There's a German word for everything

I learned a new word this week:

I'm not Germanologist, but I seem to recall that in that language you can pretty much make endless compound words. I don't know if we've all been grief eating, but we definitely have been stress eating.

We are fortunate to have businesses and neighbors feeding us everyday, every shift. Pizza, lots of pizza. Trays of Italian ziti, salad, sandwiches. Buffalo Wild wings. One woman brought us bags of snacks from CVS, like she must have cleaned out their fridge of humus, yoghurts, and string cheese. Two big bags of apples and oranges appeared. Oh, and someone gave us a HUGE tray of those tiny donuts from Doughnuttery in the Turnstyle Underground Market. Mmmm.

Cheeseburger & tiny doughnuts,
don't judge. 

I'm keeping all the names, menus, and notes attached so that we can thank everybody in some future day. It's nice being appreciated. I don't know if I'm comfortable with the "Hero" label but I know that my staff are working their asses off. This shit is nuts. And literally everyday something changes...charting, work flow, patient flow, PPE requirements, who can get tested and when, how to contact Employee Health. It adds to the stress.

One good thing is that people are staying away from the ER with minor complaints. This truly helps. Accept for the occasional drunk or EDP (emotionally disturbed person), we pretty much get to concentrate our efforts on people with Covid or suspected Covid.


We've also been getting Thank You notes and cards from people near and far....

 Thank you cards put up around the unit :)

It makes a difference, for all staff. Everyone is working harder and hoping that they won't get sick and that they won't bring it home and get their family sick. Since this started, I know several people who sent their family away to live with grandparents, etc. We all have routines for shedding our work clothes at home: leaving the shoes in the garage, getting undressed just inside the front door. I change into street clothes before I leave and put my scrubs and work shoes in a plastic bag.

I haven't seen my dad in weeks, we talk over the phone which is great because he's so hard of hearing and this usually involves screaming at each other until he finally says, "I think I'm having problems with my phone, I'll talk to you later!"

This seemed like we were being overly cautious a few weeks ago now seems like the right thing. You hear news about how easily this disease spreads-in NJ four family members died after being exposed to a friend who had Covid at a family gathering. In Washington state, 2 choir members died and 45 got Covid after going to choir practice, even though they took prudent precautions. It's not bad until it's bad. My mother's cousin was buried today with only his daughter at the grave side because of Covid. How heartbreaking and it's happening all over the country.

Choir members get Covid
4 members of NJ family die of Covid

The Viral Diaries

I think the worst thing is the loneliness, being disconnected from people. I haven't visited my dad in weeks, nor my sister who has cancer. Worse, though, are the people who don't want me around; friends have cancelled plans "just to be safe", the person who no longer wants G to tutor their son. G actually lost his pizza job, I think partially because business is bad, but also because the owner was "freaked out" when he heard his wife worked in a NY ER. I feel like I'm a carrier of plague.

Meanwhile, the ER carries on. I guess about a 20% of my staff is out with "febrile illness." They aren't testing people, for the most part, because testing supplies are low or because it doesn't matter. To them. I mean, most of them want to know if they're positive. I wanted to know if I was positive because I figured it would let me know if I had some immunity to it and it'd buy me a little peace of mind. Some of my staff have tested positive, though. So far, knock wood, no one is seriously ill. The assistant nurse manager of the tele floor died, one of several people exposed up there. He had bad asthma but still he was young and healthy. It's surreal. His face is everywhere. CNN interviewed his sister, he's on Buzzfeed. Well, all the news is about Covid anyway.

I'm not scared until I'm scared, if you know what I mean. If people ask me, I say I'm fine, but when I'm lying in bed it hits me-what would I do without my family, what would they do without me? It's hard to even know what's the right thing to do to stay safe. A few weeks ago we had a handful of Covid patients, each in an isolation room. We'd gown up before we went in and there was a clip board on each door with a tracking sheet. If the patient was covid +, they would call you and see if you were inadvertently exposed, then keep you home for 14 days. We had a nurse who came back from the Philippines during the early days and, because her flight stopped in South Korea for a few hours, she had to stay home for 14 days despite having no symptoms. She came back to work and now she's out with Covid. There's no more tracking sheets, no more isolation. We have red tape on the floor marking off where the covid area begins. When that started you only needed to wear PPE if you went across the tape and we were telling people not to wear PPE outside of it to save on PPE. Now, we still have the Covid side (about 2/3's of the ER, it's gotten bigger) but people are wearing PPE in all parts of the ED and are encouraged to do so. Certainly you can't work in the ED if you're not wearing an N95 and that was something we were originally fighting for. We have enough gowns, but we're all wearing the same mask all day, maybe multiple days. I have a good mask right now that I got from my director and I'm holding on to it-it's comfortable, close fitting and thick. It seems very protective.

Covid nose aka mask indentation

Friends are checking on me and supporting me (from afar!), which is very, very nice and I'm trying to keep in touch with me friends from RWJ to see if they're ok.

And the food! People are sending us food, snacks, water...everyday there's something to eat in the break rooms. People show their love with food.

