to understand the information she was given when there. But not any more. She’s had time to learn and get used to the process, and she can do it by herself, but doesn’t want to. I can hardly blame her. Why spend money on a taxi when you can get a ride for free? And taking the bus is a pain. That, and the fact that my “support” is tied to her housing makes it difficult for me to disengage.

This is the bigger (systemic) problem. More and more the focus in community mental health services is on “recovery” and this is definitely the right idea. People don’t need to stay sick forever, and support from people like me is supposed to help. This woman has had an incredible recovery, but as it stands our supportive housing program provides no exit as long as she relies on the rent subsidy. I would never say that her subsidy should be removed before she can afford it, as having safe and stable housing is obviously a huge contributing factor to keeping her well. She can afford (IMO) to do without me.

After having explored this issue from every angle with my supervisor for months and months, examining myself for counter-tranference, and trying everything to be sure we were not under-serving her or missing ways that we could connect or provide support, my supervisor told me that I have her backing to start withdrawing transportation support. I have no desire to leave her high and dry, so I will propose that we agree on a timeline in which we can develop a new transportation plan and then I will stop chauffeuring driving her. I began practicing in my head how the conversation would go, and how I will handle her possible reactions.

I went to pick her up yesterday. She was dressed very nice and had a big smile on her face. I wished her a happy belated mother’s day and she thanked me. Then she informed me “and it’s my birthday today!” Oh crap.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t rain on her birthday parade with my difficult news. Put plainly, I chickened out.

We meet again in two weeks. I’ll do it then, I swear. Otherwise, I know I’m only prolonging the pain.

The Morning After

Woke up this morning trying to stomach some bitter-sweet election results.

At a downtown courthouse with a client, overheard two cops laughing with a judge about being parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant outside.

Got to the office in the afternoon to find that the pantry no longer contained my beloved Tetley's tea, but RED ROSE! Ack!

My faith in institutions is being tested in ways big and small today.

"The Longest Day" or "What am I doing here?"

Note: meant to post this last night, but was too wiped

I am sooo tired today after doing practically nothing.

First thing this morning I went with a client to the Courthouse to attend a free legal clinic. It is one of those places where you take a number then wait. And wait. And wait some more. Three hours later we saw the clerk for about 5 minutes (she was very helpful) before we got out of that place.

5 minutes to eat my lunch (yay! what luck!)

Afternoon spent tracking down the next client (inner monologue: I just saw him just yesterday, and rearranged my schedule to help him out today, wtf is the big idea disappearing now grr), then taking a long drive through traffic to get him to a treatment session at a downtown hospital. That clinic was running late so we waited. And waited. And dozed off….*snork* wha? What happened, where am I? Oh, and waited…I brought a book this time, so at least I was entertained when he finally went in for his appointment. And I waited. And texted my boss to beg her mercy for missing a team meeting I was supposed to be at right that minute. 2.5 hours spent before we left.

Then waded back into traffic for the long slog to get him home. Only to turn around and head right back into it to finally arrive at MY home where I try to reflect on the ways that I helped today.

What a day.

Celebrate the Small Stuff

It's really easy to get bogged down by negativity and frustration in this line of work.  Sometimes you just can't help but feel that recovery is impossibly slow, and "the system" is nothing but a big nasty mess serving only to keep people down.  It doesn't help when all over the news there are stories of families who lock their mother suffering with dementia in the garage, and Community Housing Corporations with big spending problems.

This is why it is so important to celebrate the successes.  Even the small stuff. 

Yesterday a client of mine officially received a Regional rent subsidy on her apartment (not from the troubled TCHC).  This is the first client I have even been working with that I have seen come to the top of the list!  She had been waiting for 14 years.  Despite all the paperwork (which this client in particular has zero patience for) she was very excited, as was I. 

Next week we're going to Roll up the Rim to celebrate.

Computer Problems

be back soon.

Que Sera

Finally got word that my current contract position will not be extended. Up until now, there was some vague possibility that it would, and I admit, I hung onto that hope pretty tightly! Ah, c’est la vie. I will still be employed, but it means going back to a position that I’m less than enthusiastic about. It’s no shock, but still a disappointment.


