When I first joined Street Med STL, I was told that our Saturday outreach changed based on where we would find the patients. Rather than the usual practice of setting up a clinic and patients coming to us, Street Med goes out looking for patients who are unhoused. One of our main locations was the riverfront. North of the Arch, north of the abandoned casino awning, the paved road ends, giving way to a narrow strip of dirt and shrubs that stretches out between the flood wall and the Mississippi River.
Along that path were various shelters, ranging from tents to more structurally composed dwellings made of plywood, tarps and random items. Some of these encampments were closed off with barriers, some not. Some of these home sites had been decorated: a stuffed scarecrow-like figure, empty frames hanging on trees, cast-off paintings, and once, a pink Barbie plastic stagecoach, propped up on a tree trunk, gazing out over the river. It was there in its bright pink glory, standing out amidst the chaos of the abandoned wet clothing, fire pits
and tall grasses.
Two weeks ago, the encampments along the river were gone, replaced by a fence blocking off the area. We had heard murmurings about the closure of the riverfront throughout the morning as we made rounds at other locations. No one was sure where the inhabitants had gone – many are still
missing. Sometimes we have specific medications or medical supplies to give to the people who stay along the flood wall. Those items now sit unused in our medical bags, waiting until we find them. We are now spreading out along the riverfront as we try to assist other unhoused people. As
we do so, I keep hoping to see the familiar faces I have gotten to know. So far, they remain largely unfound.
The connections we make to our patients on the streets are similar to the connections we make in our clinics and hospitals. We get to know these patients on a personal level, discussing the ups and downs of life. One man recently told me his kid was graduating from high school–mine too. We gripe about the weather, hot or cold. Others connect over the many pets in the encampments. There is art. There is humor. There is the Barbie stagecoach.
Our organization does not strive to solve the problem of homelessness itself. But once you move from reading a news article that a homeless encampment was taken down to knowing exactly who was affected, you feel more deeply the hardships of the unhoused. I hope to see those patients again. I hope they have found a place to sleep and shelter from the summer storms. And I hope they know we’ll still keep looking for them.
Cathy Hermann, MD | Assistant Professor of Medicine | Interim Medical Director, Student Health Services | Washington University in St. Louis School of Medicine
*Some details related to patient stories may be altered to protect the privacy of those we serve.