Thread by @ellisonbarber

This week, I went inside an ICU in St. Louis, Missouri.

When I asked one of the ICU nurses how many patients she’s lost since the pandemic began, she couldn’t even ballpark a number.

She said some days it’s 3 or 4 a shift.

Her hospital ran out of space in their morgue, late last week.

One of the critical care doctors told me, they had patients “in the room, long after they had died, waiting for refrigerated trucks to come so we could store them somewhere.”

This is the refrigerated truck that arrived late last week.

They’re now using it as a temporary morgue to store bodies (COVID & non-COVID).

That’s just one hospital.

Hospitals across the country say they’re running low on physical space and staff, trying to keep up with rising rates of COVID hospitalizations.

Other emergencies haven’t stopped because of COVID.

Hospitals don’t have unlimited resources - be it beds or healthcare workers.

When we were in the St. Louis ICU, a non COVID patient coded. It took at least 10 people to bring her back.

The nurses and doctors and techs are exhausted.

The mental toll of this is beyond words.

They’re breaking down in tears, then getting it together to go to the next room and help someone else.

A few months ago, I went inside a COVID ICU in Lexington, SC.

I watched as they intubated a patient because of COVID. I never found out her name. I don’t know if she survived, but I’ll never forget the noises of her being intubated.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the nurses had put a bunch of family photos at the foot of her bed.

I couldn’t stop looking at those pictures... this was someone’s mom, someone’s grandmother, someone loved by a lot of people and she was alone during the worst moment of her life.

Every nurse, every doctor I’ve met in areas with high COVID hospitalization rates, tells me the same thing: they’ve never experienced anything like this.

Every time I ask how people at home can help, they say the same thing: masks in public, social distance when you can, wash your hands, hold off on the big indoor gatherings.

When I was reporting on the summer surge in Florida, I met the family of Daequan Wimberly.

Daequan had special needs, and he was just 11 when he contracted COVID-19 and died.
nbcnews.com/now/video/11-y…

After I interviewed him, Daequan’s Dad told me he was planning on moving soon, I - reflexively - asked why. He said the house was too big, too quiet without his son.

In Georgia, I interviewed Sam Ahern.

His wife, Terri, died from COVID.
nbcnews.com/news/us-news/t…

With his permission, we’d moved some of the patio furniture to make room for lights. When we were done, Sam made sure to put one rocking chair back in it’s exact spot.

It was Terri’s chair.

Every morning, she’d sit in that chair to watch the sunrise and read her bible.

On the critical care floor, of a hosptial in Lansing, Michigan — I saw William.

It was his birthday, and the staff wanted to celebrate.
nbcnews.com/news/us-news/c…

William was the first COVID patient this hospital had successfully taken off of a ventilator in 2.5 months.

After 38 days in the hosptial, William was discharged and started the journey home.

Sometimes people give me grief for wearing a face mask as much as I do.

I’m rarely without it on TV, and as much as I like not having to put make up on the bottom half of my face — I wear it because I don’t want to get someone else sick.

I wear it for Daequan, for Terri, for William, and for all the healthcare workers I’ve met - who ask us to do it. I know it’s not much, but I figure it’s the least I can do.