Of course, just as I started to despair about this, a lovely little job posting showed up in my mailbox notices today. Time to refresh that resume again! Sometimes I just need a little sign to remain hopeful and positive, and I guess this is it, teeny tiny as it may be. Wish me luck.

TGIF

I woke up. I was dark, and I had to pee. Shuffled my feet along the cold, cold floor with my eyes half open, making a point of not looking at the clock. I know that if I look at the clock and see the time, my brain will start calculating how many hours and minutes of sleep time are left, and I won’t GET back to sleep. I’ve learned this lesson well, and have my shuffle to the bathroom down pat at half-asleep mode.

Get to the bathroom, head back to bed and JUST (just!) lay my head down when the alarm goes off.

No kidding.

Downstairs a few minutes later and still more or less asleep, I poured juice onto my cereal. That’s what sort of day it’s setting up to be.

Daylight savings time cannot end soon enough!

Buckle Up

So here’s the story.Sometime last week I got a call to do a telephone job interview (yay!) at it was arranged for Monday at 12:30.  Since I had a client appointment right before that, I figured I would book my ‘lunch’ on my calendar at the office, and take the call in my car.

So the day came, and I motored on over to one of my favourite parking spots (somewhere I’ve pulled over for actual lunch many times before) only to find the lot COMPLETELY full of cars and trailers for some movie shoot that was happening in town.  Crap.  I scrambled to figure out another quiet place I could go, that I could get to quickly enough to avoid missing the call while driving.

I pulled in to a local park where my only company seemed to be a couple dog walkers and a woman reapplying the chalk lines to the baseball diamond.  With minutes to spare.  Perfect.

So I start arranging myself, getting out a notepad and pen, a copy of my resume for reference, a bottle of water, put the seat into a good position, everything.  I review the job posting that I originally replied to, and make notes of a couple questions I might ask them.  I am soooooo organized.  And then I wait. 

The clock switches to 12:30 and I definitely have little butterflies in my stomach.  I know that I interview well face to face, but this is my first time interviewing on the phone, and I’m nervous.  This would be a good time to disclose that I actually have a LOT of anxiety around the phone.  Making calls and sometimes even answering calls takes a lot of energy for me sometimes.  My ultimate dream in life is to get a job where I have a receptionist, and I never have to answer the phone again. 

To push this all out of mind, I put on some music.  Pantera (not my CD) comes blaring out at me, and I quickly switch to something more soothing (John Lennon, New York City).  Unfortunately, I’m noticing that the butterflies in my stomach have transformed into an increasing need to go pee.  Oh well, the interview I was told would only take about 20 minutes, I can hold it.

But now it’s 12:51.  Still the phone has not rung.  I open the car windows slightly in order to get some air, and hum along to ‘Real Love’ to calm down and distract myself from the discomfort of my bladder (sorry, tmi?)

Just then, I hear the wheels of a car rolling up behind me, and turn around to see – what else – an approaching police cruiser.  Great.  My first thought is “did I miss a ‘private parking’ sign somewhere?” followed closely by “oh shit, what if my interview calls and I have to tell them I have to finish some business with the cops before I can speak to them?!?”  Not a good first impression.The officer came up, and I rolled the window further down.  He asked what I was doing there, and I told him I was waiting for a phone call.  This had to have been plausible, as I was sitting with a blank notebook open on my lap, and a cell phone ready in hand.  He asked to see my license anyway and I obliged since I really just wanted to get this over with, and also was pretty sure I had nothing to hide.  He took my card back to the car, while my eyes darted back and forth from the clock on the dash to my phone, clock, phone, clock, phone.  The officer returned my license and told me to have a nice day.  As an aside, I will keep this “waiting for a phone call” explanation in mind in case I’m ever approached by police again.  I figure since the ban on cell phones while driving has been instituted, they’ll consider this a smart choice on my part.By this point, it’s almost 1:00 and still no call. 

