Righteous indignation...

When I worked for the HIV agency, I also had my ‘favorite’ clients.  And of course, most of those clients were also dealing with mental illness of one kind or another. One of them was a gentleman who was homeless. He was staying with friends, but that had been somewhat ‘iffy’. And he was, of course, HIV +. This man had worked in construction for years, but as his drinking had more and more of an impact on his life, he lost jobs. He also lost his family, so to speak. His grown children were in another state. And he rarely saw them, although he did manage to keep some contact with them. This was truly
a nice guy. I enjoyed talking to him. We always had great conversation. I had a lot to work on with him. I found him a more permanent housing situation at a residence for the homeless. I had him on assistance with food stamps. And I was helping him to work on alternatives for obtaining social security
disability. By the time that I worked with him, his HIV was at about the point that it was becoming AIDS.  And of course, his abuse of alcohol contributed to the physical downslide. While I regularly attempted to get him to commit to treatment, I never got anywhere with him. It was frustrating. Especially since I understood the relationship between his drinking and the fact that his health was deteriorating.  Almost like a suicide.  Slow, but a suicide.

At one point, he spent some time in the hospital due to his physical health. While in the hospital, he missed an appointment for his food stamps. Which meant that since he hadn’t met with a case manager at the food stamps office, his food stamps didn’t come the next month. I took him in to make
an appointment. Then we went back for the appointment. We waited for two hours, happily chatting away. Since the food stamp office always took time, I wasn’t surprised. But I was a little frustrated, because we had an actual appointment. I finally went to the desk and asked them about what had
been going on. You need to know that we had checked in. The desk knew that we had an appointment. And two hours later, we were still waiting. And it was long past our actual appointment time. The desk notified somebody. And I was called over to talk to them. The person informed me that his Case
Manager wasn’t there that day. And we had to re-schedule. Now, keep in mind, this man had no food stamps for the month. I had provided him with some food from our agency food pantry, but that was limited. I also had an option for giving him a grocery card. But we had waited two hours. And
he had only missed the appointment because of illness. And he was still pretty weak from his illness. I was absolutely floored. We should have been notified immediately about his case manager being absent. I had waited two hours with a sick man. Who needed his food stamps. So, I went off. Totally.
I demanded to speak with a supervisor. I made a scene. Given that this happened after 9/11, there was a police presence at the food stamp office, but I ignored that. I was totally dedicated to seeing someone. Today. Right now. And so, I was loud and very demanding. I spoke to a supervisor, who set
us up with another case manager. We were seen. And my client was set up with a case manager closer to where he was living. My client had temporary food stamps on the spot. On the way out, the client thanked me. He said in a laughing manner: “I don’t remember a white woman ever defending me that
way.” As with the overdose, the client benefitted from my behavior. And I joked with my boss that she should set aside some bail money in case I was ever arrested.

But some parts of this were a clear picture into who Judy was and what she got out of being a case manager. I had always enjoyed the role of advocate. I saw the world in almost Don Quixote like terms. I was the ‘hero’ tilting at windmills for my clients. I was proud of that advocacy role. And in some ways,
it made me a good case manager. I got needs met. But sometimes, I didn’t help them in the long term by doing this. My client was deteriorating at least in part because of his own behavior. And tough love sometimes works. There are consequences to behavior. When you keep drinking in spite of the impact
on your health, you will get sicker. Another of those consequences is that you exist in a world where you are dependent on a cold social service system that doesn’t view you as an individual. Maybe my client should have experienced that consequence. Maybe next time we talked about going to alcohol treatment, I could have stressed that taking care of the alcohol issue would give him MORE strength for dealing with reality. Maybe he could eventually deal with reality, on his own, without the protection of a ‘Mama Bear’. Would I have empowered him in that way? Encouraged him to finally deal with an
issue that had almost certainly changed the direction of his life? I don’t know. But I didn’t even try. And this was a person of some substance. He was a military veteran. He had served this country honorably. He had reserves of strength that hadn’t been tapped in years. What was it in me that required me to ‘protect’ people in that way? Wasn’t I enabling him?

With hindsight, I believe I was. On some level. And I regret it. I think my advocacy served needs for me, and probably hampered him. Maybe tough love wouldn’t have worked. He ignored every other attempt I made to
get him to change his behavior. But I most certainly lost a key opportunity. And I think it was because I was trying to right a wrong. And this was a wrong that had its roots in my history. I think I always saw it as a failing of the system that nobody had stepped in to help my Mom and the rest of the family. As an adult, I vowed to be there for my clients. And sometimes I was ‘there’ to their detriment. Tilting at the windmill of the system. Is this an example of what Landmark describes when they talk about bringing
the past into your present? It seems to be. I am working on not tilting at windmills. It is a hard pattern to break. But it is worthwhile, because there is possibility at the end of the struggle.