Jenny's Story: Living in a Dump

When you work in a hospital, you see people from all walks of life come and go, and maybe only a handful ever leaves a lasting impression. The impression may be pleasant, unpleasant, or extremely heart wrenching. One afternoon in 1978 on the 3 to 11 shift I got an admission. The chart said she was a 31 year old white female (for her privacy I will call her Jenny) with the primary diagnosis of pediculosis, and the secondary diagnosis was fever of unknown origin (FUO). Back then it was normal for an attending physician to admit a patient with this non-specific diagnosis, FUO, just to get them into the hospital for testing or some other reason. I remember reading on the orders to bathe this lady once a shift for 3 days. There were orders to use isolation techniques to keep the lice contained until the patient's head and body could be treated for lice.

I was not prepared for what I saw when I knocked on the open door and entered. At first glance I thought she had some kind of heart condition because her skin was an ashy gray. I proceeded to introduce myself as her care giver, and asked her if I could take her vital signs. I also needed to do an assessment to evaluate her skin, but since she was in such poor shape, I opted to give her a bath first, so I could see her skin. As I helped her remove her clothes I noticed her skin was just as gray as her face. The foulest odor from her unwashed skin and hair permeated the room.

In a matter of a few minutes I learned a lot about Jenny, and I also learned about the compassion of the doctor that admitted her. The diagnosis of FUO could keep Jenny in the hospital long enough to help her get out of the situation she and her family were in. Jenny and her family had been living in a dump for 5 years. I don't mean a dump, like a house that is in disrepair-Jenny and her family were squatters in a landfill. They were homeless, and they picked through garbage for a living. She and her husband had put up a lean-to of sorts in the dump. They lived there without electricity and without running water for 5 years. The clothes they had on were worn for weeks at a time without ever peeling them off.

I learned from Jenny how they survived. They picked up a wood stove out of the dump and took it into their little home made out of cardboard, tarps, and pieces of wood. Their living space was large enough to shelter them from the cold. They ate and slept together in this little make shift shack. I also learned that she, her husband and children had been evicted from the dump after all those years of living there. That little shanty was the only home they had had in all those years. They were now on the street. If Jenny hadn't gotten sick and gone to the country doctor that was in town, she and her family might have been ignored and left on the street to fend for themselves.

I asked Jenny how they ate, and she said they ate fried potatoes for the most part, because potatoes were cheap. She cooked the potatoes on the wood stove summer and winter. With no electricity, I could imagine how uncomfortable heating a wood stove could be in the summer. There was no refrigeration, but she kept milk cold in an ice chest she had salvaged from the dump. She said she and her husband bought what they could from the little supermarket about a mile down the road. They could only carry so much between them; they had to walk everywhere they went, and there was no money for luxuries, such as a taxi.

I helped her bathe and wash her hair. I was gowned, gloved and masked to prevent the lice from getting on my person. I felt bad protecting myself from her, but I explained that she had head and body lice, but we would get rid of them. I washed her 3 times in one sitting in the tub. The water was so dirty, I let it out and drew more, and washed her again and again. When I got done, she smelled better, but her skin was stained from so many years of not being able to bathe regularly. She did say sometimes she visited relatives and she took a bath, but not very often-she still looked ashen all over. While she was in the tub and I had washed her hair one time, I then shampooed her hair with the lice treatment and let the shampoo stay on her head under a plastic cap.

Once out of the tub I helped her get into her hospital gown and I bagged her clothes to be disposed of. I explained to her that we would get her some clean clothes to go home with when she was discharged, and asked if I could dispose of her clothes. She was precious about it. I doubled bagged her clothes and disposed of them.

As I was combing her hair with a fine toothed metal comb to remove the dead lice and the nits from her hair, I continued to make conversation with her. Her manner was like that of a child's; she didn't even seem to understand the gravity of her situation. She had such trusting eyes. She had literally moved from the landfill to the street to the hospital, with no place to go when she was discharged.

Dr. Rogers had left orders for our social service director to come and see what she could do to help. In just a matter of a few days our social service department had contacted several organizations and had clothes donated to Jenny, her husband and their 3 children. They had been given a low income apartment that was a real home with electricity and running water. Her husband was given a job with the city picking up trash, I had heard after her discharge.

I lost track of Jenny after she was discharged. As a nurse, it isn't part of my job to keep up with patients after they have been discharged; however I am glad that someone did. Dr. Rogers and the Social Service department worked to give this family a hand up. I never expected to see Jenny again, but two years later I was working in labor and delivery and a woman by the same name came in to have a baby. It was Jenny and I almost didn't recognize her. She was still the same childlike woman she was, but she was not the same woman that came into the hospital two years earlier with lice in her hair and crust on her skin. She was clean, and her whole family was clean, thanks to a doctor that cared enough to get involved.

The plight of the homeless often goes unnoticed, because we look past them as if they don't exist. It is assumed that homeless people are homeless because they choose to be for one reason or another. Until I met Jenny I assumed all homeless people were alike. They were homeless because they were just too sorry to do any better for themselves; but that isn't really true. Everyone has a story to tell, but we will never hear it unless we have ears to hear. Jenny taught me that you do the best you can with what you have. She managed to keep her family together through the worst possible adversity.

I don't look at homeless people the same way anymore. They aren't the vermin of the street; they are human beings that are in an extreme position for whatever reason. Jenny didn't want to live in a dump for 5 years, she didn't want to be homeless; however, it is a fact that you can't pull yourself up out of a ditch without a helping hand. More often than not we choose to turn our heads rather than offer a homeless person a job which could help that person keep some dignity.

Dr. A. Rogers passed away many years ago, but I will never forget his kindness. He had a heart for people, and it didn't matter if they had money or not. It didn't matter if they were clean or dirty; he saw them all with special regard, never looking down on anyone because of their circumstances. There should be more people in the world like he was.

© Charlene Collins 2008