Yesterday, I listened to a nurse talk about the day to day activities of a nursing home, here in the South. She is assigned to a section of the facility where patients who have been diagnosed with COVID-19 reside. From her comments, it seems they are all elderly, with other health issues, yet the threat of the virus affects all patients and staff.
I don’t recall the total number of patients in her assigned area; however, she said that last week several of them died, primarily due to the virus. She also said a young nursing colleague had been diagnosed with the virus; and, within a few days, had died. I just can’t imagine the emotional stress this nurse deals with regularly.
She spoke about the restrictions on family visitors and those who come to grieve the loss of a relative. Here in the South, both of these actions are part of the fabric of life; large groups want to “visit,” and equally large numbers want to be at the patient’s side when they pass away.
She described one patient, an elderly female resident, who couldn’t understand why her son didn’t come to visit. The patient asked the nurse if he’d died from the virus; reality is he wasn’t able to stay under their current patient-safety guidelines. The patient couldn’t fathom this.
Similarly, the nurse spoke of family members who learned of a relative’s death and either couldn’t be there at the patient’s side or gather to grieve, as is customary here in the South. The nurse and her colleagues try to comfort family members with little success.
While the nurse didn’t spend any time talking about her own fears and emotional pain, it was evident this is a person who is reaching the limit of her compassion. She’s undoubtedly not alone in these feelings, and an army of medical professionals everywhere share every bit of her fatigue, hurt, and fears.
I wonder how can we possibly recognize and honor these true heroes?
Are we there yet? 