A regular Source feature, Undercurrents explores issues, ideas and events as they develop beneath the surface in the Virgin Islands community.
This is the day to see the brittle side of St. Thomas. No doubt it looks much the same on St. Croix, on St. John and in most any city in the world.
In honor of March as national Social Work Month, two bright young Virgin Islands social workers, Lloyd Maynard and Rose-Ann Samuel Richardson, have agreed to let me ride along with them as they visit some of the clients on each of their over-stuffed caseloads. He’s been working several years with the Aging and Adult Services, Adult Protective Services division of Human Services; she’s been on the job a little over a year.
Both have good educations, solid training and plenty of background experience. What they really need for this job, however, is common sense, knowledge of the community and of the system, caring hearts coupled with professional detachment, thick skin, patience and a strong pair of legs. As it turns out, they’ve got that too.
Before we even leave the office, a woman appears with a problem. If she didn’t have a problem, she wouldn’t need to be here. She asks for a worker by name; unfortunately the worker is not in the office today. What do you need? Maybe we can help.
She needs a bed. And the absent worker is the one who helped her fill out an application in hopes of being given one. No problem, we can check on that. Sit here and we’ll check.
With a sideways glance at me, she sits on the chair next to mine, not quite mumbling a response to my greeting. Various office workers try to engage her but she just wants to know one thing: When does she get the bed?
The division head, Lisandra Latorre, steps in to mobilize the effort to get her an immediate answer. But after 10 minutes, the office staff has to admit defeat. They’ve been calling the St. Croix office where applications are reviewed, but no one is answering. They’ll get in touch with the woman as soon as they can get through to the office and find out whether her request was approved.
She heaves herself off the chair. She knew all along. With another peek at me while she makes her exit, she declares that anybody can get help in the Virgin Islands except people who are from the Virgin Islands.
Lloyd, Rose-Ann and I walk out to the parking lot and Lloyd agrees to drive. First stop, Lucinda Millin Home for the Aged, where he has a client he monitors. We head for the room and discover a maintenance crew blocks the hallway. They’ll be working there for several hours; we can’t reach the client now.
Disappointed, we pile back into the car and drive to Sea View Nursing and Rehabilitation Facility. This is a success story, Lloyd says. Mr. X suffers from dementia that is getting progressively worse and he is losing his eyesight and needs eye surgery. He’s incapable of caring for himself and was living alone in filthy conditions when Human Services stepped in and placed him at Sea View.
A legal immigrant to the territory with a work history, Mr. X tried to apply for social security several years ago but he hit a bureaucratic brick wall because he no longer remembered where his green card was. No card, no social security. No social security, no Medicare. No Medicare, no operation on his eyes.
But today Lloyd is bringing an official copy of the card to Mr. X. It took him three years and stacks of letters and forms to Immigration to get it. Lloyd says he tried to get the federal government to expedite the case, explaining in painstaking detail that Mr. X needs eye surgery to keep from going blind, but the reply to his letter said the agency had decided that was not a sufficient reason for expediting the case. So … three years.
Three years ago, Mr. X might have been as excited to see the card as Lloyd is to show it to him. But he can’t really see it now and he seems only vaguely to understand why it’s so important. He does know he has visitors and he is happy to tell me that a nurse helps him shower each day and that he eats well. His mind wanders off into the past, but he is right back with us when it’s time to walk back to the exit; he wants to show us he can lead the way.
Back in the car, Rose-Ann gives the background on the next client. The elderly Ms. Y owned her own home but lost it as finances became tighter and tighter. Now she lives in a private market rental apartment with some family members, and her retirement and social security are the sole means of support for the small household. A friend contacted Human Services, concerned that the woman’s family was taking advantage of her.
Protective Services extracted a promise from the family that they would get a real refrigerator and stove for the apartment as well as a bed for their mother – rather than a mattress on the floor. We’re here to check on the progress. Our visit is unannounced, not by design but because there’s no direct communication with Ms. Y and Rose-Ann could not reach her neighbor.
We pull onto a side street and park. The house is on a hill and it’s a steep climb up three flights of stairs to reach the apartment – not exactly easy access for an octogenarian. Rose-Ann knocks and calls through the open window several times. No one responds. We don’t get to meet with Ms. Y, but from what we can see of the tiny apartment, things haven’t improved.
For this case, there may be a happy ending, waiting to happen. Although Ms. Y has been reluctant to move away from family, she was very impressed when Rose-Ann showed her Ebenezer Gardens senior living center and decided she’d like to move in there, with assistance from Human Services, even though it means living on her own. She was ready to move immediately. But, of course, there’s no room right now. So she’s on the waiting list.
Next stop: the hospital. Here the social workers must make an evaluation of a mental health patient. Generally homeless, Mr. Z apparently bunks with friends or acquaintances when he can, but mainly he travels with his belongings. From the conversation on the way over, it seems he can sometimes be violent, but not today. He is cooperative and conversational. Still many of his responses don’t make sense, especially to an untrained listener. The bottom-line is: If Human Services can find him a home, can he maintain on his own? Is he likely to take his medication regularly? The answer is obvious. This is not a success story.
Finally we visit the Queen Louise Home for the Aged in Hospital Ground. Both workers have clients placed here. A handful of residents are on the porch; more are in the community room inside, waiting for lunch. We stop first in the office of Director Ernie Pennyfeather and she regales us with tales of late-blooming romance between residents, outings to senior citizens centers and to the park across the street, and concerns about keeping residents on healthy diets and away from treats that well-meaning visitors or passers-by provide.
It’s a 24-hour residential facility with medical staff as well as kitchen and maintenance workers. Two-thirds of the residents suffer from Alzheimer’s disease or some other form of dementia, making their behavior unpredictable and making it difficult for the other residents, Pennyfeather says. By the time we finish, everyone’s at lunch, so our visits with the clients themselves are very brief, though positive.
Although it feels like a full day, it’s not yet 2 o’clock, and when we drive back to Human Services, Rose-Ann and Lloyd head into the office. There’s lots of paperwork waiting, reports to write, follow-ups to make.
This is a job in which you never catch up. The responsibility is daunting and progress is measured in small successes. Community understanding and financial support is limited. Gratitude is scarce. This is not a career for the faint of heart.
