wait for it

It's my last week at the hospital, and I'm remembering. I remember thinking they had made a mistake. "Does it seem right to you that I was hired as a nurse tech?" I asked my friend Suzanne, an RN. "Do they understand I've never done anything like this before in my life?" I remember when I didn't know a second degree heart block from a junctional rhythm, or a catheter from a cannula. I remember when we'd discard disposable masks. I'd wear several dozen a day. Once I donned an N95, realized the patient wasn't on a BiPAP, took off the N95 and threw it away. I remember when techs from other floors didn't look at me with awe and curiosity when I told them what floor I work on. I remember the first covid patient and hoping I wouldn't ever have to go in that room. I remember when I could breathe freely throughout a work day. I remember when I wasn't a hero. A hospital room is a short story-- a contained ecosystem

If the protesters could see the panic I saw in six words It feels like I can't breathe She's not normally a complainer, she said But it feels like I can't breathe Can you hang these in the window, he said I rolled the tape into circles Doesn't have to be fancy, he said Here she is, he said He held it so I could see: Get better, Grandpa! I washed his proud back and pretended not to notice the weeping Together we watched the small rabbit outside his window. A permitted visitor. I'm so tired after these shifts 12 hours is so exhausting and then I can't walk from the bedroom to the bathroom the anxiety beforehand is overwhelming Have to wash my own body instead of collapsing on the couch Sometimes I pull into the driveway and can't get out of the car I can't find the words This is my last week as a hero View COVID Diary 6 here Original story here https://www.amy-phillips.com/

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