Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

A Nurse’s Take on the Covid Vaccine

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I wasn’t going to do this, but then someone messaged me how much they respected my opinion. I realized that I have to speak my heart. Even if it makes people angry. So, here goes.

You go to the doctor for a well-visit. When your doctor suggests you need a medicine for your blood pressure, even though you feel fine, you take the prescription. Your doctor tells you high blood pressure puts you at risk for a heart attack. So, you follow her/his advice, and you fill the prescription.

Do you search the ingredients of the pill? Do you tell your doctor “no way, I don’t know what’s in that pill!

No. You trust your physician. The professional. You take the blood pressure medicine per your doctor’s advice and knowledge, backed by research, that hypertension can lead to heart attack or stroke.

When you have chest pain, you go to the emergency room. You let them do whatever they need to do to save your life. You trust the doctors, nurses, and yes, the creators of medications to save you.

Let’s say you’re a Christian. Do you not go to the ER when you have chest pain? Or do you not take the advice of your doctor to start a BP med? Do you say, “God will protect me from heart attack and stroke. I’m not falling for this false narrative.”

No. You trust your doctor. You trust the hospital. You trust medicine. No one questions your faith in Jesus when you get an emergency appendectomy instead of asking for a healing at the altar.

What changed in 2020?

Social media. False information. The perfect storm created by a huge, scary pandemic. When people are afraid, feel out of control of protecting themselves and their families, and are under pressure emotionally and financially, they become open to whatever will help them regain balance or control. If we can blame someone else, make something less frightening, and divert attention from the thing that actually frightens us, to something else, we jump on it. For example, Covid isn’t bad; The Left is bad. Ok, Covid is real, but it’s really a problem with immigration. Masks aren’t preventing the spread (even though operating room staff have used them for many years to prevent the spread of germs), it’s just a way for rights to be taken away.

Instead of focusing on the sanctity of ALL human life, we focus on statistics that fit our opinion.

Let’s say, Covid 19 is only fatal .1% of the time (a number I just made up, because youtubers do it all the time). Now let’s look at a real statistic… you have a 0.0002% chance of getting struck by lightning. Are you going to swim in a thunderstorm? Or go stand on the golf course with your club raised high during lightning? Why not?! The chances are really slim you’ll get struck!

It’s because you’re not an idiot. You do what you need to do to avoid getting struck by lightning.

You go to your annual well visit with your primary care doctor, and even get your prostate checked.

You get your child vaccinated against polio.

You wear seatbelts even though you’re a really great driver.

If you’re a Christian you have faith in God to save you, but you also understand you don’t walk out in front of oncoming traffic. That would be dumb to put Him to the test like that. You might just find yourself waking up to Jesus smiling and saying, “wow, Bill, I really can’t believe you did that. Didn’t you appreciate the vessel I gave you for my purposes on earth?”

And I can’t help but wonder if right now Jesus is asking some of us, “don’t you appreciate the vessel of your neighbor?”

That’s all I got for now, guys. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of working my buns off in the critical care unit to save people who my experience thus far with Covid shows me, won’t get better! 😭 It’s devastating. I’m tired of seeing more and more prayer requests come across my newsfeed for healing from Covid. It’s not that I’m against healing or praying. It’s that I hate this is still a thing! I truly believe better vaccination rates would have made this not the issue Delta is right now. There, I said it.

We trust science thus far, until this, and I just can’t wrap my head around it! I love Jesus more than anything, but I believe His Father created humans with the knowledge to create medicine and save lives. When we live longer, we can reach more people with His love and truth. Believing in medicine isn’t saying you lack faith; it’s actually a belief in the wisdom and knowledge that God has given mankind. Thank you, Lord. That’s why I’m a nurse. Life and death is in His hands, but sometimes He uses me to keep life going. What a gift!

So, I pray you will take my advice. I am consistently praying in the Spirit, and listening for His truth. There is not one, single day that goes by that I don’t seek His will and listen for His heart. I took the vaccine without a moment’s hesitation. In fact, I cried happy tears when I got it. Thank you, Lord, for giving scientist the knowledge to help us fight this virus!

Do with this information what you will. Not sure I’ll say much else about it. I’m just too tired. Lies are so much easier to believe than truth.

Sincerely,

The Exhausted ICU RN

No One Understands What Nurses are Going Through

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“God’s got this.”

“He holds you in the palm of His hand.”

“None of this is a surprise to God.”

“Heaven, help us.”

These are the sentiments spoken in response to what critical care nurses like myself are seeing, and while these comments are absolutely true in my book, they don’t quite give me the reassurance I’m hoping for. It’s not that the thoughts and prayers aren’t appreciated; because, they are! My spirit thrives on them, and His strength makes all things possible. But after hearing the well-meant words of others, especially after a brutal day, it occurred to me what the human side of me really wants.

I want people to understand.

I can’t really blame them, though. Other than my spouse, I’m usually pretty nondescript when it comes to my day. When asked how it’s going during a pandemic, we’ll use bland words like “hard” or “bad.” Perhaps even “exhausting.” Yet those simple syllables say little to what’s really going on. I’m not sure if it’s too painful to rehash or just easier to say less. I think, for many nurses, after having close acquaintances, or even family members, act over the past year and a half like Covid is not a big deal, it makes you place a wall around yourself. To see folks neglect simple things like masks, or to chastise vaccines and science, it makes you crawl inside a hole. Then, later, when you need someone to understand how you’re feeling, they don’t.

They don’t understand.

Other than my spouse, and a few family and friends I’m comfortable enough to share the intimate aspects of my day, no one understands the pain of what I see. Deep down, I don’t want them to. I don’t want that for anyone. But sometimes, I just wish I could open a curtain into my ICU for the world to see. I think we wouldn’t have another record-breaking surge going on if I could. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like crying, like I did yesterday, all alone in my angst. Even when the tears don’t come, because I’m too afraid to let them loose, worried that I won’t be able to rein them back in.

