Issue link: https://digital.copcomm.com/i/1225425
Working Nurse l WorkingNurse.com 13 March 23–April 27, 2020 A second RN observes every step of my preparation to ensure no breach of the infection control protocol. She'll also watch as I take off the PPE as well, which takes even longer. It involves using alco- hol-based sanitizer between each glove layer and then bleaching both the CAPR and the bottoms of my shoes to complete the decontamination process. EVERY DAY IN THE MEDICAL ICU delivers unique challenges, but working in the rooms of a patient with COVID-19 — a disease whose worldwide outbreak the World Health Organization (WHO) recently declared a pandemic — ensures a high- pressure shift like none other. Nearly every shift at our facility is short-staffed because the COVID-19 pro- tocols require us to use extra nurses in the observer/secondary role for each patient contact. In these conditions, clustering care is imperative, both to reduce the amount of time the door is open and to husband our supplies. As cumbersome as the CAPR is, it's ultimately more comfortable than the claustrophobia-inducing N95 mask, which we anticipate using more in the weeks to come. The CAPRs, hand sanitizer and all other PPE are hot commodities. We're not out of supplies yet, but it's a conceivable worry. THE HOSPITAL HAS RESTRICTED visitors in the confined area due to the high risk of transmission and also because we can't spare the extra masks and gloves. Patients with mild symptoms are bored, suffering from social isolation. The higher-acuity patients, even those facing possible mor- tality, are generally only able to communi- cate with their families via video chat apps like Skype and FaceTime. Working behind the "authorized per- sonnel only" curtain means having food delivered, adjusting to the CDC's rapidly evolving recommendations and fielding an absurd number of phone calls from family (as well as journalists pretending to be family). There's a sense of sterility, vigi- lance and purpose. CORONAVIRUS IS THE STUFF MOVIES are made of: a real-life Outbreak or Contagion in my city and my hospital. I confess that it's tempting to get hooked on the drama of it; panic is proving more contagious than the virus itself. Still, while the media may be provoking disproportionate public alarm (as you might have noticed if you've tried to buy toilet paper or Lysol wipes lately), working on the front lines makes it impossible to escape the gravity of the outbreak. There's no arguing that people's lives are indeed at risk. I'm not particularly fearful that I'll con- tract the virus. We've implemented precau- tions that would prevent transmission of the tragically lethal Ebola virus, much less a mild-to-moderate respiratory illness. Nevertheless, I'm now painstakingly diligent to avoid contaminating my community. THIS IS A DAUNTING and uncertain time to be a nurse. I'm honored to have the capacity to care for those in need during this challenging epidemic. That assign- ment requires me to summon a variety of nursing qualities: tolerance, critical think- ing, endurance, integrity and adaptability. I am often in awe as I witness these qualities in my colleagues every day. I've felt little choice but to rise to the occasion as well. My message to you is this: The COVID- 19 epidemic is a dramatic reminder that we humans are both so fragile and so resilient. Be kind to one another. Avoid the pandemic panic; proceed with caution. Don't touch your face, cover your cough and please — wash your hands. ____________________________________________ Tiffany Swedeen, RN, BSN, CPRC/CPC, is a critical care nurse and clinical instructor. She is a mom, writer, meditator and VW van road-tripper. Follow her on Instagram @scrubbedcleanrn or visit www.recoverandrise.com. WN AMERICAN PATIENT ZERO The first U.S. case of COVID-19 was treated at the Everett, Wash., hospital where author Tiffany Swedeen works as an ICU nurse. Their protective measures would be enough to stop the spread of Ebola. Working behind the "authorized personnel only" curtain means, among other things, fielding an absurd number of phone calls from journalists pretending to be family.