So, we’ve reached 34 deaths per day from COVID. It’s a shocking number that really gets swamped over by all the other numbers. I’m going to describe the usual dying process in the ICU from this disease. I’m wearing my clinical hat, be warned.
The trip through the ICU is serpentine. We admit patients now who not only have low oxygen levels, but are in distress. Prior to that internal medicine physicians have been providing ICU level care on the floors.
They treat potential coinfections, mange noncovid aspects of patient health and importantly try to turn the course of the disease with steroids and monoclonal antibody therapy. If the trajectory is set, they come to the unit to be placed on a ventilator.
This is where we are learning as we go. First you must understand that we are usually 14 days away from the initial infection. The virus is long gone by now. If coronavirus was the lightning storm than what we are dealing with is the wild fire that got out of control.
That is why none of the antiviral therapies work in the ICU. We are battling uncontrolled inflammation. You know when you bang your arm and it hurts way more the next day? Like that, but because COVID targets blood vessels it’s like banging every part of your body.
Just like you putting an ice pack on that bruise, we are using dexamethasone, a steroid, Tocilizumab, an interlukin blocker, and COV-REGEN2 in those who are late antibody formers. All the while we are waiting for the fire to go out, so we can see what happens next.
It’s what we like to call the, “do no harm phase.” This is where we try to find the balance of getting enough air in the patient so they don’t suffocate while trying not to tear up their stiff lungs and start the inflammation up again. If this were a joint you wouldn’t move it.
But that’s not an option, unless your a candidate for ECMO, which is where we put the patient on a lung bypass circuit. Oxygen and CO2 exchange outside the body via garden hose size cannula placed in the neck and groin. It’s pretty exceptional, & we can only do about 12 @ a time.
In the non ECMO pathway, we take it day by day. Our job is to protect the vulnerable patient from other things. Blood clots, bacterial infections, skin break down, kidney failure, malnutrition while we wait for the lungs to heal. It can take weeks.
Ok, now take a deep breath, all the way. Trust me. Just do it. Now hold it. That’s your new starting point. I want you to take your next breath from there. And your next. Don’t cheat. Pretty anxiety provoking, right?
To keep people with this lung disease (it’s call ARDS) from ripping their lungs apart we need to sedate them very heavily. Sometimes even paralyze them. It can make people incredibly weak, but there are no other options.
No for weeks we wait. Waiting for the lungs to heal. To relax. There is no clear way to predict who will get better and when. It’s an unclear pathway dictated by genetics and immunity. It’s heralded by the ventilators silence as it can relax and not push the air so hard.
At that point we can start to wake our patients up. There emergence is often dramatic, like coming up from deep water. We need to be gentle. Too much struggling and we can lose all of our gains.
I’ve seen some get better quickly. They act like good old bacterial pneumonia. Others take longer. We talk to families about tracheostomies and long term ventilation. They make progress but they will have long term complications from their journey.
There is however a subset. They seem to improve initially, but despite everything we do they deteriorate after a week on the ventilator. No matter what we do their lungs get stiffer and stiffer. Instead of healing, their lungs are replaced be scar tissue.
We search for hidden infections, scan them for blood clots, look for strange drug reactions and autoimmune disease. Over the ensuing weeks, their hearts start to fail from the tremendous work of pushing blood through fibrous lungs.
Deprived of blood the kidneys fail first. Dialysis will keep them going forward a while longer, but without lung transplantation the heart eventually stops. Often we sit down with families before these final things happen to let them know the path their loved ones are on.
We seek out there values and goals. We let them know what we can accomplish and what we can’t. It’s often choosing between the lesser of two evils, and often I am conflicted about putting people in such difficult positions.
The journey of dying in the ICU from #COVID19 takes on average about a 6 weeks. I have seen what that does to families.
Despite our resources and technology we can do little but support our patients and their families through the process waiting for them to heal.
And though most who read this thread know that vaccination can prevent almost all of this, it is why those of us in healthcare struggle knowing this is now preventable. It’s a thought that torments us through every day of those 6 weeks.
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“I know you’ve been avoiding me, I understand why. Your heart must jump into your throat when you see the hospital’s number come up on your phone.”
“Please tell me he’s getting better.”
“Your father’s heart is failing.”
“He promised to help me with my schoolwork.”
The tears are welling up in our eyes now, but I know how to block them.
“You have to do everything. He worked two jobs to keep me in school.”
He is shrinking now. Only anger bolsters his impossibly thin frame from collapsing. His fists are clenched.
I stumble for a second, seeing my son in the flash of his eyes. That connection swamps me with empathy. I can’t give into it, or I won’t be able to go through with what I need to tell him. So I brace myself. I break the connection by stepping back.
How to maintain your sanity in the 4th wave. A work in progress from an non expert.
First. Go outside. It’s fall. The leaves are changing. Find some trees. Don’t just look at them, take a deep breath. That earthy smell is an anchor. If you are lucky enough to find just the right light the petrichor and the autumnal palette will elevate your spirits instantly.
Next, find a good mycologist. If that fails find a trusted friend who owes you a favour to show you their secret spot to find morel mushrooms. It’s been a perfect year for mushrooms, and those who know will probably not tell you their secret, but it’s worth a try.
What keeps us away from the brink that is triage is the number of people who are dying in our ICUs. I have had to show them that though not yet dead they will never get better. I have extinguished their hope. I have had to console their children, and bear their partner’s rage.
This responsibility I bear without anger. It’s always been part of the profession, but we can all survive a little dose of poison. Right? It is the confessions that break me. The vignettes of banal failings that I identify with, that I could have easily been complicit in.
Quick thoughts about how to get us out of this mess. We know that Twitter is an echo chamber. We tune our threads to hear reinforcing opinions. What is clear, is that the majority of Albertans are reasonable and pretty damn considerate. They support vaccination and passports.
The problem is that in a pandemic, minority behaviour sets the bar for all of us. So how do we reach them? First is understanding our audience. In reality, very few are immovable, and it’s the moderates that need to be swayed.
Passports may motivate people to seek out more mainstream information, and that’s why education and access to truthful and peer reviewed information is essential. We also must open up our hospitals to vetted media. Health care professionals can only do so much to show the truth.
First, let me thank you for all of your support. You never once complained that I was late, or a little disheveled. You asked how I was doing even though you were the one in need.
Let me assure you it was because I was running my clinics overtime to catch up with you after we had lost touch during the previous three waves. And I thank all of you for listening to me when I talked about vaccination despite the fact you had already done the right thing.
I thank you for the cards, the cookies, and even the gifts from your garden, not just for me, but for my staff, who were always rearranging my schedule and feeding me lunch. (Cuz apparently I get “hangry”)
Between the school closures and night shifts she hadn’t found the time to get one shot, let alone two. She did make her daughters lunches that day. They were on the kitchen table.
Her eldest called 911 when she slumped over the sink and couldn’t get up. That’s where the paramedics told me they found her, with one of her children trying to give her a glass of water.