(EDITOR’S NOTE: As the number of positive cases skyrockets at Keyser’s Piney Valley Nursing Home, an employee there wrote this piece to help the public better understand how they struggle every day to continue to give their residents the best care possible amidst the relentless pandemic. What follows are entirely her words.)
By Kendra Keplinger
We wake up, stumbling to our morning rituals and hoping our nightmares haven’t come true. Staring in the mirror while brushing our teeth, a weary expression glances back at us. Wrinkles darken underneath the eyes. Our noses red with minor abrasions from two layers of masks. A thin red line runs across our foreheads from the safety goggles.
On our way to work, we try to lighten any mood through the sounds of the season on the radio and whispered prayers, knowing it’s been anything BUT “holly” and “jolly.”
Upon arrival, we put our cloth mask on, sanitize our hands before entering the building, and go to our cubby. We switch out into our N95 and surgical masks followed by a shield or goggles (tightened so it lessens the fog…but not entirely.)
We’re briefed about deaths the night before, and it’s not uncommon to hear of even more disheartening news already unfolding. Still, we swallow our tears and go about our day with the best attempt of a smile we can manage.
Our residents are tired, their cabin fever continues to spike, and they’re disgruntled with the pandemic, some fearful. Still, most manage to find the good in each day as we continue to pray it’ll pass.
Some have appetites. Others are diminished. Most wonder when they’ll see the ones they love or old roommates they once had before chaos struck. They can’t help but wonder, “What next?” We cautiously do the same.
Families gather outside of bedroom windows, watching the live action horror film of their loved one paying the price of the pandemic. They cannot hold their hands or kiss them goodbye. They have to stand by and helplessly watch, but they do so out of love in the winter weather to be a presence when their resident needs them most. Their devotion and love unending.
From inside the room, the pain lingers from a new perspective. We feel the personal guilt of being able to hug them and hold their hands when the family cannot. We see the silent tears of the passing resident, weeping in their sleep. We hear the death rattles. We see the forced rise and fall of their chest, fighting its last fight to continue functioning. Their frequent jolts before the morphine cause us to jump as well. We check the pulse and respirations and watch them raise and lower. The tent goes up and provides a cryptic view of what looks like a graveside service from the coffin’s point of view. Once the tent is fully covered, it transforms into a miniature theatre with a private screening of the family’s worst nightmare. Each take turns walking up toward the window in hopes to let the resident know they’re there. The grief in their eyes and tears that follow sting ours as well. We want to take a folding chair, bust out the window, and allow them the last few moments with their loved one as the clock continues ticking, but that’s not acceptable even in such extenuating circumstances.
It’s time for the changing of the caregivers. The next post has arrived to console the resident and family. It takes everything to stand up and walk out of the room because we know we won’t see them when we come back. Passing down the hall, we see the emotional and physical despair on the residents. We just wish we could make it disappear into thin air, but we can’t. Only time can, but we don’t have much of it.
Clocking out and taking a deep breath of air before switching into our cloth masks, we take a second and sigh. The battle isn’t over. Some say it should remain in the building, but it stays with the residents in our hearts. We carry it home weary and tired to a world who cares but doesn’t truly understand what we’ve experienced. Those that embrace us are still truly appreciated.
We try to take a break and scroll through our social media accounts only to find someone else has commented about how careless or thoughtless we are. How dare we allow such horrors to happen? How could it simply continue to spread? What are we doing so wrong?
We go out in public only to find the hypocrisy of those who socially scrutinize us: employees eating on the job near customers and customers refusing to wear masks, but we still have a favorite - individuals wearing their masks tucked underneath their nose and sometimes mouth as well. There’s also some who briefly pull them underneath “because they cannot breathe.”
Exhausted, we attempt to shut out the outside world and focus on our own personal lives, but a commercial, song, or even smell reminds us of our residents. The battle is back at the forefront of our minds because it never truly leaves. We feel guilty for being away even though we work countless hours caring for them. We know we need to take care of ourselves and our day to day lives at home, but it’s no longer that simple.
And before we know it, after a struggled sleep, we wake up once more to face it all again. We’ll continue to fight until the battle is over because that’s how much we love our residents and their families.
So, remember us. Remember them. Be patient. We need continued strength and support. Know this is only a fraction of what we face.
Kendra
is an activities assistant at Piney Valley, having worked there for
five years. She recently trained and became a temporary nurse aide so
she could further assist where needed.
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