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State of emergency declared due to nursing shortage in northern Manitoba Cree nation

Nisichawayasihk Cree Nation in northern Manitoba is declaring a health care state of emergency due to a nursing shortage that has forced it to lock the doors of its health centre to everything but emergencies only.

“In some of the worst situations, we’ve had reports of nurses working around the clock, in a 24-hour period maybe getting 2-3 hours of sleep. That is unacceptable,” said Angela Levasseur, chief of the community based in Nelson House, about 65 kilometres west of Thompson.

“We cannot continue with the current state of affairs. Our people have a right to health care. It is inhumane and an affront to our dignity that, in our land, we are seen as second-class citizens.”

Nisichawayasihk has about 3,500 people living on reserve and another 2,500 off reserve. A large proportion of those on reserve are infants, elders and people with chronic health conditions, according to Levasseur, who spoke to reporters in Winnipeg at the office of Manitoba Keewatinowi Okimakanak, an advocacy organization that represents northern Manitoba First Nations.

“Our people are suffering as a result … and the nurses are also being put under a lot of pressure and stress needlessly,” she said.

A sign hangs over the door of a First Nation community's local government offices.
The Nisichawayasihk Cree Nation band office is seen in a file photo. (CBC News)

As a result, since September 2023 the nursing station has only taken patients on an emergency basis.

That is creating animosity on the part of residents toward the nurses, even though it’s not their fault. That results in nurses feeling frustrated and angry and fearful, Levasseur said.

They’ve been insulted, yelled at and even assaulted. And those nurses, with frayed nerves, will snap back, she says.

“It’s a very toxic situation that is happening. Everyone is at their breaking point,” Levasseur said.

Would never happen in Winnipeg

She listed scenarios — such as someone wanting to get blood work, someone whose infant has a high fever, or someone with asthma who needs an inhaler — in which people would all be turned away because the doors to the nursing station are locked.

“That would never happen in the city of Winnipeg. You would never ever go to a walk-in clinic [that is] open to emergencies only,” Levasseur said. “Can you imagine the outrage? People would lose their minds.”

Rather than receiving aid in their own community, Nisichawayasihk residents are now being directed to Thompson, according to Levasseur.

That’s an hour-long drive, if they can even go, she said.

“If you or I lived in the city of Winnipeg and we were told, ‘OK you have to travel to Portage la Prairie,’ most people would be upset but they would get in their car,” Levasseur said.

“In First Nations communities, the majority of our people live in abject poverty. They do not have access to transportation.”

Even if they could, that solution is very problematic because the Thompson General Hospital is always full and cannot handle the added strain, she said.

A man with short grey hair sits behind microphones at a table.
Pimicikamak Chief David Monias says his community of 8,000 is supposed to have at least 13 nurses working in its nursing station, but there are only four. (Prabjhot Singh Lotey/CBC)

Nisichawayasihk is the second Manitoba First Nation to make the declaration in the past four months.

Pimicikamak Cree Nation — also known as Cross Lake — described its nursing shortage in March as a crisis.

The community of 8,000 is supposed to have at least 13 nurses working in its nursing station, but there are only four, according to Chief David Monias.

Levasseur criticized Indigenous Services Canada and the First Nations and Inuit Health Branch for inadequately funding nurses and health care, despite countless pleas.

“We cannot function as a community and we cannot continue in this crisis state,” she said, calling the health-care system in Manitoba a two-tiered one that dissects First Nations from the rest of Manitobans.

“They are worlds apart,” she said. “This amounts to racism in the health-care system. Our people matter. Our people have the right to be seen by a nurse or a doctor and yet it’s not happening.”

Pimicikamak’s Monias, who also spoke at Monday’s news conference, said governments are violating the rights of northern First Nations to effective health care — a right enshrined in treaties and legislation.

“We continue to cry out for help, to make sure we can provide health services, medical services for our people,” he said.

A woman with long hair in a pony tail sits at a table
Lynda Wright, Nisichawayasihk’s director of health, said the community needs at least five nurses on any given day to be able to assess and treat people properly. They typically have two. (Prabjhot Singh Lotey/CBC)

Public health nurses are paid far less by the government than private agency ones sometimes sent to fill in on First Nations. Those poor wages lead to extreme difficulty in retaining and recruiting publicly-funded nurses, Levasseur said. 

“If we can adequately pay our nurses, they’re going to want to stay, they’re going to want to come to the community.” 

Jessie Horodecki, the executive director at the personal care home in Nisichawayasihk, said that a licensed practical nurse right out of school will earn about $31 per hour as a permanent staff nurse in Manitoba. That same nurse starts at $45 with a private agency.

“That’s a drastic difference. That’s why we have such a shortage of [public health] nurses in the province.”

Government data shows that nursing stations in remote First Nations communities in Manitoba were facing a 67 per cent operational vacancy in the last fiscal year.

Lynda Wright, Nisichawayasihk’s director of health, said the community needs at least five nurses on any given day to be able to assess and treat people properly, but they typically have two.

Every year since 2015, she has submitted proposals to the government to increase the funding to hire more nurses and pay them better.

“In 2025, it’s going to be 10 years,” she said. “It’s very disheartening.”

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