November Monday

     Today was an infusion day, so afterwards I was once again on the 9th Ave bus.  It was somewhat crowded, so all the disabled seats upfront were taken when a very elderly, frail lady got on.  "One of you is going to have to give me a seat," she announced and several slightly less old and frail people moved further back in the bus.  A couple of stops later, a woman with long white hair and a walker got on and started to settle across from her.  "Do you need this seat?" asked the frail lady.  The new woman, taking this as an invitation, moved across the aisle.  "Actually, this is better for me," she said.  "It's better for me, too, said the First Lady, refusing to give up her seat, the first on the bus. She put her hand on the configuration of poles between her seat and the door.  "This is the only way I can get up," she said to the Second Lady, who by then had sat beside her.  "I had a tumor," she said.  "I went in for a hip replacement and they found a mass.  I had chemo, radiation, and then surgery." The woman beside her looked around, caught my eye, and I could see a glint of humor in her glance, like she was laughing internally at this situation.  "That's a very nice walker," said the First Lady.  I had also noticed the unusual design.  "It's very comfortable," the owner of the walker said.  "I fractured my thumb," the First Lady replied "and I was asking my physical therapist how to manage a walker like that."  Looking for a way to change topics before any more medical information could be disclosed, the Second Lady asked her about the stalks of eucalyptus wrapped in florist paper she was carrying.  "I put them in my bathroom.  I have a holder in my shower, and the scent opens up my lungs, plus they look pretty there.  I replace them every few months."  At that point, I had to get off the bus.

    At the office, I found Misty just finishing an intake with a new client, the 101st in 2026.  You can't go directly to the adult LGBTQ shelter, you have to start out at an intake shelter, so I wrote down the address for the Brooklyn Women's Intake and told her that as a trans person she had a right to access the shelter of her preferred gender.  It's not as frequent a problem as it used to be, but I like to make sure my client know the law.

    I was busy approving timesheets and finishing tasks for the fundraiser which is coming up fast, when Kevin appeared in the doorway.  He wasn't working today, so I was surprised to see him.  He lives in the trans adult shelter, along with many of our clients.  "I had to calm down A. today," he said, "she was hysterically crying."  A. is prone to anger outbursts but not crying, so I was concerned.  "A. was dating R., another girl in the shelter, and she got transferred to a non-trans shelter in Brooklyn.  She went to the deli near her shelter and was killed by a man outside the deli," Kevin explained.  This story immediately made me think of J., a client of mine who was killed outside a bodega, but it also made me furious because if they had not transferred her, something we have been trying to get stopped, this wouldn't have happened.

    I texted a trans activist I know, and the story took a twist because she had been told by the shelter that the client committed suicide.  She and Kevin and I got on a call together and compared the information we had, but the only thing we could be sure about is that whatever ended her life would likely not have happened if she had been left in the trans shelter where she had friends and felt comfortable.

    

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