Being a nurse has always felt like a calling to me, not just a profession. Growing up, my mother and grandmother often told me, “You would be an excellent nurse.” It feels as if nursing chose me rather than the other way around.
This calling has profoundly influenced my life, teaching me about the fragility of humanity and the hidden struggles people endure. My patients are often in distress, reaching their physical, emotional, and psychological limits, revealing vulnerabilities they may never have shown before. As a caregiver, I navigate the delicate balance between their need for privacy and their exposure during these critical moments.
The COVID-19 pandemic has brought the medical profession into the public eye like never before. Suddenly, the world understands the essence of my role. Hospitals and ICUs have become focal points in the media, and many are calling health care workers heroes, front-line warriors, or even saints. While I appreciate the sentiment, it makes me uncomfortable. I chose this path and take pride in my work, but the stakes have drastically changed.
Now, going to work means facing the risk of contracting the virus that my patients are fighting against. The anxiety of this reality was overwhelming initially. I sought support from my therapist, engaged in prayer, wrote out my funeral plans, and discussed my end-of-life wishes with my husband. These conversations, which I never imagined I’d have to have, became crucial. With two young daughters, ages five and eight, the weight of these discussions was heavy. One day, my youngest asked, “Who will be my mom and dad if you die from COVID?” I reassured her that while she wouldn’t have new parents, her aunt and uncle would care for her. We talked it through, and after that, I felt a sense of relief, allowing me to focus more fully on my work.
COVID-19 patients come from all walks of life—young and old, previously healthy or already battling other health issues. They include essential workers, travelers, and individuals from congregate living situations. The symptoms they present are varied, often including severe coughs, exhaustion, and difficulty breathing, along with fevers, nausea, and loss of taste or smell.
Caring for these patients involves a range of emotional and physical support. Sometimes, it’s about facilitating video calls with family, providing comfort during moments of loneliness, or simply being present for them. In many cases, it means holding a hand as they take their last breaths, a heart-wrenching experience for both patients and their families.
At my facility, we allow one family member to visit for compassionate reasons under strict safety protocols. This, however, raises difficult decisions about who that one family member should be. I witness family members leave the unit in tears, understanding the gravity of their situation while maintaining an incredible level of compliance.
Over the years, I’ve honed my ability to compartmentalize these experiences. I often share my thoughts with my husband, who is also a nurse and understands the weight of our profession. However, the pandemic has made it challenging to leave my work at the hospital. The fear and stress of COVID-19 permeate my daily life, from social media to conversations with friends and even my children. Nightmares about failing to protect myself or my patients haunt me frequently.
As Minnesota begins to reopen, I find myself wrestling with anxiety about the implications of these changes. I fear being the one to bring the virus into my community, despite the guidelines being sensible. The reality of fear is palpable, both in the eyes of my patients and within my own mind.
So what do I do with this fear? Sometimes I confront it head-on, while other times, I retreat into a good book or discuss it with those closest to me. Ultimately, I strive to approach each situation with kindness, recognizing that everyone experiences fear and loss differently. I want to ensure that I treat everyone as neighbors, making decisions with compassion and understanding.
The true enemy in this situation is the virus itself.
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