Covid-19 Came to Town

The Covid-19 virus came to town. I wear a mask, faithfully wash my hands, sanitize everything within my reach, and go out only when necessary.  And, to be honest, the Covid-19 crisis is not my biggest fear.  

My underlying, overwhelming, and biggest fear is a loved one being in a hospital without someone at their side and making sure their needs are being met.  And, now that anyone staying in a hospital is unable to have help with them, I am filled with anxiety.  

I believe I spent more than 3,000 hours sitting next to my husband who was laying in hospital bed as he waited for a heart transplant.  Being his advocate was my critical job on his medical journey.  I helped him when I could, took notes, asked questions, watched carefully, and offered comfort and care whenever necessary.  I knew from very early on – it was imperative that I be next to him.  My late husband would often quip the hospital help call button was wall art.  He was convinced ‘it had form but no function.’ He thanked me frequently for being his eyes, ears, legs, and caregiver when he was in the hospital.  When kids and career prevented me from being with him, I feared that his basic needs were not being met in the same manner as when I was there.  

As Covid-19 has unfolded, and hospitals became more rigid with visitation rules, I put off my annual health screenings.  What if something would be wrong with me?  I know I would not seek additional medical attention at this time.  I encouraged my kids to drive slower.  And, I pray that no one I know would need emergency medical attention.  Then, it happened. My sister was called for surgery at Mercy Hospital in St. Louis on the first day that hospital started doing elective surgeries again.  ‘You will be fine,’ we all told her.  In reality, our entire family was scared to death.  You are sending a loved one in for surgery and afterwards they wake to complete strangers.  

After my sister was released from the hospital, she cried or remained weepy for several days.  She recounted the horror of being alone in a hospital.  Prior to surgery, a blood draw was done.  The individual doing the draw could not find the needle.  They looked around for a bit and said, ‘Oh well, it will show up.’  ‘Could it be in my bed?’ my sister worried. She recalled waking up from surgery and no one being able to answer her as to how the surgery went as ‘they had not seen the report.’  She talked about a drain hanging from her neck that two nurses were going to pin to her gown.  They never returned.  She needed pain medication and hit the call button.  After much time passed, a technician came in.  My sister mentioned that maybe her call button was not working. The tech replied, ‘No.  I saw your light on in the hallway.’  It was midnight when my sister requested pain medication from that technician.  ‘I will let your nurse know,’ the tech replied. For three hours my sister laid in excruciating pain waiting for relief.   At 2:40 am, the nurse arrived with pain medication.  ‘I forgot to head your way and get this to you,’ she said. My sister recounted the call button falling from her bed.  She needed help.  Within hours after having surgery, she undid her leg compression device, scooted out of bed, and she cried as she crawled on the floor with the surgery drain still hanging from her neck, hoping to find the button.  Then, she worried that she did not put the compression device back on correctly.  ‘Could that cause a blood clot?’ she feared.  She could hear others on the floor crying or calling for help.  She heard nurses talking and laughing.  Her heart ached with sadness and fear.  ‘Is this how we treat people?’ she pondered.

When it came time to be released, she received mixed messages.  Person one: ‘You should be able to go after blood work at 7:30.’ Person two: ‘You should be able to go at 11 or 12.’  My sister explained that she lives 30 minutes away and would need to let her husband know. Around 8:30, transport showed up to take her to the lobby.  She sat in the lobby for more than 30 minutes waiting for her husband to arrive.  As my sister cried telling me her hospital story, she caught her breath and said, ‘I received better care picking up our Easter dinner at Texas Roundhouse.  They were more helpful, organized, and accommodating.’  While I laughed hysterically at the analogy, I completely understood the reality of her comment.

I know more and more Facebook, chat groups and blogs are popping up recounting the horrors of loved ones’ needs not being met who are alone in hospitals, retirements homes, and extended care facilities during this Covid-19 crisis.    

Hospitals are starting to lay employees off by the thousands.  Their business has dwindled.  They believe patients continue to hold off on elective surgeries as families ‘fear the virus.’  The virus may not be the fear and the crisis may not be Covid-19.  The fear and the crisis may be the way people are treated when alone in care facilities.    

Hospitals continue to lock patients in and lock loved ones out.  I continue to wear a mask, faithfully wash my hands, sanitize everything within reach, go out only when necessary, and pray daily that no one I love will enter a hospital without a loved one standing by their side.  

My biggest fear is real and realized by millions in care facilities each day, even before the virus came to town.  

#covid19 #healthcare #pandemic #covidfear

By Terri McEachern