As it stands, in lieu of a magic window, you’re left with the fact that no one understands, unless they’ve been behind the curtain with you.

Words like “hard“ don’t accurately depict what it’s like to watch people slowly die of a virus that takes away their ability to breathe. “Bad” isn’t adequate to describe the fear in their eyes of dying with a feeling of cruel suffocation.

When you hear the “numbers are going up,” you don’t see the numbers I see going down. The oxygen saturation numbers that keep alarming too low to oxygenate the blood and sustain life. They don’t tell you on the news (no matter the network) what it feels like to watch a person turn gray, and blue, and purple. They don’t describe the feeling of your hands when ribs crack beneath them during CPR, no more than they tell about the hopeless feeling in your heart when a family member asks you over the phone if the patient is getting better.

I’ve never fought such a losing battle, and it’s hard to put that into words. When you’re in the business of healing, Critical Care Covid doesn’t play by the rules, and it just ends up feeling like a bad luck streak that won’t break. Does anyone understand how hard that is on us?!

I can’t speak for everyone, but I know that personally my heart is broken. It’s excruciating watching people suffer. It’s beyond demoralizing when the majority don’t get better. I’m angry at people who ignore the suffering of others. I’m pissed that this is still happening! I’m frustrated at staffing problems, and I totally understand why nurses are fleeing the bedside in droves.

The thing is, I can write out all of the above, and most people still won’t understand. Not totally. Until you live it, until you can’t unsee the things you wish you had not seen, and until you spend your off days in a depressed daze, despite your best efforts, you’ll never understand. For your sake, I’m glad you don’t.

I Will Never Forget the Trauma of COVID-19

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Numbers have been declining, face mask mandates rescinded, and I try to be hopeful. I haven’t taken care of a COVID positive patient in two weeks! I want this to end more than you know. I want life to return to normal. I want my outgoing husband to go back to ministering to strangers in love, and I desire for my daughters to play with other children without concern or worry. It’s not fear, you see, that drives me, but rather things I saw and cannot forget.

A few months ago I received my first dose of the COVID vaccine. I felt hopeful. In all honesty, I cried happy tears. I wanted an end to this pandemic more than anyone could ever imagine. I posted a picture to Instagram of me smiling with my vaccination card. A stranger commented about my lack of faith, and my obvious succumbing to fear. That broke my heart.

This morning my husband and I talked about it on the front porch. Before children wake, with coffee in hand, we’re allowed these private conversations. I mentioned how I wanted to see him engage with neighbors more readily, like he used to do. You see, the past year has not just impacted me. It had also scarred my best friend, my spouse who heard my pain after a long day at the ICU bedside. He knew the truth of it.

As we spoke of hope, of how things seemed to be getting better, I was taken back to this past summer. June and July of 2020. I had been working in a major, metropolitan area of Central Florida, and we had been hit brutally by the pandemic.

I said to my husband, “I remember reaching that breaking point where I knew we couldn’t take much more. There were more patients than we could handle. Every shift another person died. A woman my age with young children like us died. Then that man with daughters the same age as ours. Followed by the death of a coworker’s spouse. I took care of him. I helped her put on the PPE right before he died. I remember thinking that could be me, losing you.”

He listened in that understanding way of his. Then I added, “I think a part of my depression at the worst of it had a lot to do with public perception. I would try to escape to social media to take my mind off what I was seeing at work, but I was met with people who made light of the very thing that was breaking me.”

I had to take a big step away from the world during all of this. I didn’t fear a virus, but I did fear the way my heart was feeling towards others who could not fathom what I was going through. Here I was crying into the phone with family who couldn’t hold their dying loved one, and the rest of the country was complaining about not having prom or how uncomfortable a thin piece of paper felt on their face for 20 minutes a day. I rubbed ointment of the reddened bridge of my nose, scarred by a respirator I wore for 13 hours a day, and I rubbed my bruised ego even harder.

It took months, and I mean months, for me to let go of the hurt and offense I felt at others negating my pain. I had to lay it all down and be grateful that they didn’t have to know the things I knew, see the things I had seen, or remember the trauma that could still pop up unexpected as I sat on my porch drinking coffee.

I have forgiven the offense, but I cannot forget the trauma I experienced. I know I’m not alone in this. I think of the wonderful, brave men and women, doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists, and other healthcare workers who served alongside me during the worst of it. We all had that hollow-eyed look, at the time, and I think even now are like a feral cat hesitantly approaching a bowl of food left in the garage. We want the good news. We want the numbers to go down, and a return to normalcy. Yet we can’t forget. The death, the hopelessness. We were supposed to save lives, yet there was a time where nothing we did worked. If you entered the COVID ICU, your chances of leaving it alive were slim to none. It’s not supposed to work like that.

I’m back on social media, and it’s about the same. It hasn’t changed, but I have. I realize I cannot change anyone’s mind. I cannot be a voice of reason or experience to anyone who doesn’t want to hear me. I let it go, as my daughter’s favorite princess would say. Opinions are still strong, and people like to voice them. People have their opinions on masks and vaccinations, and I won’t try to change that.

I would only say this. Don’t belittle what someone else decides to do, or God-forbid, question their belief system or faith. In 2020 there was this saying, “we’re all in this together.” While I could appreciate the sentiment, it just wasn’t true. We all experienced the COVID-19 pandemic, but exactly how it impacted us was very different. We were not together in the differing traumas we experienced. I didn’t suffer through financial hardship. I kept my job the entire time. Those who didn’t have money to pay their bills experienced a trauma I cannot relate to, but it’s also a reciprocal relationship. I saw things at the critical care bedside that the average person cannot fathom. That is why I try now to not be offended anymore. Others cannot understand my trauma, and I cannot understand theirs. I didn’t have family die. I suffered depression and anxiety, but not as much as I’m sure others did. I try to remind myself of that.

