24 HOURS IN THE LIFE OF A NURSE

2:00 PM I just started another 16-hour shift in the ICU. There are now no beds available. I am assigned to the last patient admitted. Margaret is a 62-year-old who came in through the ER with a fever and a cough. A test for Covid 19 was positive. She came up here only 2 hours later. Her fever had increased, and her cough had worsened. There was only a bed for her because another woman died.

6:00 PM Dinner break is a joke. I scarf down a slice of pizza and a cup of coffee. I text my mother to make sure she is OK. I have to completely redo my PPE. I’m back on the unit in 15 minutes.

8:00 PM Another death. It is so hard to take. I know I can’t fall apart with every death. There are always other patients to care for. But when they look up at you with those eyes that show fear and expect you to do something to help them….

11:00 PM Two more deaths and two more patients to fill those beds. One of the worst things about all of this is that they die without being able to say goodbye to their families. I try to be with them at the end. But with so many to care for, it’s not always possible to be there. One man was not going to see morning. I tried to stay with him. I went out to deal with another patient and in that ensuing 10 minutes, he died alone. We have a room that is designated as a debriefing area. In reality it is there so we have a place to cry and scream without bothering the others. This is my first trip to that room this shift. It will not be my last.

1:00 AM Margaret is worse. I assist the Doc in her intubation. She asks if her husband or her children are coming. I tell her they are not allowed in. I ask if she wants me to try to call them for her. She says no.

2:00 AM Before leaving for home, I visit the debriefing room to finish some reports. This time I don’t cry. I just stare straight ahead. I don’t think I have any tears left.

3:00 AM Home isn’t really home. I sleep in the basement. I am afraid of bringing this curse home to my husband and my asthmatic son. It is strange to be this tired and yet not able to fall asleep. They are not cases. They are human beings with grieving families. I bring them home with me.

7:00 AM I visit with my husband and my son from the bottom of the basement stairs. We all wear masks. I put on a good front. I don’t need them to see how stressed I am. They are off to work and school and work.

8:00 AM I shower and eat some toast. I turn on the news. Some people are burning masks in Brooklyn. Some politician is saying that the situation is not that bad. Some people are protesting a lock down somewhere. They are complaining about their freedom being taken from them. A woman is enraged that a store is insisting that she wear a mask. She says it is hard to breathe and it is too confining. I wonder who she would feel about wearing one for 12 hours straight. I wonder how confined she would feel being confined to a ventilator. Why won’t they take it seriously? I wish they could spend a little time in the ICU. Maybe then they would realize that asking them to wear a mask is not really asking all that much.

11:00 AM People are travelling for Thanksgiving. Every expert is saying that this will cause another surge in cases. It will be more heartbreaking work for me. Are people selfish or stupid? Either way it makes me angry. I know family is important. MY family is important too. I can’t hug my son or sleep with my husband. I have not seen my mother in months. Common sense seems to be anything but common. People seem to want to make this a political matter. But Covid does not care whether you are a Republican or a Democrat. It does not care if you have Covid fatigue. It just keeps taking lives and leaving families with unimaginable loss. They flash the numbers of new cases and deaths. But to me, every number is a heartbreak.

2:00 PM Back on the unit. Margaret died this morning. She was alone. Her body was taken to the make-shift morgue a block away. I can’t cry anymore. I want nothing more than to just walk out; just quit; just tell them I can’t take anymore. But I don’t. I suit up and try to make another patient in the never-ending stream of patients a little bit more comfortable. Will there be an end? Vaccine is just another word right now. Until it becomes a reality, I will soldier on every day. I am beyond tired and stressed. I am even having a hard time praying. Still, I do pray. It’s the only thing left to me. God help us.