Burials: We can’t keep up!

Those were the headlines in one of the Sunday papers.

He was around fifty years old and with his wife. They stood in front of me in the supermarket. He was in shorts and a light blue t-shirt, wearing beach flip-flops. Standard casual wear for the holiday beach town where I work at Netcare Kingsway Hospital in Amanzimtoti, on the KwaZulu-Natal South Coast of South Africa.

I could see him reading the headlines. Then he shook his head and muttered something to his wife.

“News” was all I heard. It was accusatory, devoid of any connection to the surge in Covid-19 infections we are experiencing in this province. 

I was not in my surgical scrubs. I too wore shorts and a t-shirt, although not as smart as his. Instead of flip flops I wore my Crocs. Every day at the hospital I wear closed restaurant Crocs that I wash every day with my scrubs. It was good to be in my beach and bush Crocs.

“It’s true, you know” I said. “ I can take you to Kingsway Hospital down the road and show you the people waiting outside.” I knew they were there,  sucking on oxygen from  battered black cylinders. They would have been triaged by a team of nurses, vital signs recorded and placed on the oxygen as they waited for a cubicle in our emergency department. A colored sticker on their shirt or blouse would identify them: BLUE for family members, YELLOW for non-Covid medical problems ( the minority) and RED for COVID-19 patients.

“I don’t believe it. I don’t know anyone who has it. I don’t know anyone who has died from it. I know hundreds of teachers, and not one has it. But I do know people who have been murdered in the last year.” He was calm and spoke his truth.

His words hurt me.

I chose not to argue. He would not recognize me when he came to the back of the emergency department. All he would see is my eyes above the mask and behind the visor. I would be unable to help him. Not because he did not believe that Covid-19 was a real problem. I would not be able to help him because there would be twenty other patients waiting for a hospital bed. Maybe he would get one on the other side of the city, or even in another town. I would not wish ill on him. But he should see the eyes of those pleading for care and attention. He should see their eyes when the person lying on a stretcher next to them dies. He should see all the bodies waiting in the holding area.

They are waiting for the undertakers who can’t keep up with the burials.

The nurses at my hospital can’t keep up either. I cannot keep up with how many get sick with Covid.

One of the emergency doctors steeled himself before a shift. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He was tired of seeing patients and not having beds for them. He was tired of seeing people die. He was tired because two of his colleagues were sick with Covid and he had to carry the extra shifts.

Still he went out to face the death and destruction that this disease forces on us.

The man in front of me at the supermarket que would not believe any of this.

The amazing thing is he would still be treated at my hospital like anyone else if he needed help. He would be treated by nurses and doctors who just can’t keep up. 

He may end up with a RED sticker on his blue t-shirt…

Begrafnisse: Ons kan nie voorbly – Afrikaaans for Buritals: we cannot keep up

Stay safe..

Dear Nurses

I am so proud of all of you.  You have applied yourself to everything that is new. You have patiently listened as we explain protocol after protocol, and then frustrated  you by changing it the next day. I am proud of how you showed care to my 99-year-old patient whose hair is perfectly coiffed and her makeup is ready for a BBC interview.

Like you I don’t know what day it is. I need to check a calendar to see if it’s a working day or a weekend. Not that it makes any difference to you, working shifts and three-day weekends every second weekend.

I try, and yet I fail to talk to you in the corridors and in the nurses stations and in your offices in management suite.  

I failed to act ten days ago when someone asked me to write something motivational for you. This is a time when failure is commonplace: the only solution is to acknowledge it, learn from it and move on. With this letter I hope to move on.

We are facing a global crisis in our little hospital that has always served our community to the best of our ability. It seems sometimes that nothing we do is enough for our patients, our hospital, the whole world. But we have not failed!

The sense of failure, the fear of not being in control, the quarantine, the concern for our families causes us all to feel anxiety.

Feeling anxious about things in today’s world is completely normal. Although I am no master, I’d like to share with you how I have learnt to deal with my anxiety over the years and what works for me now:

We need to deal with it. Learn from our failures. Consolidate and move in a new direction with calm and strength and compassion. I believe we all, and especially you, have this ability.

In our medical training and our experience at the workplace over the years we have all faced stressful moments: a patient’s death, a complication, a disagreement with a colleague. Think back to those times. Now empower yourself by reminding yourself that you dealt with those crises before, and you have the tools to deal with this crisis. You have achieved so much, and will continue to achieve.

Over the last decade I have been blessed to meet many wise and caring people who have helped me deal with fear and anxiety. The essence of their help for me can be distilled into three words: 

Remember to breathe (even if it is behind a suffocating mask).

Breathing is the essence of life, and we can control it. In the beginning just acknowledging your breath is enough. Start to feel the place where your inbreath gently fades into your outbreath. Feel your diaphragm move. If you want you can pause, and count to four at the end of each breath.

It is as simple as that. Now you have something you can control. In controlling that you can reduce your fear and anxiety. 

I salute you all. For once the world is recognising your calling.  They are appreciating your service for the greater good of humanity. They understand your sacrifice. 

Stay safe.

Ask for help if you need it.

Best wishes

Basil

Sunrise over the Indian Ocean …