If someone continues to wear a mask when the mandate has been lifted, that’s their prerogative. If someone wants to wear their mask outdoors or in their car, with no other people in sight, that is their decision. You cannot know what they personally experienced the past year. Keep that in mind. If you’re totally against the COVID vaccine, I respect your personal decision, but I would encourage you to do the same. Every ICU nurse I worked with got the vaccination. Our work didn’t force us to do this. The trauma we experienced did. So, if I could offer any friendly advice as mandates and restrictions ease, it would be this. Don’t lessen someone else’s trauma simply because you didn’t experience it in the same way. Instead be grateful that you can have the perspective you do. Some of us, like myself, wish we could forget.

2020 Tried to Crush the Spirit of Nursing

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“He what?!” I replied in shock.

“He died last night,” my nightshift coworker answered.

I didn’t tell him goodbye.

I didn’t say that last part out loud. I simply thought it to myself. I guess I couldn’t speak it out loud. It was as if I feared giving my feelings a verbal voice would cause the cool, professional demeanor we all strived to maintain to instead crumble in grief. I suppose that part is wrong, though. We didn’t strive to be aloof; we just had to remain disconnected in a sense to keep doing the job. Especially this year.

If any year could go down in history for trying to crush the spirit of nursing, it would be 2020, the year of COVID-19. As a critical care nurse I have watched too many people die this year. I mean, outcomes are often poor in the ICU, but this novel virus has taken things to a whole new level. There was a period of time this year where I watched at least one patient die per my shift, and many times more. One patient doesn’t seem like a lot, until you add them together, day after day, month after month, shuffling in for another crazy shift, praying that a success story would emerge.

A story. You see, it wasn’t just a room number or patient vacating a bed. It was a story, a beautiful life story, a real person, with family, friends, and a purpose in this world. As a bedside nurse you learned these people’s stories. You spoke to crying wives on the phone, you watched hysterical daughters try not to fall apart as they waved through the glass window to their mom who didn’t know they were there.

You said things like, “he seemed like he was doing better yesterday…”

Or you lamented, “I feel so bad for her three, young children at home.”

Sometimes we shared the stories. They were just too heartbreaking to keep inside. We didn’t mention things like names, but rather the way the father of four had made us appreciate life. I had told my husband about this most recent life story.

“Can you imagine,” I asked my husband, “being stuck in a glass box for over three weeks, not seeing your family, just strangers in masks who come in every once and a while? Can you imagine not being able to breathe good enough to even take a bite of food? I feel so bad for him!”

I had not taken care of him the day/night he died. They had given me another assignment. All day I had considered going into his room to say hello. I kept meaning to go in and try and brighten his day, but the hours had passed without me doing it. Whether it was the busyness of my own assignment, or the fact of all the personal protective equipment I had to put on to enter his room, I had missed the opportunity to say hello, or even goodbye. I knew he was doing bad, but I was hopeful he’d make it. I was always hopeful.

“I wish I could hug your neck.”

That’s what he had said, in between labored breaths and the roar of the sealed mask pushing air into his stubborn lungs. I had sang to him. He frigging loved it. He said I made his day. I had come in frequently, even though the gowning up was a chore, and we weren’t supposed to overly expose ourselves. Lord, I had even gotten down in his face, through his sputtering coughing, trying to hear what he spoke in his weak, short of breath conversations. I remember simply praying for God to keep the seal of my own mask tight. That man needed someone to know they cared, to give him a quick sip of water before he frantically asked to put the oxygen mask back on. And it made me feel good when I scratched his back and he said, “you’re the best!”

That’s what I thought of when I found out he didn’t win his battle with COVID-19. His story. And his personal story stacked on top of all the other stories from this year. The woman my age, who also had three daughters. Or the guy who couldn’t speak English and looked scared to death as we tried to explain emergent intubation without an interpreter present. I thought of all the weeping families, and I also thought of the gratitude they had bestowed our way even in the midst of their own grief.

I think about those sad stories, too many lost for a single year, and I try not to think about the coming months, the tragedy they could bring. I cling to things like memories of where I helped ease pain, prayed with a spouse over the phone, or the hope that this virus is getting weaker. I think of Queen Esther in the Old Testament, and how her uncle surmised amidst danger and possible death, “perhaps you were made for such a time as this.”

Maybe that is why we do what we do. Perhaps we were made for such a time as this. I’m pretty tired of unprecedented happenings this year, but I would encourage all my nursing peers with this thought. If not us, then who? Who would care for the hurting and dying? Who would scratch backs, offer a cool drink, or sing a joyful song in the middle of a trying situation?

2020 has tried to crush the spirit of nursing, but we’re pretty good at fighting back. Just know, I grieve with you. I recall life stories cut short with you. I link gloved hands, across the world, and I lift you all up in my prayers. We will beat this.

PTSD in Nursing

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Last night my family and I drove to pickup dinner. I had asked my husband if he still felt uncomfortable taking our young daughters into a public restaurant, and he had been quick to say, “yeah, I don’t want to do that.”

The numbers had gone down, but that did little to change the routine we had carried since April. I’m very honest with my spouse about my work, and as such, he suffered from the same problem I did. We knew too much. There was no way in hell we could be blissfully ignorant, and I don’t mean that offensively. I truly wish I could forget this year.

As we pulled up to the restaurant to get our curbside pickup I noticed the large group of people sitting outdoors. The tables weren’t spaced like they had been just a month prior, and people milled about inches from other groups, laughing, smiling, not a mask in sight.

“That doesn’t look like continued social distancing to me,” I said to my spouse, pointing towards the outdoor dining.

