Headgear and heartache

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 09/04/2020 (2386 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

While the COVID-19 crisis has yet to hit Winnipeg with full force, hospital workers continue to prepare for the pandemic we hope will largely pass us by. (The other shoe has yet to drop.)

One sign of that preparation occurred earlier this week when protective headgear began to show up.

Generous Winnipeggers and others have been sewing cloth head coverings and making them available as extra personal protective equipment (PPE) with more than a hint of flair. One unit resembled a gathering of post-chemo stylistas as grateful workers browsed to find favourite patterns and a good fit.

It was a fun thing that certainly brightened the room and lifted spirits. Beauty is always welcome. We need diversions like that, if only because the ordinary is becoming surreal. 

Every so often the overhead loudspeaker interrupts with a robotic voice intoning, “Be aware, area care.” One imagines alert desk clerks and unit assistants reaching for disinfectant wipes to clean their desks and other commonly touched surfaces. Yet how soon, one wonders, before the reminder itself becomes routine, part of the background noise lost among the everyday din of warnings, alerts and alarms.

Still, the gap between what we’re anticipating (overwhelming medical need) and what we’re currently experiencing (empty beds) leaves a troubling space where fears can fester and doubts arise.

One nurse seemed particularly anxious as he went about his duties, chagrined in a way quite unlike the stresses that caring for medically acute patients normally entails. This wasn’t the weariness of a regular 12-hour shift, nor the call bells that relentlessly summon from room to room. These weren’t the expected concerns of a young man with a demanding career trying to raise a healthy household while working long hours — often overnight.

This was different: COVID-19 is on the prowl.

These were the worries of a father whose proximity to patients and pandemic was creating spiritual and emotional disturbances in his family. He missed the joyful welcome of a young child running to hug his legs when he arrived home. He lamented sternly cautioning an uncomprehending toddler to back off till after he’d showered. It grieved his soul.

Other employees face other types of disruptions. One who found her clinical area shut down during the crisis was redeployed to a job that turned out to be both necessary and boring — screening everyone who wants to enter the hospital. While most people are cooperative, a few are belligerent. She yearns for things to return to normal.

Another nurse is eager each day to come to work, mostly to relieve the isolation she feels at home. She signed up for extra shifts because she’d rather be on the job doing something, instead of fretting alone away from the action.

Front-line service in dangerous or potentially dangerous situations does have a way of building team solidarity. And it’s good that the workplace provides socializing opportunities for we are social beings. Our instinct is to gather when we are under threat.

Part of the deviltry of this virus is that it forces us to remain apart precisely when we need each other most.

Spiritual health practitioners are less uncomfortable than most in such emotionally fraught circumstances. We (and others) provide a non-anxious presence that helps those who are struggling to cope with their immediate concerns, soaking up some of the sorrow as it flows.

All of us can grow through this. Upsetting realities can help anyone to humbly acknowledge that no one is ever really in control of their life. When things go sideways, it’s hard to take anything for granted. So much of what we have is sheer gift. Major disturbances also remind us how much we always need each other, even when many must stay apart.

 

Doug Koop is a freelance writer and spiritual health practitioner.

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