There is nothing else for me to talk about except for this outbreak in my long term care facility. I have no other thoughts or words. I dream about it. I stare at the wall and think about it. I research other facilities, studies, evidence that supports some sort of different thing we should be doing. There is nothing. We have done everything we possibly can and still, our elders are sick. Thankfully, they are all still alive. I know we have protocols and PPE and vaccines and antibodies and antivirals to thank for that. I know it would have been a lot worse two years ago. But it still feels as close to an apocalypse as I can possibly describe.
My existence has shrunk to an hourly checklist. I enter a room to visit with an elder. I help them with the most basic activities of daily living. I sweat through my gear. I try to stay patient. I help them some more. I carefully remove my gear. I wash my hands. I tell them I will be back as soon as I can. I exit the room. I write down what I did, on a paper towel that is now wet and soggy. And then I put it back in my pocket and move on to the next room, reminding my coworkers and myself to take a sip of water and visit the restroom at least once.
Yesterday I told my husband, I cannot do this. And he responded with, Yes you can. Because you must.
Today I shouted to the staff, WE WILL GET THROUGH THIS. AND THEN WE WILL GO TO TRAUMA THERAPY TOGETHER.
I think it’s all true.
11 Comments
Aching for you. Peace.
I can’t help but think of Esther … perhaps you were appointed queen for such a time as this…?
Prayers upon prayers upon healing prayers upon you.
Holding you all up to the light tonight & sending so much love from Seattle.
Thank you for doing this work. Praying for respite in the storm; for flashes of hope, for hourly sustenance, for peace and endurance. For full healing.
“Feed my sheep,” is the phrase that came to mind. Praying for eyes to see the mundane moments as Holy. Praying for you, your team, and those sweet elders.
Feeling those prayers!
Praying for you, Rach. For endurance and stamina to get through this, and also for peace and rest and flourishing on the other side. You are so, so loved.
Thank you, Rach. Thank you for serving and loving in this way. I’m sorry you’re still in it and that you’ve had to be more flexible, giving and resilient than you knew possible. I see you and appreciate you dearly.
Rest for you weary mind and heart, in Jesus’ name.
Reading this now in Ontario…reading through the other comments and agreeing and praying for you, Rach, and for those fighting for life, and for those caring for you when you get home. We hold your arms up and pray.
Tearing up, reading encouragement like this. Thank you.
I know the LORD gave you to them … praying also that they would give something to you (whatever it is.)