The thing was, I didn’t want to be the social distancing police! I didn’t want to see pictures of church gatherings on Facebook and wonder why no one wore a mask. I didn’t want to cringe at friends starting to gather again, throw parties, and enjoy life. I didn’t want to be wary of strangers. I didn’t want to worry about my daughters drifting over to play with some new kids at the pool. I wanted everything the way it used to be, but I couldn’t for the life of me forget the past four months. I just couldn’t.

For nurses and other healthcare professionals who have been in hotspot areas of the COVID-19 pandemic, I think we’ve received injuries that are invisible. We’re nursing wounds no one can see, and the scars we carry are still raised and angry. So while a large part of society has basically forgotten a pandemic was here, nurses are still trying to catch their breath.

I think of a skittish cat, jumping with shackles raised at every tiny sound. I think of someone who has been abused, how they’re always suspicious for when the next hand will be raised to harm them. It wasn’t fear that griped me, but rather an awareness of what the virus could do. For so many people COVID-19 was like a really bad cold, or maybe the flu, but for the hundreds of patients I had seen in an inpatient, critical care setting, it was a death sentence. All that people with no hands-on experience could say about the virus was that its mortality rate wasn’t that high, but you know who I never heard say that? Those of us at the bedside the past four months, sweating profusely in our respirators, while we pumped aggressively on someone’s chest to help their heart restart. The reason you didn’t hear that from us? Because 90% (or more) of those patients did not live. Last I knew, our hospital had tried to save over 200 people, without success. We did everything humanly possible. The virus is that bad. For the families of those two hundred and something lost, statistics for survival rate meant very little. For those of us who had cared for them, it meant even less.

So, here we are with case numbers declining, but I still don’t feel comfortable allowing my children to go to a restaurant or play with other kids in the neighborhood. To me, it’s life and death, and until someone can tell me what makes one person just get a scratchy throat, and the next guy (with similar age and health) be unable to survive, I must remain the way I am. I cannot help it. My poor husband, who has seen my defeat amidst so much death, he cannot help it either. We’re still over here self-isolating, wearing masks in public, and social distancing when we do get out.

Today my husband said, “I hope they’re wrong. I mean, it doesn’t have to get bad again, right?!”

You see, the healthcare field, based on their knowledge and models, has their own predictions for the next few months. Those of us knee-deep in the muck of this novel virus are like the skittish cat I mentioned. We’re waiting for flu season 2020. It will be like the two tropical storms converging, but when COVID couples with flu, it will be a level 5 we fear. I don’t want to listen to projections, but I try to be realistic.

Y’all, I don’t know if it will ever be the same. I don’t know if I will ever be the same. I’m so aware of germ transmission at this point, I’m surprised the skin on my hands isn’t falling off from hand sanitizer and washing them. Today I let my daughters play with two little girls at the public pool. Then I spent the next twenty minutes praying silently for God’s hedge of protection around them, worried I had made the wrong decision. I don’t want to be that mom, but I’m that nurse. I just can’t seem to be any other way.

I’m not alone, y’all. I cannot unsee the frightened look in a patient’s eyes before we stuck a breathing tube down his throat. I cannot forget the fact that although I wanted him to live, he didn’t. I can’t erase the images of the handful of critical care patients who did leave my floor alive, but did so forty pounds lighter, unable to do the things they had done prior to being a COVID survivor, some with holes in their neck to keep breathing. I think back to when I was active duty military after 9/11. At some point, as we continued to receive soldiers from The War on Terror, I grew so very tired of seeing young men (boys, really) with only one limb remaining, or their face mangled. I just wanted the war to end. I think your civilian healthcare workers of 2020 are feeling much the same. We’re tired, we’re anxious, and we’re depressed. We’re overly protective of our families, but we’re also happy to be alive. We’re in need of a break, and even though the case numbers are on the downtrend for now, we don’t really believe the end is even close. We can’t catch a break, and our patients can’t catch their breath. It’s an ugly scene for bedside nursing, and so many of us will never be the same.

When you say your prayers tonight, try and remember your frontline workers. We feel like we’ve been forgotten. And although we’d keep doing what we do even without accolades or good vibes, I personally covet your prayers for my team. This year has been traumatic, and I don’t think it’s something we can ever forget.

A Window Into COVID Critical Care

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My eyes ached. You know that gritty, raw feeling, like you’ve been crying razor blades or something? That’s what it felt like. I made an extra effort to focus on the freeway lines that zoomed by as I drove towards my safe place. Home. That’s where I could forget my day, where I could escape, leaving the sadness and stress sitting in the seat of my car, ready to be picked up again in the morning.

I had told my coworker that afternoon that it felt like 10 pm. My eyes had been hurting then, at what surprisingly was only four o’clock. I had assumed it was because of the tears. Now that I think about it, though, it was probably just the weariness of what I had seen. Not just that day, but every day for months. It was like being witness to a horrible car crash, and being unable to extract the victims. Except the wreck never ended. You relived it every day. I realized my eyes hurt from watching that repeated carnage. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to unsee it.

There is a weight sitting heavy on the heart of healthcare right now. From a critical care point of view, it feels like the dreaded elephant on your chest. It’s this heaviness brought on by unspent grief, coupled with a frantic frustration over the things we cannot change. You see, COVID-19 has brought us something we’re not used to or comfortable with. Defeat. It’s beating us, pretty much every time.

The world, and certainly the United States, has experienced the unparalleled effects of this novel virus. We’ve all experienced the shutdown, the isolation, and the economic loss. What a large percentage of people, outside of the healthcare system, are not seeing is the wicked behavior of this disease. They don’t see the cruel nature by which it attacks, making certain that stories of survival are few and far between for those poor people who happen to fall into respiratory distress under its grip. Y’all, it just won’t let the people go.

Here it is in a nutshell. Because we’ve shut the hospital doors and won’t allow you in. Here is a window into COVID Critical Care.

