Working in a supported housing service with staff off sick and residents with underlying health conditions is tough

Monday

I work in a supported housing service in London. We work with homeless people with complex needs including drug and alcohol addiction, mental health issues and mobility problems. Some have been evicted from services multiple times because they are too difficult to look after, or broke the rules.

The first thing I do on Monday morning is read the weekend handover. The police came to view CCTV after a former resident smashed the security door.

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We’re five staff down because of coronavirus. Two are off indefinitely, our team leader is working from home, one is self-isolating for 14 days and we’ve lost a bank worker.

Tuesday

Before my shift I drive around all the supermarkets to see if there’s anything left. I find two packets of pasta, but we’ve got 60 residents and it’s becoming a struggle to feed them.

We get a food donation from Meat Liquor so I drive to Dulwich to pick it up and then head back to help staff prepare lunch.

I try to find cleaning products. The staff and some of the residents are worried about coronavirus. I have to keep reassuring them that we have everything in place to keep them safe.

Wednesday

A local grocery shop has a stock of plastic gloves and hand wash, and they let me buy extra for the services. We get a large donation from Greggs, a lot of it is sugary stuff and biscuits rather than nutritious food but it makes our residents happy.

I try to encourage a resident with cancer to go to the local A&E as he’s come out in bruises all over his body, but he’s afraid. I get a call from a consultant at King’s College hospital and he says it sounds like his liver is failing. The resident refuses to go to hospital. I decide to keep an eye on him but I’m worried because he’s also lost his appetite.

Thursday

I put up signs around the service highlighting the importance of social distancing, then I cook lunch for all the residents. We’re short-staffed but we all get on with it as best we can. The minimum the service can run with is three members of staff.

As I leave I find a group of eight of our residents on the corner. I pull over the car to remind them about the importance of social distancing. They say they’re fine, that they live together so it doesn’t count. It’s not until I tell them the police will stop and search them that they move on.

Half our residents are really nervous and wearing gloves and masks, and the other half are hugging, coming up close to staff, and coughing, not aware how scary it can be for everyone else.

Friday

I try to convince the resident with cancer to go to hospital. I tell him I’ll sit on his bed all night if he doesn’t go; he gives in after five or six hours and lets us call an ambulance. I’m surprised how quickly it comes.

I go to a local pharmacy to get three thermometers for three of our services but they’ll only let me buy two. I try to explain why we need them, that it’s justified by the nature of our work, but they refuse. A kind man behind me in the queue buys me the third. I’m so grateful I feel like hugging him but then I remember about social distancing.

Another resident receives her benefits and buys herself heroin and crack. She returns and passes out. I pick her up off the floor and then all the staff have to check her vital signs throughout the night. Social distancing goes out the window.

I’m there three hours after my shift ends and then I’m on call.

This has been the toughest day so far. I’m already thinking about who we’ll lose because of underlying health issues. It’s difficult to keep all 60 safe.

Denell Dema works for Evolve Housing + Support in a supported housing service in south London.

If you would like to contribute to our My working week series about your job in public services, get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com

