I had a homeless patient come into the clinic today. Strangely enough, he's probably the brightest, most diligent patient I've had in weeks. Keeps his appointments, takes his medication, tries to exercise and eat healthy... he just doesn't have a home. He's basically choosing to be homeless-- he's employable, probably, but doesn't want a job. He has friends, but doesn't want to impose on them. He doesn't mind living on the street, he claims. He reads newspapers that people throw in the trash, he collects cans to earn a little bit of money, he gets free meals from soup kitchens, he showers every couple of days at a friend's apartment, he washes his clothes, shaves-- he doesn't look homeless, or at least not as homeless as you'd expect a homeless person would look. And he has all of his medical records neatly organized in a folder, gave a concise history, was in good spirits, and actually asked a lot of smart questions about how to keep himself healthy and manage the medical conditions he has. He almost made me think being homeless wouldn't be so bad.
And then I remembered I hate sleeping outside. So there goes that.