Death. Over and over. It does not matter what we do, or what we don’t do. It doesn’t matter if we follow every recommendation, give every medicine, and check every single box. Nine times out of ten, if you end up on a ventilator with COVID-19, you are not coming off until your heart stops. That is why my eyes hurt.

You can see your patient turn the corner, start looking better, wean down the oxygen from 100%, finally. You can say to the spouse something you try not to say lately, like, “I’m hopeful. Things are looking better. I’m very optimistic about this.”

You can say those things one week, a few weeks into the particular ordeal, and you can want to believe it in your heart so desperately, but then you can have your hand on that same spouse the following week, praying for comfort while they cry, holding them while they weep in grief because your hope just didn’t pan out. That is why our eyes ache. You cannot unsee some things. Some pain etches itself into your retinas.

Listen, we knew what we were getting into with nursing and medicine. We knew that death and dying occur. We’ve dealt with this our entire careers, some of us for twenty or thirty years. What we were not prepared for was constant death. See, in nursing you win some and you lose some. But you win some! Do you see where I’m going? We’re used to having some good news to throw into the mix, but this pandemic hasn’t been playing by the usual rules. It has its own book, and sadly that manual is still being written. As it stands now, and since this began, the odds are not in our favor. The real Hunger Games are worse than you ever saw on TV.

We are fighting, y’all. We are doing all the things we do so well. There are many times over the years that I’ve been part in successfully reviving and continuing the life of someone who probably should have been allowed to pass on to the hereafter. In those moments I have said, “we are too good at what we do.” Well, this year has upended that statement. This year, we can’t seem to be good enough. We can fight, and we can do all the great things we normally do, but nothing can seem to alter the poor outcomes of critically ill COVID-19 patients. It. Is. Killing. Us. All of us. It is breaking our hearts, but it hasn’t stopped, so we just keep fighting.

You can watch a patient you’ve personally fought for, die every shift, every day, and it’s draining. Sometimes it’s more, sometimes it’s less. I don’t know the numbers, but I know how it feels. It sucks. Where’s some good news?!

I can count the success stories, on one hand, and I’m so very grateful for them. But they’re not enough. The bad is still outweighing the good in intensive care. Even when you do have someone get wheeled out the door, they’re not the same. The effects of this continue, and we don’t even know to what extent yet. I’m not a negative or fearful person, but gosh, that’s scary. The significant and lasting damage to lung tissue is real, and it’s crazy. We won’t even talk about the other physical and emotional tolls.

Our eyes hurt from the things we cannot unsee, from the tears we sometimes cannot stop. Our hearts hurt for the grieving families, for the pain of our patients and their loved ones. Our brains ache from trying to understand the vast variations of presentation and progression of this virus, and our minds are blown by the damage it can do. This virus is cruel, it’s uncertain, and it’s unlike anything we have seen. We have worked beyond what we believed we were capable of doing. We have carried ourselves to physical points we have never experienced before, but also emotional roller coaster rides we never anticipated. So, while the Nation at large is angry to watch football and not be made to wear masks, we’re just over here trying to survive. We’re just over here trying to make our patients survive, even as we know that statistically they will not.

The Side Effects Nurses Are Having From COVID-19

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I fell asleep the other night feeling so beaten down and defeated. I had tried to scroll mindlessly through my Facebook newsfeed before bed as I used to do to decompress after a long, thirteen hour shift at the critical care bedside, but it had only succeeded in making me more upset. I wasn’t even mad about the ridiculous post I had seen shared by a friend claiming coronavirus was a “Democratic hoax.” It would have made me mad back in April, when I knew this thing I fought was really real, but at this point, as numbers climbed even faster than I had imagined they would, I was just tired. I had erased the very true comments I had written on the aforementioned post, and I had fallen asleep knowing that was just one more thing I had no control over.

I had zero control over the public’s perception of this virus, and even though I had intimate details of what Covid was really like, it didn’t matter. I could change opinions about this about as much as I could about mushrooms being gross. The fact was a lot of people really liked mushrooms, and I had zero chance of making any of those folks agree with me that they were slippery and weird. Touché. I guess what ground my gears was having an appetite for fungi was a matter of preference, but in my book COVID-19 was as sure as the button nose on my masked face. For me, standing in the muck of this mess, it was not debatable.

And so I drifted asleep feeling bummed that public perception was just one more thing I couldn’t control. This concern toppled over the crown of a hundred other uncontrollable factors I held as a nurse during a pandemic. My healthcare peers and I faced a novel virus, new to us all, and we swam through the treacherous waters together. Initially, much fanfare and support had followed the medical community as we stood bravely against this foe. But now? Not so much. Nurses were no longer the darlings of the working world. We were lumped in with all the other exaggerators, seemingly wringing our hands for a bug that experts on social media described as “basically the flu.” I mean, you can’t applaud someone who combats a fake virus.

The thing was/is, I didn’t need applause. But I did desire someone to take our words for it. Instead it seemed a large part of public opinion favored the advice of YouTubers or folks with one-lettered names like ‘Q.’ I couldn’t tell if people were so scared they convinced themselves it was fake, so distracted by the conspiracy theories that they truly believed it was all a political ploy, or so dense that they didn’t care. After all, I had even seen some people in nonclinical healthcare suggest we all go out and catch it.

Just the day prior I had heard such an idea of herd immunity, and while I understood the general premise and points, I could only reply, “I still can’t figure out what makes you the type of person who this affects like a mild case of the flu versus the people whose lungs are attacked and die. Until they figure that out, I don’t want to roll the dice with my family.”

See, that’s the burden bedside nursing carries. The physicians, respiratory therapists, and nurse aids in the trenches too. We all see what it can and does do to a person. Young, old, healthy, sick. Doesn’t matter. It will kill anybody it so desires. We wish we could end this crap already too, but we’re too personally involved with corona to play roulette.

