januwary

[januwary]

Thank you

N95. Check. Face shield. Check. Gown. Check. Gloves. Check.

I proceeded into one of the Covid isolation rooms to see my patient. He was in Bed B, the bed farther from the door. He recovered surprisingly well and was ready to return home soon. As I finished speaking to him and made my way towards the door, his roommate, an elderly gentleman, looked at me with his kind eyes and quietly said, “Thank you so much for all you do. Thank you. Thank you.” He was on a significant amount of oxygen supplementation but somehow still managed to gather the energy to thank me before I made my exit. I said, “Of course, we are here for you.” I closed the door.

I held back my tears as I took off my PPE outside the room. I wasn’t sure what it was about our exchange but I kept replaying the moment in my head. It was a difficult time for so many of us and to hear such genuine words in the midst of all this chaos was comforting. I felt deeply moved, but also undeserving of such a compliment. I’ve witnessed too many innocent lives succumb to the wrath of Covid. I’ve seen too many individuals die alone, not having the opportunity to spend their last days with the ones they cherished the most. And I’ve never felt so helpless. I really wanted to tell him everything will be okay, but I couldn’t because I knew there was no guarantee.

He eventually ended up in the ICU intubated. I later found out his wife also had Covid and ended up intubated in the ICU. It’s been over a month now and they’re both still there. Sedated. Unable to communicate. Physically together in the same place in the worst way possible. I cannot fathom the pain his family must endure during this trying time.

I will never forgot this man. For a long time since the pandemic started, I felt numb to everything and everyone. I was working long hours and all I could think about everyday was finishing my job and getting home. I was exhausted and lost the energy and willingness to emotionally invest in others. I forgot how to be human, but this man reminded me with his kind words. He showed me that our presence can mean the world to someone in a time of uncertainty and fear.

Two days after I write down my thoughts on our exchange, I find out from a coresident that he passed. His wife, still in the ICU intubated. Their daughter, not ready to let go of her mom yet.