Hurry Up and Wait (For 5 to 10 Years)
This morning I called the BC Housing Registry.
The call lasted 13 minutes.
I was told my file was active. My information was updated. My mobility needs were reviewed. We discussed walkers, wheelchairs, stairs, bathtubs, income assistance, shelters, and the reality that I currently have no fixed address.
Then I asked the question everyone asks.
How long?
The answer was refreshingly honest.
Five to ten years.
The Housing Registry is administered by BC Housing, a provincial Crown agency that delivers housing programs on behalf of the Government of British Columbia. The website speaks of affordable housing, housing developments, and pathways to stability.
The process itself is straightforward enough.
Fill out the forms.
Wait for confirmation.
Call every six months.
Update your file.
Keep hoping.
Wait.
Five to ten years.
This isn’t an attack on the employee who answered the phone. Saloni was professional, patient, and kind. She did exactly what she was supposed to do. She reviewed my file. She updated my information. She explained the process honestly.
The problem isn’t the people.
It’s the expectation.
People experiencing housing insecurity are routinely told to “just get on the list,” as though the list itself is a solution. As though there is a hidden reserve of housing waiting just beyond the next form.
But a waiting list isn’t housing.
It’s administration.
Seven years ago, I waited.
Eventually, I found my own place.
Today, from a shelter in Kelowna, I called again.
After breakfast.
Cold toast.
Two yogurts.
Brutally strong coffee from the bottom of the shelter dining counter carafe, poured into a mug that read Woman Power.
Yesterday I was in the emergency department receiving intravenous magnesium after becoming ill. Seven attempts were needed to establish IV access. The line eventually went interstitial, and my arm swelled dramatically and became intensely painful.
Today I was arranging medications, calling pharmacies, speaking with BC Housing, trying to understand special authority coverage, balancing pain control against side effects, and figuring out what comes next.
Life doesn’t pause while you wait for housing.
People still get sick.
People still age.
People still lose mobility.
People still need to get to appointments.
People still need to charge their phones.
People still need to refill prescriptions.
People still need somewhere safe to sleep.
A thirteen-minute phone call cannot solve those things.
Neither can a website.
None of this means the Housing Registry shouldn’t exist.
It should.
But honesty matters.
People deserve to understand what it is.
It is not an emergency response.
It is not rapid rehousing.
It is not a magic bullet.
It is a registry.
And for many people, it represents years spent waiting while trying to survive long enough for their name to rise to the top.
Today I updated my file.
Again.
Then I made another phone call.
Then another.
Because that’s what people do.
They keep going.
Even while waiting.
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