Plastic sheeting separates our 
resus bays, 
clean from dirty

My office is also full of donations: face shields, N95 masks, gowns, homemade masks, gloves. NY'ers want to help. And every night at 7pm, they hang out from their windows and cheer. Every borough. I went out last night to finally hear it in person and it was more emotional than I thought it would be. People cheering for us. I went across the street the other day for coffee and a young man thanked me for my service. Like I'm in the armed forces fighting a war, which I guess we are. I don't feel like a hero, I feel like I'm doing what I've been trained to do since I started nursing. This is our 9/11, our WWII, our Spanish Flu, our Crimea. You train and train, set up decon tents and do drills for MCIs and now, here it is. What we prepare for.

We made a window!

My husband has been incredibly supportive: he packs my lunches, he rubs my back at night. I mean, he's done that for a while but now with more hugs and fierce "I love you's". He also bought a weekly pill organizer and he sends me off with various supplements to support my immune system: Vitamins C&D, pycnogenol, Lactoferrin, and Zinc. We also bought more life insurance, for both of us, and we talked about how we need wills. That should have been something we did ages ago, but now it seems particularly pertinent. We've had serious discussions with our adult daughter who lives in Brooklyn, who is so scared she quit smoking, so that's something. Seriously, we asked her to watch our youngest is anything happens, and we discussed finances, how to keep safe and healthy, and to call us if anything happens-you get sick, you need money, food, escape from the city. Anything.

I'm getting ready to go back in, working 3p-3a for more managerial coverage and support for the staff. Yesterday I spent almost all shift working on the floor and helping out as best I could, in resus, in codes, moving people who needed to be moved, I don't know what else, there's always something else. Calling for more PPE, calling people who are out sick to see how they're doing, calling the floors to beg them to take report. Doling out donated food, keeping track of who donated so that in some future, not busy day we can thank them. It is starting to feel like "when it's over" is some imaginary time in the indeterminate future. I know that sounds overly dramatic but it's like this is all we've been doing and all we're going to do. We can't look behind and we can't look forward, we can only think about what needs to get done, right now. And every conversation ends with, "Be safe. Keep yourself safe. Be careful out there."

I'm tired. And fat.
I'm going to be so fat when this is over.

Sometimes, you get what you need

I hate getting up in the morning. I know, it's better than the alternative. I feel embarrassed to say it, but I'd gladly spend the day in bed, playing minecraft, surfing the net and drinking cup after cup of tea. I wish I was one of those people, like my husband, who spring out of bed ready to get the day started. I'm pretty much ready to get started at, say, 1 pm-ish. Also, getting out of bed doesn't really bring any reward. Once the house realized I'm up there's a dog to walk, cat to feed and a child to interact with. In my bed, I can hide under the covers with my phone for a few more minutes and read the news before they all realize I'm actually awake.

When I was a little girl I would listen to the women in my life talking: mother, aunts, grandmother and later my older sister, talk about men. "You have to train a man," they'd say, as if the opposite sex was a wild animal who would spend his time scratching and belching without the acculturating whiles of a good woman. My mother would tell me how my father never liked to do much, but by dragging him out to events and parties he started to come out of his shell. My poor, shy, introverted father, being dragged into those noisy, Italian-clan gatherings. I feel his pain.

I also made a vow that I would never, evah, marry a man who needed training. You needed to be your own, fully-actualized adult to get with this gal. You know those women who complain that their man has no interest in wedding planning, what invitations to buy, seating arrangements? The ones who say their guy has no clue when it comes to the children, can't be trusted to clothe or feed them? The guy who has no opinion in what color the living room drapes should be? Maybe you are a woman like that? Count your blessings. My man has opinions on all those things and more. All I can say is, you've never gone 15 rounds over whether or not it's ok for the kids to eat processed food, or watch an occasional commercial, that's it's poison, what made you even consider it?

But I stand by my original vow, no matter how challenging it is to interact with a fully engaged human being. Because that is the problem, after all. How to relate to another.  It was easier, in some ways, to be a single mom and not have to consult the other on everything. And, no matter how much I complain, I like having another person to hold me accountable and who refuses to co-sign my BS.

When you ask for something, you have to be prepared for the results.

In other words, if you pray for potatoes, you better buy a hoe.

So, this morning. I was contemplating arising from the bed-we had woken up an hour early and I'm embarrassed to say, my first thought was, "We can stay in bed an hour longer!" While I sipped my tea, I read through my news and blog feed. An old friend of mine just found out that her eagerly anticipated baby has severe congenital deformities. It was like a slug to the chest. I didn't know what to do, so I prayed. I prayed for strength for my friend and her family. I prayed for understanding. I prayed for health for the baby. Then I just prayed silence. And in that silence, I thought about all the support and love her family share with people from all over the world that they know. And her deep love of God. Suddenly, my hope that things would be okay was replaced with a certainty. A sure feeling that I can't quite explain. I'm loath to put a word to it , because I hate statements in the face of trial and tragedy. I hate that "everything happens for a reason" reassurance. But for a minute or two I, who isn't usually certain of anything, felt certain.

I gingerly tried to shift this certainty to myself. What if, just for a moment, I felt certain about the things I prayed for myself? What if I had that sureness that I would be okay? That things in my life would turn out the way they were supposed to? For a few short minutes, I felt it. That feeling that everything is going to be okay. I suppose that's Grace.

Morning Togetherness

I love us all snuggling together in bed.