Covid Nursing Sucks
He slumps before me, rejected by mainstream society, and he has earned it. Empty eyes etch the shunning on his face. The paper he sits on rustles as he wiggles and changes position. At first, he tried to act big on my examining table, squared off and using explicit language. I look into his eyes. I listen, showing him respect and value, and his armor of hate chips away as he allows his young self to appear in my presence. I offer a safe, unjudged atmosphere, freeing him to lower his street-hardened guard. He might have murdered someone, but I don’t need to know. I want him to feel safe. I never look up my patient’s criminal charges. I prefer to see the person instead of the crime and find their better self, hidden from their mask of defiance.
I used to love my job working with incarcerated youth. These kids can relax behind the correctional doors that block out their homies and families, a place to allow their inner selves to shine. With structure and care from the staff, the criminals often find and reinvent themselves. I have the privilege of seeing the goodness in the incarcerated youth that they bury on the “outs”. I see the kindness in their hearts that they refuse to show to many in their inner circle. Yes, they have broken the law, which is why they are here, but what happened to push them to this point? What abuse has this child experienced and seen?
After completing my daily nursing tasks, I would spend my free time with the youth. I prided myself on being the queen of the California Speed card game, and the youth would practice between my visits to beat me.
“What do you like to do when you are not getting into trouble?” I often asked.
“I like to rap,” many would reply.
“Really. Do you write your lyrics?”
The youth would rock back and forth with their hands behind their back, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”
“Would you be comfortable enough to share a rap with me?”
Their face would redden at the thought. “I don’t know.”
“It is up to you, but I would love to hear it.”
The youth would look down at the floor. “Okay.”
A narration of their life would come out of their mouth, set to metric and rhyme. I used to despise rap, but hearing their story often choked me up, and I soon appreciated their method of dealing with their hard life.
“I have a challenge,” I would often give when I visited their cottages, their home, for the duration of their incarceration.
The youth of the cottage gathered around. “I want you to do two caring things for someone else and then report them to me during my next visit.”
“I mopped the floors today,” one would quickly offer.
“It can’t be your resto. It has to be something for one of your peers or the staff.”
It always amazed me when I returned the following day at how they anxiously surrounded me to share their two acts of service. I saw faces beam as they experienced the high of caring for someone else. This is why I LOVED my job!
Then the pandemic hit.
COVID-19 changed my role in the youth’s lives. Suddenly, COVID regulations altered my engagement with my young patients.
“Stay 6 feet apart.”
“You can’t play games with the youth.”
“Limit your interaction.”
I hated the restrictions. I now faced the youth with a mask on my face, shielding communication and positive social expressions. My duties changed, and it felt like I had become a COVID nurse and nothing else. Instead of having shifts where I could connect with the youth, I now moved around various detention centers performing COVID testing.
“Have you had a COVID test before?” I would ask the patient before me. Some of my patients at detention centers were as young as eleven. Those tiny people would look at me with tears as they shook in fear, and the mom in me wanted to rock them and sing them a song to comfort their souls. But that is not permittable within the boundaries of corrections, especially during a pandemic.
Dressed as an alien from outer space, donned in personal protective equipment, I would move toward them with the longest Q-tip from hell. I went from the safe nurse to the scary nurse.
“But I was just COVID tested,” I would often hear.
“Yes, but it has been over two weeks, and you have been on the outside. We must ensure you aren’t bringing COVID into our facility.”
“Please, it really hasn’t been that long. I don’t want to go through with that again.”
With lightness, I would say, “Then stop getting in trouble. If you don’t return, then you don’t have to get these tests.” I flashed a playful smile; one they would never see. -blocked by my mask.
I followed the latest science on how COVID affects adolescents. For most kids, COVID does not present dangerous or deadly outcomes. I did daily symptom checks on COVID patients and saw kids with mild reactions. Yet, we isolated them in their cells for days, even if they simply had a COVID exposure. These kids spent too much time trapped alone, which messed with their mental capacities. In the beginning, for every COVID exposure, the youth had to face another giant swab shoved into their nasal cavity. I hated how COVID changed the care and the environment for incarcerated youth.
Over two years after the start of COVID regulations, I have lost my spirit of nursing. I still put my patient first, but I cannot give to them in the same capacity for caring and interest. With my entire body donned in protective gear, I doubt they feel safe when I enter the room. Also, as one who enjoys volunteering in nursing homes, I have seen an even more damaging atmosphere in reaction to COVID for the elderly, with desperate souls locked away from family and friends.
COVID regulations shook our lives, but it has changed the art of nursing. It blocked me from providing holistic care that focused not only on the body but also on the mind.
“ Your vital signs look good. Make sure you are drinking plenty of water and resting,” I tell the youth on my examination table. “Do you have any questions?”
He shakes his head.
“Come back if things get worse or you have any questions.”
“Okay.”
“On another note, how is your baby doing?”
His face lights up. “She turns one in a week.”
I smile, yet he doesn’t see it.
“When are you coming back to play games with us.”
Now my smile fades.
“Soon. I hope soon.”
Today, a ray of light appears through the wall of COVID policies, and I let its warmth carry me to another day in hopes of better nursing, to a day when I can be more than a nurse but a champion of the human spirit.
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Covid Nursing Sucks
by Stephanie Daich
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