One of the most challenging aspects of the 4th wave has been the alienation and estrangement of families. Once our allies for shared decision making, many are skeptical of the medical management of COVID if not in complete denial it exists. Trust is essential in building rapport.
It is further amplified by isolation from our restrictive visiting policies. I miss the day where I could sit in the room with a family and explain what was going on. More importantly I could see the interactions and understand the dynamics of its members.
Daily updates, conversations about the weather, their participation in medical rounds all gave them grounding and trust in what we were telling them. That is gone now, and though we update family by phone or zoom it is a veil between us.
I love giving good news, but we inherently protect ourselves from listening to tragedy. Walls go up when you broach it, and without trust, sometimes anger and ad hominem attacks ensue. I miss that connection. I knew it was important to me, and I have underestimated its loss.
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I had only known her while she was on the ventilator. Her case handed over to me with exacting details, her care detailed by vital signs and problem lists. It was only when we pulled those tubes from her mouth that we really saw her face and understood her tears.
“You look like you really need a hug.”
Though I knew she was still dazed from the delivery from her mechanical womb her eyes focused & she held out her arms, the tears intensifying.
Despite the gown, mask goggles & gloves, or maybe because of them, I knelt down and embraced her.
We chatted that afternoon. Some of it made no sense. I knew that her mind was struggling through the fog of weeks of drug induced coma.
I learned about her life, & her family. I could see her regret. I could feel her remorse. All I wanted was to tell her it was going to be ok.
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.
“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.