I see people protesting being required to wear a mask in public places. Meanwhile, I’m triple checking the seal on my respirator to make sure I don’t take this virus home to my family. I see people griping about wearing it for a thirty minute shopping trip. Meanwhile I fall asleep with my nose still feeling numb from the pressure of a mask for thirteen hours straight.

The next morning when I arrived at work, all prayed up, and mostly rested up, almost immediately someone asked me what was wrong. You see, I’m the singing nurse, the smiling nurse, the uplifting one who always lightens dark moods. So when I’m not exuding those things, it’s noticeable. After a second person asked, I realized I was suffering from the side effects of a pandemic. No, I wasn’t sick with a virus, but I was sick with the emotional, physical, and mental toil of the virus. You can only exist in so much uncertainty, sickness, and sadness before you succumb.

I thought of the patient who breathlessly called family to say quickly, “well, they’re putting me to sleep for a while. Talk to you soon.”

The memory left my heart hurting, and I recalled how at the time my eyes had met those of a coworker, both of us hoping that was true, but knowing that statistically and according to gut feeling, the patient likely would not wake up again. And that’s the biggest battle we face. That was what kept us awake at night. That’s what might create future PTSD for many, and it’s what made my spirit feel so heavy since this had begun. The rising case numbers, incidents, and COVID admissions only worsened an already aching heart. It was the thing we wanted to control the most, but the one thing that sadly we could not. No matter how hard we tried. People were dying, a lot of them, and for those accustomed to healing, this bitter pill was especially hard to swallow.

The side effects to COVID-19 on healthcare workers are multifaceted. They’re not just placing their physical bodies at risk, or even that of their families. They are also investing their hearts. The emotional and mental toil cannot be imagined unless you have faced it head on personally. I am a veteran, and I don’t use this term loosely, but I do consider this a battlefield of sorts. Nursing is fighting a war, one they feel they are losing, both at the bedside and in the court of public opinion. We’ve got battle scars already. I can’t imagine how it will feel down the road.

So, if you see a nurse, please cut them some slack. If they’re sharing about the benefits of social distancing, hand hygiene, or wearing a mask, realize it’s because they care. They’re not pushing any hidden agenda, playing politics, or even in on the “government hoax.” The fact is, we’ve seen far too much death already, we anticipate to see much more, and we want to prevent that if at all possible. There’s so much with this pandemic we cannot control, but maybe we can help save a life.

And for goodness sake, stop trying to convince us it’s not a big deal or as bad as the media says! I don’t even watch the news. But I do believe what my eyes tell me. And right now, sometimes through tears, they tell me we have to work together to stop this thing. Please.

3 Facts From the Nurse

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I was so excited when things started to get back to normal status post quarantine, and I know you agree. While the family time was great and it was awesome to slow down and reflect on life, in all reality I was tired of an isolation world. I missed going to restaurants and letting my children go out into the neighborhood to play with their friends. I wanted the public pool reopened, and I wanted to go into a store without worrying I might contract something. I wanted store shelves to be fully stocked, and more than anything I wanted people to see my smile that the face mask hid. I was ready for a return to normal.

As a critical care nurse, I talked with my peers about a resurgence of COVID-19 before restrictions even lifted. I mean, we intelligently hypothesized it would, but I guess there was that part of me, the starry-eyed dreamer, perhaps, who hoped that Coronavirus could just disappear. Yet despite my desires, I knew it had not, and that knowledge was nailed home this week. So, consider this a Public Service Announcement, friendly reminder, or simply some advice from your friend on the frontlines of healthcare.

1. COVID-19 did not disappear. I repeat, it did not magically go away. The numbers of active cases began to fall because, logically, the population had been self isolating at home for a month or more. The powers that be wanted to prevent a spike of infection that would overwhelm the healthcare system. Remember the term “flatten the curve?” Well, they did just that. We (pat yourself on the back) did just that. We kept contamination and disease spread at a minimum while stuck at home, and in that process saw infection rate numbers drop from their April highs to a nice May low. Good job.

As numbers dropped the noise became less. The news networks found new stories to report, and COVID took the backseat. But hear me now. Just because it’s not on every single news channel, that doesn’t mean we cured it. It’s still here.

2. COVID-19 pandemic was not a hoax! Listen, I love a conspiracy theory as much as the next guy, but trust me on this one. It is sadly and tragically very real. While working on the frontlines of COVID, in a critical care COVID isolation unit, in a large, multi-ethnic, highly populated area, I saw far too much of this pandemic. My area wasn’t as bad as NYC, but in the face of this disease, it doesn’t have to be. Outcomes were not great, and I had to be intentional in self care not to crumble under the stress and depression of far too much death from this disease. I wish to God it wasn’t real, but none of us can unsee the fear on our patients’ faces or soon forget the tearful prayers over the phone with family.

I know that when things improve it’s easier to say the problem was overstated. When you desire for life to return to normal it’s easier to convince yourself it was never that bad. I mean, you can go into public without fear if you tell yourself the government and media faked statistics to exert control. When you don’t know someone personally who has suffered with Coronavirus or who has worked around it, it’s easy to ignore. You can just pretend it was never a thing to begin with, and you can get back to life per usual. Gosh, I wish I had the privilege of thinking this way.

3. COVID-19 numbers are on the rise. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news. I don’t want to be a joy-kill. I want to go to the mall and take my kids to amusement parks. I want everything like it was before, but that time is not right now. I don’t honestly know if things will ever be the same, and in some ways, maybe they shouldn’t be. Remember the great stuff we learned through this all? Like, washing your hands? Yes, we should still be doing that.

Three weeks ago I saw the best COVID-19 positive numbers I’ve seen since this started. It was awesome!! The unit was almost empty, and it seemed a welcoming sight compared to the previous couple of months.

Two weeks ago I barely noticed that the numbers had doubled I think a part of my brain acknowledged the fact, but that hopeful gal inside tried to push it away.

