These medics bring care to Fort Worth’s homeless, treating people at camps, parks and more
Ronald Northern picked up a large rock, planning to use it as a counterweight to keep a tarp from blowing away in the wind.
The night was cold, and Northern, who lives outside in a clearing north of Interstate 30, was using the tarp to shield himself from the weather. But as he lifted the rock, he felt a sudden spasm of pain in his left hand, and dropped it.
A few days later, Northern tells this story to Joel Hunt, physician assistant and director of Fort Worth’s street medicine team.
The street medicine team does most of its work in places like this: Campsites, parks, and gas station parking lots where their patients live or spend time. They carry medical gear in their backpack and use the nearest QuickTrip as their break room.
Almost all of their patients live outside, and many of them are transient, moving to new locations depending on the weather and on the enforcement of Texas’ camping ban.
Their work is part of a growing national recognition that people who live outside face rates of disease and death much higher than Americans with stable homes.
Street medicine providers say the most important aspect of their relationship with patients is trust. The majority of their patients have had a negative experience with an institution in their lives, be it time in prison or jail, the foster care system, or the health care system.
That’s part of why street medicine is so powerful, Hunt said: It flips the traditional power dynamics of a patient seeking care in a large hospital system. Advocates of the practice note that street medicine is more than just a mobile clinic because it puts unsheltered people in the driver’s seat of their medical care.
“We’re in their home. They’re the ones that are in control of the environment,” Hunt said. “When they come into the clinic, we’re the ones in control and they’re yet again reminded of their powerlessness.”
Sometimes, that means the care they offer can look a little different than the traditional doctor-patient relationship. For Ace Diamond, a homeless woman who asked to go by her street name, some of the most vital support she’s received from the street medicine team are the conversations she’s had with them as she has navigated depression and a history of substance use disorder.
Ace, 35, has experienced regular trauma living on the streets. She recently found a friend of hers, also unhoused, had died. She’s in recovery from substance use disorder, and has been diagnosed with depression and epilepsy. Her children are being raised by her sister in Paris, TX. Last year, her beloved puppy, Tiberius, died from an infection.
Some days it’s difficult for Ace to handle all of the pain she’s experienced. That’s when, she said, she turns to Hunt or community health worker Karen Cain, both of whom are good listeners, she said.