Quarantine journals: April 2

242,182 diagnosed.

5,850 dead.

8,991 recovered.

*****

I’m really thankful

today

for friends who have more faith than i

who post truths my head knows full

well, but my heart

falters.

Just sharing one of those

today.

Waymaker. That’s what we sing.

Even when sorrows like

sea billows

roll.

“…for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”
‭‭2 Timothy‬ ‭1:7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Quarantine journals: March 31

184,183 diagnosed.

3,721 deaths (more than 9-11).

6,043 recovered.

*****

A calm hovers over the panic.

Do you feel it?

People helping people.

People cheering us on.

Several local Sunday small groups made signs for us nurses, signs saying we are brave and strong and heroes, and when we came to work Monday morning they were hanging all over the walls to welcome us when we arrived.

I’ve never thought of myself as a hero.

Just a nurse.

When I think about heroes I think of Band of Brothers or 911 first responders, Frodo or Batman, or Ryan White or Ruby Bridges.

Not me.

But I will say

all my best friends who are

nurses are heroes to me.

The ones who pick up shifts even when they’re

scared;

the managers who encourage anxiety-ridden staff and build their teams even

stronger in the midst

of chaos. The ones who are in the ERs and ICUs who wear

body fluids like regular old daily accessories

and think

nothing of it. Even now.

They are the heroes. Always

have been. Always

will be.

I guess I am one of them too. Twenty-seven years under my belt. But the title still seems

reserved for them, my comrades,

my beloved friends

in the trenches

with me.

With each other.

Always.

So bring on the signs and hero-calling and late night mask-sewing-sessions. None of us

are good

at taking compliments. But I can tell you

your encouragement matters.

The battle is unforgiving, unrelenting, unimaginable, and unreal.

Keep telling nurses

they are heroes.

If you say it enough we just may

believe it.

A tale of two cities: a nurse in the midst of COVID

It was the best of times…

…buds on trees and people walking their dogs and riding their bikes and setting groceries on the stoops of shut ins and dads playing with their kids on front lawns on sunny spring days and seamstresses sewing masks and the camaraderie of nurses and doctors and RTs and PTs and OTs and techs and social workers, best of friends bracing for all we trained and live for. 

It was the worst of times…

…numbers tripling, front lines failing, ventilator rationing, health care workers dying, jobs disappearing, shelves emptying, spirits falling, and ice rinks converting to morgues.

It was the age of wisdom…

…people listening to experts, families staying at home and washing hands and honoring others and nodding at each other from across the street in the name of humaneness and humanity as scientists hunch over lab tables and doctors trial hope and administrators shuffle beds and recycle masks and try to do no harm to their very own.

It was the age of foolishness…

…sacrificing loved ones in the name of beaches and bikinis and sex and selfishness and helplessness and saying efforts are exaggerated and overblown and it’s all a farce and all partisan and parties like 1999 with utter disregard for life.

It was the epoch of belief…

…that a Sovereign is bigger than a disease, that a Savior is in the midst of our feverish terror, that waters recede and oceans part and stones eventually roll away.

It was the epoch of incredulity…

…that our invincible selves and invincible lives and invincible stocks and bank accounts and high falutin’ stuff means absolutely nothing after all in the face of an invisible monster.

It was the season of Light…

…candles still burning on birthday cakes, stars all the brighter in still, cool nights, porch lights beacons testifying to resilience surviving behind closed doors.

It was the season of Darkness…

…masks unable to hide the wide-eyed dread health care workers feel facing patient after patient gasping for air, lungs filling with fluid, kidneys failing, hearts clinging to life, praying for miracles, all the while praying they aren’t the next ones to get the virus and end up being the ones who are turned and cleaned and suctioned and assessed and treated in vain.

It was the spring of hope…

…daffodils blooming and hyacinths cheering on the arrival of green and growing life, nature blissful in ignorance and all the while eager in its pursuit of tomorrow. 

It was the winter of despair…

…nurses wearing trash bags and patients draped and dying and families watching from screens, only watching, via (face)time as their mothers and brothers and fathers and daughters lives slip away, alone, behind impermeable (im)personal protective equipment, no one to touch them, no one to hold them, no one to tell them it’s okay to go, the rest of us will carry on. Alone. But for the nurses. Who help them leave. 

We had everything before us…

…weddings and tournaments, graduations and bar mitzvahs, play dates and class projects and concerts, baptisms and golden anniversaries and last trips to the beach, and new jobs and new homes and all the reasons to live as though the world would never end.

We had nothing before us…

…no end in sight, no cures, no answers, no end to the rising numbers of patients, no slowing of fibrillating Wall Street and rising unemployment, no toilet paper, no rice, no bread, no break.

We were all going direct to Heaven…

…at least we hoped so, the ones who lay in ICUs with unwanted tubes breathing for them, and unwanted machines replacing their kidneys, and nurses and doctors and aides and hospital workers not quitting because we don’t quit and won’t quit and we never, ever quit.

We were all going direct the other way…

…the ones who blame and shame and hoard and elbow through restrictions because they deserve to and don’t care and don’t try to understand this is not a hoax even though it feels like a great big huge one, and even though we want more than anything, in the middle of the night, to wake up and be able to laugh at what a ridiculous nightmare, what a strange and ludicrous joke the brain is playing on us because this can’t possibly be real. 

Can it?

 

*Lines in bold from the first paragraph of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities