“Covid. In a nutshell, it has acquired new significance.
I was a wife and mother at the outset of this fascinating period, having returned to work only a few months previous to the storm that would ensue. Aside from any other titles I hold, the nurse is what I am and who I am.
I was as prepared as I could be to return to work, despite the fact that it was stressful and sad all wrapped up in a god horribly messy albeit gorgeous little bow.
Yes, we’d heard rumblings about whatever virus was wreaking havoc on China, but coming from a small rural village, I never gave it much thought. After only a few months, everything I thought I understood about being a nurse, a mother, a wife, and life, in general, seemed to be turned upside down.
I’m currently in my tenth year as a nurse, with additional five years spent in other healthcare settings. That being said, I ‘thought’ I knew what I was doing, where I was going, and how I was going to get there. If there’s one thing I’ve learned during this time, it’s that I’m more likely to be wrong than right.
When the news of Covid’s arrival in the United States first broke, I, like many of my colleagues in my area, dismissed the possibility of a pandemic. In fact, there is only a 10-page portion in nursing school that covers historical pandemics and plagues. It was never something that seemed conceivable, something for which we would never have to prepare or plan.
Yet here we were, in March of 2020. Being bombarded with emails concerning plans, processes, impending furloughs, and various other information about policy changes to expect in the near future.
Okay, I have a 5-month-old and a 2-year-old, so that was my first thinking. Reduced hours will not be such a bad thing. I can be a mother while being safe at home. But, before I knew it, I was being sent to a specialist group to service an overloaded emergency room…which was horrible. (Prior to the birth of my first kid, I had left the ER/UC for good.)
All while trying to keep up with ever-changing rules, regulations, and healthcare data, we undertook crash-course training, added ended schedules, and put ourselves into new work patterns.
We were persuaded there was light at the end of the tunnel for the first several months. This won’t last long, maybe a year, but we can do it, we can figure it out. Can’t we do it?
We taught ourselves skills such as how to manufacture hats for our new necessary uniform and how to make masks. We were compelled to wear the same masks for long periods of time, causing the fibers to loosen and aspirate. Our n95 had to be kept in paper lunch bags and re-used time and time again. They tried UV treatment to increase the use duration, but the chemicals it produced brought us headaches and nausea.
Ears and faces both suffered from pressure damage. Wherever the masks come into contact with my skin, I’ve developed cystic acne. We persevered despite the pain. And what my small, rural community had to deal with was nothing compared to what big places and large healthcare facilities had to deal with.
Then things began to brighten. No more shields, simply goggles, caps are optional, and I get a clean mask every day now. We have a vaccine that is required, but policies are constantly changing. It’s a weekly email instead of many daily emails. The atmosphere is pleasant. We’re burned out, and morale is low. But no one seemed to be concerned.
Some people lauded us as heroes last year. Behind the scenes, there was a never-ending flood of irate people calling and hollering about wanting to come in or not wanting to come in, people demanding justifications, letters, and other things we couldn’t always provide. Every name under the sun has been used to refer to us. Patients criticized us for a lack of attention and too many restrictions over which we had no voice or influence. They accuse us of pushing the vaccine or are enraged by our apprehension; we are always the source of the problem.
We are scrutinized whenever we wear scrubs, even if we haven’t had any contact with a patient on those days. I went to a park, for example, to meet up with family and spend time with my children. I remained away from people, only to have people point at me and say things like, “This is why the parks are going to be shut down.” I gathered my children and departed. They’re too young to comprehend why their mother is unhappy and why those folks are pointing at her. We become the enemy in some way, somewhere. Only when it was expedient was he a savior.
What you don’t see is us seeing that positive test, knowing you, your family, and your background, and hoping with everything we have that you make it. We had some that didn’t, some that we never expected to lose, but did. Some of them have caused us to suffer as a result of our losses. Some people persisted. Some people were unharmed. I, a 32-year-old healthy individual, now have a condition known as “long covid.” I’m still having symptoms about a year later. I’m still working.
We’ve done our best and taken all necessary precautions. We’ve observed the regulations and made decisions based on our understanding. We had to choose between what was excellent for work and what was good for our families on occasion. We’re exhausted, enraged, and burned out. And we’re departing the field at an alarming rate, with no possibility of being replaced quickly enough.
So, please, be gentle and kind. Please don’t yell at us, berate us, or attack us. I can attest to the fact that I enjoyed working as a nurse for many years. But now I’m only staying out of dread of having to start anew. Help us, help us rekindle that fire, help us rekindle our enthusiasm for healthcare, for you.”