“Today left me a bit dejected.”

It has been a while. So long in fact that I forgot what posts I had saved in my drafts. This was one of them. The title was a quote from one of my coworkers. And in the body of post was this:

Now, this was after working the weekend our hospital doubled in Covid patients. We re-opened an additional IMC and ICU that we hadn’t needed since May. We were on the phone with other local hospitals talking lateral transfers to make room for 5 patients waiting in our ED. We were seeing our very sick patients get much sicker. Debriefing after a shift, my coworker shared “I feel helpless watching these middle aged men cruise along maxed out [on oxygen] knowing what their future probably looks like. Our recent losses plus lack of a clear plan just deplete[s] us all.” And I couldn’t have agreed more. Yes, it had always been sad, but I felt like lately it was out of our control even more. We weren’t having success stories. Growing to all know these patients over time, it wasn’t uncommon to text each other on our off days asking who the latest intubation was, knowing our 12+ hours of time and effort couldn’t prevent the inevitable.

I wish I could say that this was a past mix of emotions. That we were having more successes. However that simply is not the case. We’re opening up 6 more IMC beds. We’re talking team nursing to increase nurse-patient ratios. We’re bracing ourselves for the post-holiday surge. We’re running 5-8 nurses short per shift, filling holes with floats and ‘resource’ staff where we can.

All of that said, I’m hanging in there. I’m picking up shifts when I have the capacity. I’m resting on my off days. I’m leaning on my support system. I’m having those patient moments that remind me why I went into nursing in the first place. I’m taking it one day at a time. Because, as a good friend once told me, “the only way out is through”.