Sounds of Caring

How am I feeling? That is an interesting and powerful question.

I feel many different things every day. It has become increasingly difficult to talk about my days with family and friends. I feel fearful, anxious, and overwhelmingly sad. This has been a true challenge.

But the strongest feeling I have is one of great pride and love. I know we are going to be okay. I never lost hope in the midst of my loss and pain.

I am at peace.

A good example of what we have been going through is the difficulty I had completing charts from the height of the pandemic.

I think I avoided opening them because I did not want to learn which patients had died. Each day I left those charts unopened, it felt as though they were alive for one more day.

I remember seeing their names and thinking, “I still don’t want to open that chart. I don’t want to know.”

Some stories had happy endings. Some patients recovered and did well. Many did not.

I want people to know that these patients stay with us, even after they die.

Since the COVID crisis began, I have walked across Central Park every morning on my way to work, something I never did before.

My husband walks with me, holds my hand, and gives me a big hug when we reach the hospital. Every evening, he walks me home and hugs me again when we return.

Some mornings, I walk alone and listen to music. Because no one is in the park, I sing out loud.

And when I sing, I cry.

For the last eight weeks, I have been working in a medical intensive care unit caring for COVID patients.

The feeling that is most present for me right now is sadness. I cannot believe everything I have lived through and witnessed, so many people becoming infected and dying.

I feel sad. I feel heartbroken. I feel as though the nightmare never ends.

First responder: As a first responder, you enter the homes of people you do not know. You respond at bus stops and train stations without knowing what you are walking into.

The fear of the unknown is always present.

We have faced unusual challenges that are outside our control. I feel out of control, as though something has taken over our lives.

I am afraid of the unknown and what the future may bring.

Chaplain: As a chaplain and a man of God, I have learned to take my hands off the steering wheel, let God drive, and allow Him to take me where I need to be.

Nurse: When you enter nursing school, you have a vision of what nursing should be. You take an oath to heal with your hands and care with a courageous heart.

Nurses are nurturers. We help people through listening and human touch. We witness babies being born, and we help people as they approach the end of life.

One of the hardest parts of this pandemic is preparing to intubate a patient who looks to us for reassurance.

We become their answer and their source of strength. They look into your eyes and ask, “Am I going to make it?”

You do not have an answer, even though you feel in your heart that you should. You are a healthcare provider. This is what you do.

The only thing you can offer is, “I am with you throughout this journey. I will carry you through it, and I promise you will never be alone.”

That is when I feel most defeated, because all we want to do is fix it, and right now, we do not have the answers.

The COVID-19 crisis has robbed us of some of the most basic tenets of nursing.

We have witnessed death in numbers too horrific to speak aloud.

As a profession, we are scarred and hurting.

I feel as though I will never be the same after this.

My career will never be the same.

I will never again take the power of touch for granted.

Inside the hospital is the only place where touch is accepted. It is the only place where healthcare providers can hug one another, wipe away each other’s tears, applaud one another, applaud your loved ones, and hold their hands.

That is the greatest thing.

Sometimes the collective sadness becomes too much, and a small group of us will find ourselves crying together, trying to make sense of it all.

There is a strange relationship between shared sadness and resilience. The sadness becomes slightly easier to bear when you know others are carrying it with you.

I can feel their pain when I hear their voices and look into their eyes. I can see the anguish caused by everything they have witnessed and done.

My personal experience may be unique to me, but everyone I speak with and everyone I work alongside carries some version of it.

That helps me work through my own struggles.

The care and compassion brought to every patient fill me with immense gratitude and love.

Chaplain: I feel a sense of peace about my mother’s death because the Lord was with me every step of the way.

My mother lived in a nursing home. I had not seen her for more than five weeks.

She died on Sunday, April 19. The previous Thursday, the nursing home called to tell me that her roommate had tested positive for the coronavirus and that my mother needed to be moved into isolation.

Her new room was beside the parking lot, which meant I could walk over and see her through the window for the first time in more than five weeks.

I saw my mother on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and again on Sunday morning.

That Sunday, I briefly attended church through my pastor’s video broadcast. Then I went to see her.

My mother was 95 and a half years old. I could see her breathing on her own and moving her hands.

As I watched through the window, an aide noticed me and called for another staff member. Together, they repositioned my mother so she could face the window.

Her eyes were closed, but I believe in my spirit that she knew I was there.

The aide opened the window slightly so I could speak to her. I gave my mother a blessing, then went home.

Within ten minutes of my arrival, the nursing home called to tell me that she had died.

I felt at peace because I believe she felt my presence. She heard my voice and that final blessing. She had the peace she needed to let go and make her way to heaven.

In the midst of my loss and pain, I am at peace because I know she is with the Lord.

Amen.

I want people to know that, despite all the uncertainty and hardship this virus has brought, it has also magnified tremendous hope, love, and care.

Every day, I witness the compassion of colleagues who place themselves in the position of each patient and family.

They do everything they can to ensure that patients and families do not feel alone in what they are experiencing.

Being with frontline staff and witnessing what they did every day was incredibly powerful.

Environmental services worker: As an environmental services worker, I believe my work is essential to the hospital.

Respiratory therapist: My respiratory therapy team is on the front lines, putting their lives at risk every day. One slip of a mask could be fatal.

I am proud and grateful. My team has been unbelievable, and we have done well.

I no longer have COVID. I have recovered, and I am grateful to be here.

I am grateful for the opportunity to serve together and help heal people who are sick and frightened.

There are few moments in our lives when we have the chance to make a real impact.

I still have a great deal to process.

I feel as though we are beginning to recover mentally, little by little. I am hopeful that the medical community around the world is learning from this unprecedented pandemic and that this knowledge will benefit healthcare in the future.

We are resolved to continue.

I am determined to make things better. I believe we will see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I think that light is coming.

I feel proud, grateful, lucky, and supported.

I have hope for the future and believe we are moving toward something better.

Healthcare leader: I want people to understand that although the media and the world have given healthcare workers and leaders like me the title of “hero,” behind the mask, we are deeply human.

We are vulnerable. We have our own challenges and struggles.

I am traumatized. I cry. I wake up at three o’clock every morning.

During this illness, our first grandchild was born, and we have yet to hold him or even hug our own son.

I miss seeing my children. I miss hugging my granddaughter. Although I see their faces on FaceTime, I miss the soul of being with them.

I want people to know that we go to work every day and put our hearts and souls into everything we do.

We care for your loved ones as though they were our own. My family is in there, too. Your loved ones have become part of our family.

No one here is alone. Every patient is surrounded by love and care.

I am going through this and realizing that I am not alone.

I feel there has never been a more meaningful time to work in healthcare.

I feel loved by the people around me.

No matter what happened, we were going to get through this.

And we did.

I am changed.

And we will change what happens going forward.

I am grateful