Pandemic Parables: The Wheels Turn

Pandemic Parables: The Wheels Turn

Sunday May 24th, 2020

Very slowly, and with some squeaky resistance, the wheels of normality are beginning to turn in the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am working as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August.

As a condition for the hospital being able to accept the influx of elective patients needed to increase revenue, Governor Hogan has mandated that certain conditions must be met. One is that all staff and visitors have to have their temperatures checked, and be given a brief interview to ensure lack of Covid-19 symptoms when entering the building.

A huge, thin, white structure has been built in the now slightly less beautiful foyer. We surmise it will be used for testing, but so far it just sits there, elephant like, mysterious. Its two doors are locked.

By now we are all used to building projects sprouting up around us. 

But it is tiring to keep on adjusting.

I saw a department head walking through the foyer and examining this newly emerged structure as she made her way to the elevator.

“So many changes,” she said as her shoulders slumped. “So very many changes.”

From last Tuesday everyone who comes in through the front door or from the ground level staff parking deck passes a checkpoint. The same is true at the only other entrance, which leads directly from the staff parking deck through a tunnel to the second floor of the hospital. Anyone who is symptomatic, or has a temperature of 100 or more is sent home. The rest are given brightly colored wrist bands to wrap around ID badges, a different color each day.

“Ooh, look!” said the Emergency Department Manager when she was handed a bright pink one on the first day. I’m going to a rave!”

We will all be rave-ready for the foreseeable future.

The logistics of having a team present twenty four/seven to take temperatures, and record the information of more than a thousand people who enter the building daily is arduous. The work is particularly intense during shift changes.  All the departments are being asked to take turns being on duty. 

The chaplains are not exempt. 

We have time slots before the end of the month. I don’t know how competent we will be with the thermometers.  

But at least we will be able to pray with anyone who is turned away!

In addition to the testing, large, blue, circular markers have appeared on floors everywhere asking, as yet non-existent visitors, to stand six feet apart. This is another Governor mandated requirement.

Our wonderful CEO said in his weekly video update that he is determined to open in a safe, paced manner. He feels comfortable doing so as the Covid-19 cases have been slightly lower in the hospital. Although they did rise later in the week, after he had recorded his message.

 As of late Friday May 19th we had thirty one virus patients, and seven isolated with them under investigation. And although we mourn the twenty nine Coronavirus patients who have died on the premises since the start of the pandemic, we rejoice at the hundred and fifteen who have been released. 

Hallelluia!

The date set for the hospital activity to start ramping up is June 1st. Although, at the moment we are approaching low levels of exam gloves, surgical gowns, and size small N95 masks, that is the date that nine operating rooms will be back in full swing. One hundred and forty eight cases have already been scheduled, and one hundred and seventy five are next in line. Among this number are limb surgery and replacements, and so on June 1st the isolation wing on the third floor reverts to being an orthopedic wing.

There is rejoicing by some who work in this wing, and a hint of disgruntlement and squeaky resistance on the section to which they will be transferred.

Opening up brings its own set of stresses.

In these days before the reset there is a sense in the hospital that people are holding their breaths. They are tired of changes and so there is a settling into what is. A nesting in a temporary place.

There is also parallel longing to return to familiar routines.

This combination makes for an underlying unsettled tension.

I talked with a senior nurse who said.

“I know it is very difficult that few patients can have visitors, but I’m really glad that in this time of shifting uncertainties that they weren’t here. In some ways it has been a real blessing for us who work here. 

A respite. 

It will be hard to lose that.”

There was a pause for thought, and then they continued.

“But in another way it will be good when the visitors return, although it will be more stressful for us. It’s especially beneficial if the patient is in bad shape. If the family can’t see that their loved one has declined then they often don’t make decisions that are in the patient’s best interests.”

Once a caring, dedicated nurse, always so. Even when exhausted and several months into a pandemic.

The hospice nurses are back in their old offices in 2C, the unit that was closed in case it was needed as a third ICU. I was on my way to see them about a shared patient when I realized that there were two other nurses behind the reception desk.

“You are a wonderful sight,” I said. "This unit has been closed for so long that it is a thrill to see you sitting there.”

“It’s so good to be back,” said one. It’s been hard being away on different floors. I’m relieved to be starting again on a familiar routine”.

“I agree,” said the second. “I’m so glad to be back. I don’t do well with change. I like to know where I’m going every day. I have to have structure. And I’ve been floating. Mind you, I’ve been on the ICU with the Covid-19 patients for much of the time. And I’ve learned such a lot. I’ll be a better nurse because of it.”

I thought of those two nurses throughout the day and wondered if perhaps they symbolize what many of us are going through, outside the hospital as well as within its healing walls.

A longing to return to a regular routine.

And yet a familiarity with, and even, on some days, a gratefulness for our current closeted cocoons.

As for me, I’m even getting to appreciate the Chaplain’s temporary, noisy, carved-from-a-corridor office. It is airy and I sit by a window. 

Neither of those things will be present when we move.

I believe that lessons learned during this secluded time will have changed us in deep rooted ways that will be of great benefit in the life that lies ahead.

May we have cause to look back and say, that as difficult as it was, this season was worth enduring, because of what was formed during its long, dark days.

Many of us are in a time of pause. The time between what was, and what is not quite here yet. The end of isolation is in sight. Some of us are already dabbling our toes in the waters of newly restored liberty. 

And yet there is a reticence about what lies ahead. A fear even.

After all we have no idea what will remain after we emerge blinking into the full sunlight of a post Coronavirus day.

When I went to Bible school in London, many, many years ago, my friends were surprised that I was embarking on such a venture. I told them that I felt like a very large St. Bernard dog that was being completely dipped under the water of new ideas and experiences. When I left, I assured them, I would shake vigorously and what was meant to remain would stay, and the rest would fly away. And so it was.

May it be so for us.

In this extended pause between what was, and what is to be, may we experience fully what we are meant to learn about ourselves, who we are, what we are called to do. What we can and cannot endure. How we want to move forward with our lives.

May we shed like a snake skin, ideas, relationships, and ways of being that we have outgrown. 

May we thoroughly shake off the words, the curses, the ideas that have held us back. 

And may we face the future with courage, fortitude, and newly acquired wisdom.

And when the wheels of life start turning again, and they will. By the grace of God, and because of honing that happened during this time, may we become all we were created to be.

May we fulfill our destinies.

And may we have joy in the journey.

Amen