To You

If you love a health care worker, please be patient with us.

We might be angry, or sad, or worried, or tired or anxious when we get home or you call us on the phone. We’ve just spent the last 8, 12, 16 (+) hours fighting a fast changing unseen horror. And because of privacy and confidentiality rules and oaths we’ve taken, there’s often burdens and worries we can’t share with you. We can’t tell you about our patients that we’re worried about, or how many new cases we saw today. Sometimes we can’t find the words to tell you the things we want to: Did I wash my hands enough today? Did I contaminate myself today? Did I unknowingly pass the virus onto a vulnerable patient? A healthy one? Did I miss the signs and symptoms in someone I screened today? Will I be able to sleep tonight? Will I have to make myself eat, or will I overeat because I’m so anxious? Will there be enough masks at work so I can safely do my job? Will my employer recognize and support our staff in ensuring we can care for people safely? How many times will my health be put at risk today? Will my face be the last someone will see when they have to die alone? Will I have to comfort patients when the are told, ‘there’s nothing else we can do’? Will I have to comfort a coworker who is going through the same thing I am? How many hugs will I miss out on giving…on receiving? How can I be sure that I will not get a loved one sick the next time I see them? How many nights will I come home from work and simply stare at the wall because my mind is racing and I can’t focus? Will I get yelled at again, at the grocery store, by someone who assumes that I thought myself above quarantining? Will I be asked to perform nursing duties beyond my zone of comfort? Will someone I love get sick? Will someone I love die?

We’re human. Just like you.

We don’t have all the answers.

We have good days, and we have bad days. And sometimes we spend far too long trying to realize that it’s alright to not be okay. We have to hold it together at work, and then we fall apart when we get home. We’re sorry that you might have to watch us fall apart. We’re sorry for the ways we might fall apart. And we’re sorry for the times when we don’t allow ourselves to fall apart-and hold it inside. Sometimes it’s hard to fall apart and then know that in a matter of hours, we have to go do it all over again.

If we haven’t directly been impacted yet, we’re trying to be prepared for ALL the unknowns. All the ‘what ifs’. Updates and changes come daily, hourly even, and we’re left, hearts pounding as we anticipate the tsunami we know is coming. We’re staying at work for you, please stay at home for us. Words are powerful things-all it takes is a few kind ones to remind us that we’re human and we feel too. Text, call, send us pictures and videos, remind us who we’re staying at work for.

Please be patient with us.

When we want to talk; listen.

When we don’t want to talk; remind us that someone will be there for when we are.

Pray for us.

Remind us that we are not alone, and that we serve a God who is so much greater than any fear or worry we have. That when we need to fall apart, we need to run to Him first. That He is, and always be our strength.

Love,

A nurse

 

Psalm 46

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way, and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.

God is within her, she will not fall;