I get out my blackberry, and check the emails that had been sent back and forth confirming the date and time.  Yup, I had all my information correct.  This provides little reassurance, and in any case, I can’t really think about it because now I REALLY need to pee.

Fortunately, my parents live nearby so I decide to take a chance and drive over to their place to use the facilities.  I connect my phone to my Bluetooth just in case.

At mum and dads I’m feeling better after a quick trip to the loo, but the discomfort of needing to go has quickly been replaced by sheer panic about this interview. I log on to my parents computer and check the emails again.  I also look up the number of the woman who was supposed to call me, and decide it’s time I give them a ring. I dial the number, punch in the extension and…the voice mail is full.

Hmm.  Maybe she’s not in the office – should this make me feel better?  I there anyone else I can speak to?  There is no operator, and I don’t want to call through the crisis line.  I settle for sending an email along the lines of “I waited for your call but it didn’t come and I’m hoping we can reschedule because I’m still really interested in this opportunity I hope everything is okay and please let me know if there is anything I can do to resolve this situation have a nice day I’m just going to remain calm and remember that you don’t owe me anything and the ball is really in your court so I’ll bite my tongue about what I’m really thinking and I hope you notice the very professional tone of this email and feel impressed enough to call and offer me a job right away”.  Or something like that.

By Tuesday, I’d had no response.  I was sure of this after checking my email about a billion times.

I tried calling again, and this time I was able to leave a message.  What did THAT mean?  Presumably this woman was in the office enough to check her messages, so didn’t she read her email?  I did my best to sound professional in the voice message.

It’s now day three, and nothing.  WTF?  Maybe I don’t even want to work for these people – they clearly don’t have their shit together.  Except I haven’t totally given up hope yet.  But WHY oh WHY did the first response I’ve had to a job application in over A YEAR have to go down like this?

*sigh* If anything else does come of this, I’ll keep you posted.  If not, well… 

That About Sums It Up

I'm Back!

Let me rephrase that: I’m back.

While I’m not totally loathe to return to work after a delightful two weeks off (thanks for asking) I don’t totally dread it.

It turns out I missed some serious office place drama, which I’m kinda glad of. I’m not comfortable going into details at this point.

Coming back, I’m doing a lot of thinking about going forward. In the next few months, my current contract will end and I go back to my old position. I can’t say the thought really pleases me.

I’ve had a vague goal in mind of landing a new gig before that happens. However, that’s easier said than done, a reality that’s rearing its ugly head the closer I come to that deadline.

So I’m trying to handle this in the most social worky-way I know how: reframing! How can I make this job likeable? How can I make it work for me???

Only time will tell whether I’m helping myself, or prolonging the pain.

And of course, my fingers are still crossed that fate will smile on me and the perfect job will just fall into my lap from somewhere.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

Please, just go pt. 2

The housing transfer saga continues.
I met with the client. She had yet to make up her mind. She was highly anxious, and unfocussed and I could barely get a word in. I haven’t seen her like this in several months, although it used to be constant.

She wanted to know what I thought she should do. I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t. I reinforced that it was her decision, and tried to outline some pro’s and con’s.

Eventually, I ended the meeting since we were talking in circles. I suggested she call her worker at the housing agency and discuss it with her to figure out a final decision. We only have so much time.

Today, another message from her in the wee hours of the morning. She still hasn’t decided. I have a lot of thoughts and theories and hunches about this and about what I think she should do. But I’m getting too personally involved. This is counter-transference baby. I haven’t been able to connect with my supervisor for the past two days and I know I need to debrief with her, so I haven’t called the client back yet. I feel guilty about that.

This is rare for me. I’m usually pretty consistent about my boundaries, and I generally find it pretty easy to keep a healthy sense of detachment between me and my clients. But it’s bound to happen sometime, right?

Aarrgh! I really thought she was going to go for it.

Why I Hate Being an Administrative Bearer of Bad News

Or “Being Part of the System”

Me: I should let you know that we have a six month waiting list.
New intake: Six months is no good, I won’t be here.
Me: Oh, where are you going?
New intake: I’ll be dead.

**

(I do however, love these new blogger template options)