The Value of Touch

I witnessed the value of touch and The destruction of isolation…

I was walking down the hall and heard the panicked muffled screams of “help help! Someone help me!” I paused in the middle of the hallway trying figure out where these terrified screams were coming from. I stood steady (it is very hard to hear patients in these isolation rooms that have loud vacuum machines running in them). I was confident it was coming from further down the hall because I knew the patient in the room I was immediately in front of. I had taken care of her and did her admission when she arrived on our floor a week earlier. These screams were sheer terror, “help me! get me out of here! Stew! Stew, get me out of here!!” … my feet stopped moving, a shiver down my spine, I knew her husband’s name was Stew. I knew they had been married for a number of years. She was a fit an active person before Covid. She was clear minded. A valued member of the community. I did not believe these screams were coming from THAT room, but they were.

I started the tedious task of dawning all of the isolation gear that we wear to protect us. I am grateful for this gear, this armor.

I throw the gear on as quickly as I can. I walk into her room, pushing against the resistance on the door from the negative pressure, and pressing forward to get to her as quickly as I can. The room is loud. Like a boiler room. Or like having the window wing seat on the airplane and the jets kick on and the air flow in the plane starts, but magnify that times five. (It is very loud).

She was hysterical. She yells for loved ones to “please please take me home!” She yelled, “I cannot do this anymore! I can’t!’ The panic was radiating through her entire body. Her hands are shaking uncontrollably. Legs shaking at 100 mph. The panic in her eyes pierced straight into my soul. My heart broke for her. Tears filled my eyes. I felt her fear, anxiety and heartache. She was breaking. She was shattering. I needed to save her and it wasn’t the CPR type of saving.

I held her hands. I reassured her that she was okay. That she would be okay. That we would get through this. She said, ‘I just want to go home. I need to go home. I need to get out of here. Please I need to get out of here. This is the hardest thing I’ve done in my entire life. It’s so loud. It is so loud. It is so loud. It is so loud! I cannot do this noise for one more second!’ She cried as she rocked back and forth in the recliner. The tears streaming down her face. She sobbed. She shook. She screamed. I held her hands. I knelt down in front of her. It was going to be day 7 for her in this room.

This room that is an absurdly loud makeshift negative pressure room. A gigantic filter vacuum, a plywood window and a 5 gallon bucket to make this once “normal” room into a Covid-19 Isolation Negative Pressure Room. In a room in a hospital where visitors could not enter. A room where staff limits contact. This is not to say that care is ever compromised but we limit contact to limit exposure, but not only that, to conserve supplies… it’s a harsh reality.

Before all of this (covid) a patient could push their nurse call button 20 times in one hour and a human would walk into that room 20 times… now we do our best to avoid any unnecessary entering of the room. ….We have had to limit the number of times we go into patients’ room by trying to bundle care when appropriate; vitals, meds, etc at the same time because this equipment is scarce. Each time we go into a room we have to dawn a gown, a mask, a face shield and gloves. Some use a PAPR (Positive Air Pressure Respirator)… it may not seem like much, but it is gold. These supplies are not endless. We fear running out before the real chaos even begins… this equipment helps protect us, helps protects our other patients and helps protect us from bring this home to our families…

Despite safety measures this is all new, so much is unknown, the guidelines are constantly changing. Young people dying. Old people dying. People being carriers and never having symptoms… for healthcare workers the fear of carrying home to your family is in the back of everyone’s minds… these patients are almost like leper’s. I did not fully realize that until today… we fear for our lives, we fear for our families, but we care for our patients. But in reality- you barely touch them, if you have to touch them with your gloved hand, even then, you make the exchange quick…

Today I slowed down… she wasn’t my patient today… but she needed me… she needed human touch. She needed a hand to hold. She needed an ear to listen. She needed to know that she was not alone… her eyes searched my soul. Begging. Pleading. Needing saved. Needing a life preserver thrown to her and she was drowning in a sea of isolation. Fear flowed from every fiber of her being.
The ear plugs had not worked to alleviate any of the pain or frustration caused by the loud machines.

I did my best to reassure her over and over that she was not alone and that we would get through this. That this was just a bump in the road of life and she would be out of here soon. I pray she saw the smile in my eyes since she couldn’t see my mouth through my mask. I fought back my own tears of heartache because she needed me to be strong for her in this moment. My heart broke for her. I wanted to scoop her up and let her be with other humans again. I wanted so badly to say, “come on, let’s go for a walk for a change of scenery.” I couldn’t. I could not take her out of her physical situation, I could only try to save her mental situation.

I stayed squatting down in front of her, staying on her level or lower, doing my best to look her in the tear filled eyes and make her believe that she would be okay. I held her hands. We talked, well actually we mostly near yelled at each other just to hear each other, but we talked. We did some breathing exercises. We prayed. We talked. I only let her hands go to grab a tissue or to get something that other nurses had brought to the door in hopes it would help her.

I hugged her. She was so small in the giant recliner chair. Her arms and legs were tight together, making her even smaller, she still shook, but the crying had slowed. without hesitation I hugged her. It was as if I opened another flood gate in her eyes and as she said, “no, don’t hug me! I am gross!” …I hugged her tighter.

I will not lie, the reaction to hug her came naturally then as we hugged in a split second fear flashed in my mind. Thousands of thoughts running through my head: “did I put on all my equipment correctly? Am I exposing myself? I should probably isolate myself from the kids (they were 4 and almost 1 at the time).” There were so many thoughts but I quickly pushed them away to be present in that hug for her. I prayed and I knew at this moment more than anything in the world- she NEEDED a hug to survive. We hugged. We cried. I told her again, “you WILL get through this. It WILL be okay.”

I pray the touch of a hand can heal her heart a little more. I pray she felt love in the hug I gave her. I pray she can be well enough to go home very soon.. She didn’t want to FaceTime her family because she ‘didn’t want them to see her like this.’ I reminded her that her family knows she’s sick but truly she didn’t look terrible! I said you NEED to FaceTime and actually SEE your people!

We need our people. People need people. People need people who care. In this time of social distancing people need others to reach out. Call. FaceTime. Check on your loved ones, especially those that are alone and not used to being alone… God made Eve because it wasn’t good for man to be alone… it just makes me wonder how many of the reported deaths might have been different if a family member was there, to hold their hand, to talk to them, to reassure them, to give them some more hope, to give them some love… even just to hold that hand. I don’t think anyone really wants to die alone… but how many have due to this horrid virus. My heart breaks for the lost. My heart aches for the families that didn’t get to say good bye… this is our new reality…

Pray for your healthcare workers. Pray for our patients. We need your prayers. Stay safe… love one another. Slow down for a moment… value those you can physically touch. Please reach out to those that you cannot… we need prayers. This world needs Jesus. God Bless everyone that reads this and I pray you know the love of Jesus in these dark times. This too shall pass… prayerfully very quickly

~This was originally written March 28, 2020 by Desiree Ross. All patient/family names have been changed to maintain HIPPA.

~Here we are- over a year later and I know some hospitals have allowed visitors for Covid-19 patients under certain guidelines. Some of the world has returned to full function. I continue to pray for this nation and this world full of division that we still remember that everyone needs love. Everyone needs compassion. Hope and prosperity exists when we choose to love one another.