This week the numbers doubled again. This week staffing is tight to care for these people, and the rooms are filling back up. When I saw the number of positive cases I knew this was it. This was the predicted spike/return/resurgence of cases after restrictions were lifted. Y’all, I’m not gonna lie; it kinda scared me.

Here’s the thing. We can beat this. We can be smart. We can do the things we know we need to do. Do you remember how soap, Lysol, Clorox, and hand sanitizer flew off the shelves in April? Well, that makes me wonder, were folks not being sanitary prior to this pandemic?

It’s ok. I’m not even mad. You can continue your newly found habits to keep this thing manageable. Wash your hands. Don’t stick your hands in your mouth or touch your face if you haven’t. Wear a face mask when you’re in large groups. If not to protect yourself, then to protect someone else. Clean surfaces, and maybe chill on the big group gatherings until we get a better handle on this. It’s ok to still social distance. You don’t need to be up in everybody’s grill anyway. That’s also how other (less deadly) viruses spread.

In the return of COVID I’ve seen people advised as an outpatient to self-quarantine, ignore those doctor orders and infect their whole family. And while a young person may feel just fine, an aging parent or grandparent won’t fair as well.

I’ve seen people come to the hospital to get tested (and test positive) after leaving their shift at a restaurant. SMH. If you are symptomatic, stay home! I know we all need a paycheck, but this is life and death. I’m not exaggerating. I only wish I was.

Bottom line. Although COVID-19 left the news networks, it hasn’t left the hospital bedside. It hasn’t left your neighborhood. I’m not trying to scare you, but I am trying to educate you. Be smart and practice the previous guidelines. Just because life seems like it’s returning to “normal,” that doesn’t mean we have to. We can be better than before.

Check On Your Nurse Friends. We Are Not Ok.

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I took a survey from my employer today, and as I went through the questions I was surprised by how easily I could answer one way or another. It was a survey for how the pandemic, COVID-19 was affecting us, and as I clicked each bubble I understood even more just how much things had changed. One question that stood out to me asked if I thought about work more when at home. The fact was I had always been proud of my ability to leave work at work. I am an extremely compassionate person, but after twenty years in healthcare I had learned that to keep my sanity intact, patient care needed to stay at the bedside. It would be there waiting when I returned. But today, as I pondered the question on the survey, I realized that had changed. Everything had changed.

It had really started to hit me, the weight of it all, a few nights ago. I sat in bed the night before work and I prayed. I felt so down, and the fact was I had for weeks. There was nothing wrong going on in my life. I wasn’t financially stressed. My marriage was amazing, my children healthy and adorable. I had absolutely nothing to be upset about, yet I was. The only out of place factor I could pinpoint? COVID-19.

Years ago I had come to a place in my nursing career where I absolutely loved my job. I considered patient care to be a privilege, and even on tough days I considered it a wonderful vocation. It was a calling, and I carried the task with a smile. This past week I noticed an unwelcome feeling coming over me. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in many years. It was dread. I was dreading the return to the critical care bedside. How could I dread something I loved so much? I cried out to God to bring back my joy for the field.

When I sat in bed praying to feel better I realized that all this was hitting me harder than I thought. I realized that even though I thought I was doing ok, I really wasn’t. Even though I thought I could handle stress well, I don’t guess I had ever experienced stress like this.

Typically, nursing is about healing. A patient comes in sick, and we make them better. That’s not COVID-19.

And yes, I had experienced lots of death and dying. It was part of the job. So it wasn’t the people dying that got me. It was the fact that most of them seemed to be dying. The ones that were in Critical Care, anyway. The prognosis of these people was horrible, and when you have to break that to a daughter who can’t talk to her mom, or even see her, it’s depressing.

I was used to elderly and debilitated patients dying, but this was different. I was seeing people my age, younger, or just a few years older, and they were not doing well at all.

Nursing had always been a career where I had to be careful with infectious disease. I frequently encountered illnesses I could pick up and take home if I didn’t use proper protection or hygiene, but this was different. It was so new, and I watched the information available change day by day. One minute it’s airborne, the next droplet. One day the CDC says one thing, the next day, something else. The suggested PPE (personal protective equipment) changed faster than I could keep up, and it became this constantly evolving situation. I sadly knew that each time I came to work things would be different than when I left.

Do I need to shower and change clothes at work? Is it in my hair? The questions I had to ask myself. Is a Level 1 mask good enough, or is a Level 3 safer? Wait, now you’re saying it’s aerosolized and I should definitely wear googles? Why didn’t anyone tell me that yesterday?

Am I bringing bad stuff home to my children? They’re so little still. The fact that our government and healthcare system was treating the response to this unlike anything I had ever encountered only added to my thoughts. I mean, your president says everyone needs to stay home. Except you. You need to run into it head on! Unless your patient’s heart stops. Then, don’t run; put on your PPE first. It was going against everything we had ever done as lifesavers!

Everyone was watching us. People whose sole job was to make sure we were protecting ourselves properly. And while I appreciated the effort, it also made you feel pretty odd. I mean, what kind of crazy crap makes hoards of upper management and administration watch your every move? What exactly were we dealing with? The answer to that seemed to change every day!

I never felt so helpless. Everything we tried seemed to be in vain. They typically weren’t getting better. One week this was the go-to drug of choice, the next week something else, and the next week the surprising news that none of it would improve outcomes. In fact, it might make it worse.

It didn’t matter that the mask or respirator hurt my face, left bruises and sores, or that it left me feeling drowsy and cloudy headed after so many hours on straight. It didn’t change the fact that I was paranoid about the seal, worried that the tiny virus could somehow get through.

