Pandemic Parables: And So It Starts
And so it starts... Last week we had no Covid-19 patients in the hospital where I work as a Resident Chaplain. Yesterday we had 22 with many more isolated awaiting test results. Today the number has increased, we are expecting many more, and we have had our first virus deaths.
The hospital is electric with tension. Every space that can be used to house patients has been converted. I’m the Resident Chaplain for the Emergency Room, Same Day Surgery and the Third floor (one wing which is now a sealed off isolation area.) There are no elective same day surgeries until the virus has run its course. Walking through that area yesterday was ominous. There were no patients in a space that is normally bustling. And yet lined up outside the cubicles and along the corridors were fully made-up beds, awaiting a deluge of occupants. A myriad of beds.
I rounded a corner and found a group of nurses quietly sitting and talking about the virus wave that was about to break on them. “I’m scared” said one. Others nodded. “Please tell people to stay home” said another. “For our sakes. Because, if I could, I would swap with them any day.”
They wanted me to pray and I was delighted to do so. And then my pen stuck to the front of my jacket at breast height and wobbled there. And we all giggled like teenagers - grateful that something inane had broken the tension.
All over the building the medical personnel are on edge. A wonderful nurse practitioner, who has become a good friend, normally wears her beautiful, thick, dark hair flowing or in a loose chignon. Now it is up in a tight bun. “I’m ex-military,” she said. “I’m wearing it army style because it comforts me and makes me feel secure As though once again I’m being protected by the structure of the military.
This nurse practitioner and her team work in an area of the hospital where they are free to wear their own stylish clothes. They always looked colorful, elegant, and professional. Now they are in scrubs. “It’s in case I pick up anything” said my friend. I don’t want to take it home on my clothes.”
My friend told me she expects to get the virus at some point and live through it. “How could I not?” She said. “With such close contact that I have with patients.“
She told me that an alarm tone had rung loudly on everyone’s personal phones and she jumped startled, staring. Then she realized with a deep relieved sigh that the alert was State-wise and not within the hospital.
Medical staff are coiled, tense ready to spring into action in this last slow-paced lull before the inevitable storm.
Nurses must now wear short sleeves and the Nurse Practitioners and managers can no longer wear their white coats. That is so that nothing blocks hands being washed frequently, right up to the elbow.
It is funny to see these senior nurse that I respect so much without those coats. They look more vulnerable, like wise turtles who have shed their shells. It brought home to me in a new way that these incredible women (and a few men) who deeply care for their staff, and have such big caring, wise hearts, have their own cares and concerns. Sick husbands, children missing graduations, elderly parents living with them. And yet they are called, and are dedicated, and so they adapt. And give. And adapt. And then adapt some more.
Many other changes were put in place today. New protocols for chaplains visiting the Emergency Department in response to Codes. Basically we can’t until it is established that the patient and anyone with them doesn’t have the virus.
Then, it seemed within minutes, tall plexiglass shields were erected in the main lobby protecting security officers, and registration personnel.
One change I found sad and odd. Taking advantage of so many people working from home, major building work is going on near the Chaplains’ office. I went into the tiny chapel today where I love to spend time, and it was stripped bare. All the pews and trappings had been shifted to other areas. The only thing that remained was the beautiful wall wood carving of one elderly hand being compassionately held by another.
But maybe that is the lesson for the moment. When everything in our lives has been stripped down to its essentials, God will still be there to comfort, nurture and sustain us. As with Elijah hiding in the cave after fleeing Jezebel in terror of retribution, so with us. With me.
Elijah didn’t hear the voice of God in the earthquake, wind or fire. No no. Elijah heard God in the still small voice.
Now that much of the noise in the world has been turned down, I’m eagerly listening.
Answers are everywhere. Yesterday I was walking along a deserted corridor near my office. I passed a small round piece of dirt, I looked at it and walked on by. On my return it was still there. So I thought, come on Geraldine, you know what to do! So I bent down and picked it up to throw it away. To my surprise it was an extremely dirty cent coin - a penny. I grinned widely because I have a thing about finding cents on the ground. They often magically appear when I’m needing comfort, encouragement, or answers. When I discover one and read its inscription: “In God We Trust” I feel as though it is a message from the Almighty saying “Don’t worry kid, I’ve got your back.”
I took it to the Chaplain’s Office office and started to scrub it with an antiseptic wipe. It began to shine. It was as though the Lord was using it to say, although everything seems dark and hopeless trust that underneath I am still the same. I will never leave you or forsake you.
Later, buoyed and comforted by that message, I went for a walk on the nature trail behind my house. I needed to shake the hospital from me with all its tenseness, expectation and fear. I heard the birds, saw the blossoms, and I knew once again that God is in charge This storm will run its course. And at the end of the movie that we are living in, everything will work out exactly as it should.
