Stories

March 2024 was the month when Mr. A. finally moved into his home. After years of moving between the street and shelters, he finally had a roof over his head. But that day, he held more than just a key, he held hope. And behind that hope, a silent dream: to return to his homeland and see his mother again, after so many years apart.

Because sometimes, everything can shift — for the better. Today, we’re out on outreach. Our goal: to find Ms. T., a patient who disappeared from the hospital a few days ago. Worry is growing, so we comb through Brussels, neighborhood by neighborhood. We decide to stop by La Fontaine (a hygiene center) — maybe someone there has seen her recently?

Il y a quelques semaines, j’ai proposé pour la première fois une séance de shiatsu à l’un de nos patients relogé, Monsieur Y. Ce soin énergétique, issu de la médecine traditionnelle japonaise, a pour but de rétablir l’équilibre du corps en stimulant les points d’énergie à travers le toucher. Pour Monsieur Y, c'était une grande première.

A few months ago, we lost Pierre Ryckmans, our coordinating doctor. Since his passing, memories have resurfaced, and some moments have left a deeper impression than others.

Why talk about meritocracy and homelessness? I’d like to share a few reflections on a topic that’s close to my heart: how our way of thinking about success and failure shapes the way we see – and the way people experiencing homelessness see themselves.

Mr S. has been living in accommodation since 2020, and everything is going well. He has many interests and resources: he is multilingual, a film buff, a lover of theatre, nature, reading and geopolitics. The support is going smoothly and he never ceases to enrich us with his knowledge. However, at the end of 2023, following several medical examinations, Mr. announces some bad news: he has been diagnosed with cancer. He is quickly put on a urinary catheter and begins outpatient chemotherapy. He shows resilience and gradually adapts to these life changes.

In Liège, we tend to favour soft mobility over cars. And yet, we have to admit that in our daily work, cars are often indispensable.

Mr. M. is in his fifties and has been living on the streets for more than 10 years. He is in good physical shape. At the last blood test, his doctor only noted a small vitamin D deficiency, which is not surprising in Belgium.

Mr. T. lives in a park in Liège. We have been following him since 2021. He has transformed his tent camp, located in the middle of a small wooded area, into a true defensive post. Branches and pieces of wood protect him and his camp from intruders.

At Street Nurses, the car is much more than a simple means of transport. Each day begins with a list of crucial medical appointments and administrative procedures.

A week ago I started work at Street Nurses. And today I meet a patient for the first time. I am excited, enthusiastic, but of course also a bit worried: will Mr. M. want to meet me, how will he respond to this contact? Many questions are spinning through my mind.

On a Thursday in October, I went to the burial of a person we had accompanied, Mr. B.