The stress made me become the type of person I didn’t want to be, short tempered and easily frustrated. The high acuity of the severely critical patients forced me to become the kind of nurse I didn’t want to be, hurried, harried, just struggling to keep them alive, keep my head above the water. My shift would end and I’d be sure I had missed something, which drove me crazy, but at least they had lived through my shift. They would likely die after I left. The prognosis was always poor.

Seeing the fear in their eyes, or hearing the words, “am I going to die,” remembering those words after they were gone. Holding their hand, offering comforting, muffled words, but knowing you were no adequate substitute for their loved ones.

Speaking of loved ones. We had those too, and just this week my nine year old said sadly, “Mom, I don’t want you to go to work. I’m worried you’ll get sick.”

But then I also had loved ones who had no idea. As I was leaving work today it occurred to me that not many of my family members had called to check on me. It wasn’t their fault; they didn’t know. I had not told them the toll this pandemic was having on me, and that’s when I knew I needed to. I see Facebook posts of people who don’t even think the pandemic is real, or that it’s like the flu. They have the privilege of not knowing how hard this is hitting me and my coworkers. I don’t normally try to play a pity party or seek attention, but I realized that a lot of people just didn’t know. They didn’t know that we’re not ok.

I have spoken with my coworkers and peers, and all the ones I have questioned are feeling the same pressing weight as me. They’re tired, worn thin, worried, beyond the typical stress of saving lives on a daily basis. It’s beyond skipping lunch and bathroom breaks to keep someone from dying. That’s just a regular Thursday. This, this is different. This is harder.

I don’t know the answers, and I don’t know if things will ever be the same. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to make it better for your nursing friends. You can pray. You can send us a message, drop off some toilet paper, or even just a long-distance hug. We need so many hugs right now, and social distancing is messing that all up. The typical outlets aren’t available to decompress, or the ways we deal with stress are not allowed. Nurses have the added weight of homeschooling, when that’s not something they are used to, or a spouse out of work. We’re dealing with all the same stress and aggravation as the rest of the population, but also the additional stress of facing this monster up close and personal.

We can’t pretend it’s not happening or busy ourselves with conspiracy theories. We’re too preoccupied with telling ourselves, “it’s not your fault. You did everything you could do.”

This is all I can write right now. There’s more, so much more, but I am exhausted after a day of the above. I need to lay down so I can wake up and do it again. See, that’s the great thing about nurses. We are not ok, but you’ll still find us when you need us. We’ll be in the clinics, ER’s, and units ready to do all we can do for those who need us. We’ll worry about us later.

COVID-19: An Inside Look

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Perhaps it’s because I’m a registered nurse working the bedside of this virus, but I feel like I’ve seen plenty of information about what it’s like for healthcare workers fighting this COVID-19 fight. I’ve seen stories about violence towards people in scrubs out there, but personally I’ve received nothing but support and encouragement. Most of my friends know about our struggles with personal protective equipment (PPE), be it the fears it will run out or the frustration with the ever-changing guidelines of safety by the CDC. People have seen the struggles nurses and others have wearing the same masks for twelves hours or more straight, and aside from them seeing the bruises and pressure sores on my face, I’ve told my family how the continuous wear causes me to feel fuzzy-headed and drowsy (not a good feeling for a critical care nurse).

We (as a healthcare team) mostly keep quiet about the inconveniences of no bathroom or water breaks. I mean, it’s just how it is. Another straw to add to the back of an already sagging camel. Yet, despite any struggles we face physically, or even the fears we attempt to overcome mentally, it’s been so helpful to have the praise and support of family and friends. I know they see me, and they try to sympathize with the war we’re waging against this tricky contagion. I guess, what I’m trying to say is, I feel like a lot of thoughts and prayers have been directed my way, but recently my heart has been breaking for the patients I serve.

If you could see inside my little world, behind smudged googles and hot breath, you would see how COVID is attacking more than our ability to go to the mall, or even beyond our inability to pay bills. You see, this pandemic is more than being forced to stay home, schooling your children, or even (sadly) being unable to gather with your church or extended family. I saw it went beyond missing my baby brother’s wedding, or not being able to find our favored toilet paper. Because beyond sinking stocks and failing businesses were people dying. Scared, alone, and confused.

If you could stand here beside me you would see the real effects of COVID-19. You’d see the frightened eyes of a patient when a crowd of strangers rush into the room, moving quickly, with a sense of urgency. You’d glimpse the fear the patient exuded over all the people surrounding them in hoods, masks, and billowing gowns. The worst part about a mask? They can’t see you smile.

If you stood in my shoes you would hold a patient’s hand with your own gloved one, attempting to offer comfort, wiping away a stray tear, patting their arm compassionately.

“You’re doing so good. It’s ok. Don’t be afraid.”

While foreign tubes are being inserted, with language barriers in place, you’d try to explain why rolling onto your belly in the hospital bed is needed to perhaps help getting a breath be less excruciating.

If you sat at my desk you’d try and calm a family member, over the phone only, since visitors aren’t allowed.

If you stood outside the glass fishbowl, like me, watching lifesaving procedures being performed in unprecedented ways, to keep staff contamination at bay, you’d feel your heart break while staff worked feverishly to sedate the anxious patient, just prior to passing down a endotracheal breathing tube. If you could read the patients frantic thoughts at that moment just prior to sweet sleep, you would be certain he wondered worriedly, “what if I never wake up?”

Because people aren’t waking up.

Y’all, I can’t understand all this. It’s not like anything we’ve ever known, and I’m sure you’re getting that Sci-Fi movie vibe too. As if we’re walking through a dream we can’t wake from, we all feel that surreal mood. It’s hard for everyone, and we all feel the sting, but we have to remember to feel more than just how this is affecting us personally. We gotta try to imagine how it’s impacting the world at large, how we’re all hurting in one way or another. Because, you see, it’s our ability to empathize with another than binds us, and if we can stand together (even as we’re physically apart), we will stand stronger when the dust settles. Eventually it will.