covid-19

Being a PICU nurse in New York City during the COVID-19 (gonna refer to as covid so less assaulting on the eyes) pandemic of 2020 certainly isn't the worst thing.  I could be working in the MICU or in med surg. 

My heart bleeds for those nurses.  I literally think of all of the providers, all of the people in that hospital, and I just cry.  I pray for all of them.  For the nurses, the doctors, the respiratory therapists, the nursing assistants, the techs, the physicians assistants, the environmental services workers, the nutritionists, the physical therapists, the occupational ones, speech.  The list goes on.  But not only them.  The ones who suffer in the beds.  The ones dying alone in an OR repurposed as a place to take care of critically-ill patients. 

I feel so powerless. 

Now we are starting to admit adult patients, to take off a tiny fraction of the stress they feel on the adult side. But it never feels like enough.

I pray nightly for all of these people.  For my family, for my coworkers.  I am so grateful for the people providing us with food and PPE and places to stay.  I hear the cheers in Brooklyn at 7 pm on my days off and it has, quite honestly, moved me to tears.

In my personal life, it's different.  I don't really feel a whole lot of anything anymore.  It's been seven months since Dan left but it feels fresher.  I wish I could hug him and provide him comfort.  But I know he doesn't need it from me, and I need to work on myself.