Eydie Pelkey: A Local Hero’s Legacy of Advocacy and Healing for First Nations Healthcare
In this heartfelt interview, we celebrate the remarkable achievements of SȾÁUTW̱ Elder Eydie Pelkey, a Local Hero award recipient, and a true advocate for healthcare services within the First Nations community. Known by her traditional name, W̱IOMELWET, Eydie’s lifelong dedication to improving healthcare access, especially for elders, has left a profound impact on her community. Her tireless efforts have led to the creation of the First Nations Adult Care Society, which continues to provide essential services for Indigenous families. Throughout her journey, Eydie’s work has centered on cultural sensitivity, empowerment, and ensuring that the legacy of her people remains honoured and carried forward. In this interview, Eydie shares her inspiring story of resilience, advocacy, and healing.
I was shocked. I agreed to do the interview and I thought that was all it was. I didn’t know it was going to be put in the news until I saw my picture in the paper. All the work I do is not for my own gratification; it’s for my people.
The original reason for the startup of the First Nations Care Society was because, 27 years ago, day surgeries began, and people were being discharged without a health plan. At that time, I was working for the South Island Tribal Council. I received information about a program called “Closer to Home,” and we submitted a proposal to provide that care. That was how the Care Society was started. There were initially 10 organizations involved, but we are the only one still in operation after 27 years. We are the only one funded by the province of BC.
One of the original goals was to reduce hospital days for First Nations clients by enabling them to stay in their homes and receive care. We employ RNs, LPNs, and home support workers who go into the homes. The nurses assess the type of service needed, whether medical or homemaking. We have saved the hospital a significant number of bed days that could have been occupied, as our elders strongly prefer to avoid hospital stays that might mean not returning home.
Yes, we interact with them. Our nurse, Mariam, maintains regular contact, especially with Kelly (Tsawout’s Nurse Practitioner). We ensure that our clients receive care, and if they need to see Kelly or a doctor, our workers will take the elders to their appointments. This ensures they can communicate their health conditions effectively. We coordinate with the band employees to avoid overlapping services, as they have similar programs. There is always communication between our society’s nurses and the band-level staff.
Currently, we have two nurses, but we are advertising for a third. There are also eight home support workers, and they report to a coordinator who manages the staff. Each worker submits paperwork detailing the hours they’ve worked and the services they’ve provided. The nurses’ assessments determine how much time they spend in each home.
Right now, because of the decline in health services, almost all the bands are coming to see Kelly here in Tsawout. I’m not entirely sure what’s happening in other communities. For example, I believe Tsartlip lost their nurse practitioner.
It’s crucial for all four First Nations communities to interact and ensure services are being provided adequately. We were meticulous about the service we provided, maintaining journals in each home to document clients’ health issues and medications, essential in emergencies. We’ve always aimed to maintain open communication with all different segments, including Tsawout, Pauquachin, and Tseycum communities.
Yes, but like nurses, our staff are bound by confidentiality agreements. They are trained to decline sharing client information with unauthorized persons.
Initially, we needed to develop a relationship with provincial health authorities. When we began, some public health nurses were hesitant about coming onto a reserve. Over time, I’ve worked closely with numerous CEOs, communicating our challenges and needs. Our relationship has evolved remarkably; now they are keen to understand our operations and successes. Our organization was pivotal in advocating for Indigenous nursing roles and promoting nurse practitioners during doctor shortages. We have maintained good interaction with health authorities, to the point where the hospital now contacts us directly for culturally sensitive matters.
For example, when the hospital staff sensed lingering spirits following patient deaths, reflecting our belief that unsettled spirits remain after death, our Shaker community members were invited to bless the hospital. This act involved a walkthrough with singing and candles. In response to our cultural practices, the hospital has since designated a space for our people to gather for large groups, singing, and prayers, like the Shakers do. We consider this a significant acknowledgment of our culture and practices.
There’s actually a very good relationship with the health services on the Saanich Peninsula.
They’ve acknowledged the importance of cultural sensitivity and even named the facility in our traditional language, which signifies a healing place.
In mainstream culture, some elderly individuals are left alone in long-term care facilities, with few visits from family. For our people, it’s the opposite; we prioritize caring for our elders. When my late mother was nearing the end of her life, my family and I were trained by Island Health to care for her at home. They provided us with everything we needed because of our established working relationship.
My late sister, Debbie, experienced cancer, and after initially being declared cancer-free, it later returned. She opted for pain management over further treatment. During her last days, she went to Saanich Peninsula Hospital. My grandchildren and I visited her there. One touching incident that stands out: after visiting hours, as we were leaving, my grandson, Jesse, noticed an elderly lady sitting alone, looking sad. He asked if he could give her a hug, which he did, to her gratitude.
Jesse, even at his young age, was mindful and caring during my own battle with cancer. He assisted both his great grandmother and me when we needed help. This is illustrative of the values we instill in our youth – respect and care for the elderly. That was the primary motivation for our Adult Care Society: to ensure our elders receive the care they need. This is a fundamental distinction between our community and others.
I have been outspoken about what I believe should be happening for our organization, and I have never been afraid to speak up and say what we needed. Island Health and our group have maintained open and interactive communication. From the beginning of Adult Care, the hospital staff could reach us directly when a First Nations person was discharged, and we’d arrange for their transportation and other needs to help them live comfortably at home.
