By Faith Jamael
A new email in my inbox. I’m being asked to gather a list of everyone staying in all shelter programs from the last week. The sun creeping in from outside my window is deceitful. I can see the trees along King Edward shaking with vigour and fury all while hearing the wind whistle along Ottawa’s frozen landscape. I turn back to my computer and in 10 minutes I am able to send the report. I start mentally preparing myself for what is about to come next. In March of 2020 COVID was only supposed to last a few weeks. At this point it had almost been a year. When the pandemic began I was working in our Supervised Consumption and Treatment Service. In a day we went from wearing t-shirts and jeans, to being fully donned in a gown, gloves, goggles and the infamous N-95. We made light of our situation, would dance when we could and gave elbow touches to all of our clients. By month 4 of doing this however I could slowly see the enthusiasm of my co-workers dwindling away. On the outside we put a brave face for our service users, but on the inside, we were terrified. Being able to isolate? Forget about it. Social distancing inside the shelter? Hah, that’s a good joke. Working from home? Sounds luxurious!
Until January of 2021 the amount of cases inside the shelter had been minimal compared to other service agencies. What I didn’t know however is that this was about to be the beginning of my breaking point. Working with people, uncertainty is an inevitable part of the job. Circumstances change, the unexpected happens, wrenches are constantly thrown into plans. Adaptation is second nature to a case manager. An already impossible situation does not intimidate us. It motivates us, excites us, and intrigues us. There is a certain adrenalin rush that comes with being able to find that one loop hole that leads to the success of the person you’re trying to support. No one though could have predicted uncertainty to this magnitude. Every single day you never knew what you were walking into because things were constantly changing.
It’s early February, and the shelter is having the worst outbreak so far. We were severely understaffed as some of our own staff tested positive. I remember one morning getting a direction from my manager that was frustrating, but fairly manageable. I sat down and instantly started sobbing while I continued to log on to the computer. I was encouraged to go home and refused. We were already so understaffed that I felt I was abandoning my co-workers. Soldier on, just like we have been doing since the beginning. I was tired of having to adapt. I was tired of barriers, I was tired of not being able to help those I was there to help.
March 8th 2021 will be a day I will never forget. It was the day I received my first dose of the Pfizer vaccine. The tenderness in my arm the morning after was a joyful reminder that there was an end in sight. After a year of constant PPE wearing, weekly COVID swabs, isolating myself from my family, and sacrifice, I had an ounce of hope. I could start to envision a time where I could go home and hug my family without being worried I had infected them. I could start to see a future where I was able to gather with the incredible team I worked with and celebrate our resiliency throughout the past year. I was hopeful for what tomorrow brought again.
Not only did the prospects of my personal life bring me joy, but the prospects of how I conducted my job also brought me joy. I would be able to go into work and let the service users be my first priority, not adapting to COVID-19. Even in the chaos of my job I would be able to have some certainty in what tomorrow would look like. I would be able to help those I was there to help. I would be able to find calm amongst the chaos again.
Faith Jamael is the Housing Focused Case Manager in the Women’s Shelter at Shepherds of Good Hope. Through her work she has become an advocate for harm reduction centred programming and affordable housing in Ottawa. She is currently completing her Bachelors of Social Sciences at the University of Ottawa.