The last six months have held some of the most difficult moments in my nursing career. When Covid-19 began its conquest in March, I was recovering from a surgery and was on light duty. I spent March on light duty at the Covid-19 Call Center, where I triaged patients, students, and staff and determined if they required testing. While I thought that light duty would be easy work, this was far from it. Each day I spoke to healthcare workers exposed in the line of duty, panicked parents, and anxious students. I remember speaking with one woman for about a half hour, as she tearfully told me about her employer forcing them to come to the office for non-essential work and refusing to let staff stay home if they get tested. She shared her worry for her job, her fear of getting her family sick, and her feelings of helplessness. I wanted so much to reach through the phone and hug her, and I couldn’t. I felt helpless. I helped empower her; arranging for her to get tested, provided instructions for infection prevention at home, and gave her the Ohio Department of Health’s number to report the unsafe work environment.

When I was cleared to return to work, it was a huge shock. The hallways, once bustling with patients being wheeled to appointments by family and staff powerwalking to the cafeteria on their break, were empty. I imagined a tumbleweed blowing across the hallway, bringing a faint smile to my face under my mask.

Because I’m in the Critical Care Float Pool, I float to all of the ICUs and the ED. In the “Before Times”, before Covid, I was already taking care of the sickest patient populations in the hospital. Covid brought even sicker patients. Even patients who didn’t have Covid were sicker; they had been holding off on seeking care due to fear of catching the virus, finally arriving to the hospital sicker than ever. I will never forget one day when I was a resource nurse in the ED. When I resource, I help triage new patients, care for stroke alerts, traumas, and code blues. I am an extra set of hands. Within thirty minutes, I ran to help intubate a patient in status epilepticus, ran to help with a burn trauma that just arrived, but was pulled into another trauma bay to help code a patient with a probably pulmonary embolism who had gone unresponsive en route to the hospital. After stabilizing that patient, I was pulled to the other side of the ED to help with another intubation. I remember walking out of work that day letting tears quietly roll down my cheeks. When I reached my car, I released the sobs that had been growing inside me all day. I felt panicked; helpless. Was this what it would be like? Intubations, codes, traumas, strokes, all at the same time? How would we help everyone? I sobbed on the phone with my parents my entire drive home. I purged myself of my scrubs as soon as I got home and took a hot shower. I sat on my couch holding my cat, Bingley. He wrapped his paws around my neck and licked the tears from my cheeks. His constant purring calmed me. I reflected on that day, and I still do. I am so grateful that I was there in that role to help the patients and my coworkers. Most of the units have started having a resource nurse each day to help with the increased acuity and complex patient needs.

Withdrawing care on a Covid patient and not being allowed to bring family to the bedside was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done in my career. I stayed with the physician while she called the family to tell them that the patient was Covid positive and would not be allowed visitors in her final hours. I cried with the physician as she told them- it was awful. We were determined to allow every family member time with the patient. I used a hospital tablet to contact family via FaceTime and Zoom, making sure everyone had a chance to say goodbye. Pastoral care provided the family with prayers, and we all prayed together. I used my Spotify to play classic gospel in the room, her favorite. I used lavender essential oil to calm the room. I was able to be singled with her for my shift, so I sat in the room with her and held her hand so she wouldn’t be alone. I was joined by the physician, who stayed after her shift to hold her other hand. That day, I felt overwhelming support; support from the physician who was so attentive  and involved in the patient’s care, the charge nurse, who allowed me to be singled with the patient, the floor staff, who frequently checked in on me in the isolation room to see if I needed supplies, and the management, who provided the tablets to call family.

I became an aunt on May 27^th. I have looked forward to being an aunt for so long; I pictured all of the amazing adventures I’d take my niece on- hiking, camping, kayaking. I love babies and I was so excited to place my finger in her tiny hand and feel her fingers curl around it. I was excited to brush my fingertip up the bottom of her foot and watch her tiny toes fan out in the Babinski reflex. I was excited to cradle her to sleep in my arms and guard her dreams as she slept. Last week, I met my beautiful niece for the first time. I gazed adoringly at her through the storm door at my sister’s house, hands pressed against the glass. I was outside, looking in at my sister, my brother-in -law, my parents, and our dog, Eddie. I wanted so badly to hug them all, but I couldn’t. It’s too risky right now. Despite the heartache, I am glad I went. I got to make sure my family was safe and healthy and meet my niece.

Back in May, I became unable to leave my bed or the couch on my days off work. I put in the bare minimum effort- going to work, completing schoolwork, and attending online meetings and lectures. I constantly took naps and wasn’t doing any of the activities I normally did. I was depressed. I started new medication to help my symptoms and it’s going well so far. I’ve started cycling more; putting in about 50 miles per week. I’ve been working on my garden and my patio, creating an oasis for days off work to relax. I don’t see having to start a new medication as a failure, I see it as an accommodation that is necessary under these circumstances. With my mental health back in check, I can take on most anything.

I’ve never felt closer to my coworkers. We see a side of Covid that most don’t.  We’re all going through the same experiences- the collective anguish and joy we’ve experienced brings us together. We cry together when we lose a patient and we smile together when our patients get better. We keep each other smiling throughout the day, through bad puns, quiet music at the nurses station, and perfecting the “air high five”. We’re in it together, and together we’ll overcome.