From my mom. She was a district vice president of BC Indian Homemakers and lobbied for women and children’s rights across BC for 25 years. That’s where I got my stamina from. We come from a long line of strong women who stand up for what they believe in and fight for it. Our family was large and took in others who needed a home, teaching us responsibility and hard work from a young age.
In those days, there was no welfare. My mom worked her whole life, including in daycares and with seniors, and so did my dad. We were more or less taught to do what needed to be done in our house. We learned responsibility early. We were raised to know our duties without being told.
Now, my family is deeply involved in community and territory matters. For example, the recent archeological dig at Cordova Bay is significant because it was near my great grandfather’s long house. Our family history is rich; we are descendants of XETJIMELTW̱ , the last hereditary chief.
I educate various organizations about our people, the impact of colonization, and residential schools. I’m an Elder in Residence at the University of Victoria, where I share our knowledge and wisdom, emphasizing our close relationship with the environment.
My father predicted environmental changes decades ago, noticing the melting glaciers and changing water acidity. We were people who observed and respected the earth. Now the world is realizing the truth in our teachings, as we see environmental degradation and species disappearing. Today, our wisdom is being sought after more than ever.
Well, you notice that because these past few months they’ve had something called the King Tide, which we never saw before. Half of our point was covered. There’s a lot still happening.
They really changed their interaction. I remember, whenever I went to the hospital, which wasn’t very often, I didn’t really care for one of the doctors. I thought he was kind of snobby. But after he took part in the Blanket Ceremony, he completely changed. Every time I saw him at the hospital, like if I go up there any time any of my family is in there – like my grandchildren or siblings or whatever – I’m there. And he would see me and he’d come and he’d hug me and everything, and ask me how I am and what I’m doing there. The deputy ministers, they literally cried. One woman said, “I wouldn’t know what to do if somebody just came and took my children,” she said. So, there was a lot of awareness raised when those ceremonies were done. And even for the doctors, because I’ve done several sessions for doctors. They were all completely changed after, and they would come and talk to me and thank me for sharing my information. I am a residential school survivor. And they were all very appreciative because I, as an elder, have done sessions with medical students from UVic and UBC. They were very grateful for all the information I had to share, and all came to talk to me and thanked me. Because I was telling them, “When you have a First Nations client, you have to treat them with empathy because you don’t know what kind of life they’ve lived.” And all of us that were in residential schools should have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress. I’ve had cousins, and even brother-in-laws, who are agoraphobic because they’re so afraid of authority figures. You know, because we were so afraid to speak as residential school survivors. We weren’t even allowed to be children. It was like a concentration camp. We were mistreated, not properly fed, half-starved half the time. That was a lot to endure. I never really realized until I took a workshop through the lodge with residential school survivors. I was wondering why they were telling us to bring our blanket and a pillow, and they had us go back to the time we were there, and all I could hear was sobbing all over. And some of them were cousins. And then all the issues with the sexual abuse came out. My own cousin, he said, “Every night we were afraid to go to bed because we didn’t know if it would be us or who was gonna get it next.” We were all crying, and I thought, “Oh my God, I was there.” I was there, and I always had a fighting spirit. I never allowed myself to retreat into my shell like many others did because they were afraid. And when it all came out, there were people from Ottawa or somewhere in Ontario or something, but they were calling me, asking me if they could interview me about any of the missing people or people who died there. And I just said no. I said my sister was very traumatized, and she never reached her full potential because of that. I said I wouldn’t want her to be retraumatized by hearing anything I had to say. I said I won’t do the interview. But when I was at the Tribal Council in the early ’90s, I actually was on the residential school committee that brought out the abuse, and it took this long to resurface, 27-28 years ago. And I was on Vancouver Island where the dental school is.
You know, it’s my ancestors and my own lived experience that inspire me. When I think of all that my family and people have endured, I feel a deep sense of responsibility to honour their legacy by fostering a better world for our children and grandchildren. I’ve seen firsthand the damage that was done, and I don’t want future generations to suffer like we did. It’s also about healing. Helping others has been my way of healing myself. Every time I educate someone, every time I lend a helping hand, it’s like I’m healing a small part of that wounded child within me. And seeing the change in people – that awareness and empathy that gets kindled in their eyes after they learn our history – it fuels me to keep going. It shows me that change is possible and that we, as a people, can rise above our painful past and build a future rooted in respect, understanding, and love. Plus, I feel a spiritual calling to this. I believe we are all connected, and helping others, Native or non-Native, is my way of honouring that connection.
Thank you for giving me this opportunity to share. It is really important to me that our stories are heard and that our people, especially our youth, understand the struggles we have gone through and the progress we are making. I hope that our experiences can help guide the next generation, inspire them to be proud of who they are, and encourage them to continue advocating for our rights and our health. I think it’s crucial that we continue to work on creating a healthcare system that is culturally sensitive and respects our traditions and values. I also think it’s essential to break the cycle of fear and to encourage open dialogue within our communities and with healthcare professionals, so we feel comfortable seeking the care we need when we need it.
Let’s keep this dialogue going and continue to work together for a brighter and healthier future for all our people.
Family is at the core of everything for me. It’s more than just blood – it’s a lifetime commitment of love, care, and support. I’ve dedicated my life to being there for my family and community in any way I can, and I don’t plan on stopping. It’s not about recognition or money; it’s about nurturing the wellbeing of those around me.
Thank you for listening and for giving me the space to share my story. It’s important to pass these lessons on, so our ways of life and care for each other continue. Our culture and sense of community are our strength, and I hope the younger generations carry these values forward.
Click an image for larger view.
