“…time of death… 2:04 pm”
I cannot count the number of times these words have been repeated this week; the cases are unending. I see patients being brought into the Intensive Care Unit of my hospital and then being rolled out as corpses. See, I know their names one by one and the anguish on the faces of their loved ones gives me nightmares.
This death, however, hits me even harder. Nathan, a six-month-old baby who was diagnosed with the virus, just passed. As a mother, I look at the lifeless body of the baby and the pain I feel is inexplicable. It makes me physically and emotionally exhausted. I try to keep my emotions in check as I trudge morosely to give Nathan’s family the sad news.
I cannot afford to break down because many patients need my help. Being assigned to the Pandemic Emergency Rapid Response Team means my one-year-old has to stay without direct contact with me for a while. It was heartbreaking but the right thing to do for the safety of my family. I want to hug my baby tight and never let go but I cannot; only FaceTime makes it tolerable. I continue working, silently praying the day ends uneventfully.
Sadly, it pours when it rains. The news of the death of our head Cardiologist, Dr. Melvin, reaches the ward just as I finish my fourteen-hour shift. I reel in shock, realizing that this thing, this virus, has won another round! I am finally at my breaking point. I barely make it to the Doctor’s lounge before I break down in heart-wrenching and deep uncontrollable wails. While I am yet to process Nathan’s loss, the death of my colleague and mentor makes me aware of how close I am to death too. Melvin saved countless lives and did not deserve to die. Heck, no one does!
I feel myself slowly but inevitably sinking into a sea of helplessness. Life feels like a never-ending maze lined with bodies at each turn despite the long hours put in. I cannot explain the feelings I have bottled up with no one in sight to confide in. My family prays incessantly and are beside themselves with worry for me. Since my feigned positive attitude gives them a good measure of comfort, I continued with the facade.
I cry in solitude for what feels like forever until the door to the lounge flies open. I raise tear-streaked eyes to see Dr. Vee burst into the room, her body shaking as she bawled uncontrollably. We both desire to hug each other but settle for sobbing in silence at opposite sides in obedience to social distancing. But as we stare into each other’s teary eyes, we feel connected by an invisible string, being there for each other in the best way possible. The five minutes we spend in silence is the best I have experienced since this nightmare began. It shows me that I am not alone.
Knowing other health workers also experience similar fears as I do makes me feel normal, even as the world keeps crumbling down. And I cannot help but imagine the immense healing a community of support system among ourselves as health workers will bring. As I walk home, I know without a doubt that the road ahead is not going to be easy. As health workers, it will take a toll on us and our mental health. However, we will stand stronger together and show up every day for all the lives in our care. Our collective strength and support will get us through these times, not just for our mental health alone but for the world as well.
Love,
Diane.
