The Covid_19 Chronicles (2024)

14/04/2020

THE BUS DRIVER FROM DETROIT

I hurried down the passage to get to the next ward as soon as possible. I swear, there were just not enough hours in a day. The doctors were looking haggard and I guess, if I was being honest, so was I.

My hands had become so chapped and sore from all the PPE gear we have to wear daily, and I overheard some of the girls on our floor talking about needing different hand lotion.

“The guy who did that viral video on the bus is here,” Sarah sidled up next to me, keeping pace as I march-walked to the ward.
“To speak to us?” I asked, only half paying attention?
“No. As a patient,” She said.

I stopped mid-march, replaying what she had just said.

“S**t,” I replied. We both looked at each other. We had all been following the news and his viral video was no different. Some people made fun of him, accusing him of being overly dramatic, as he screamed profanity about a woman not covering her mouth whilst coughing on his bus. If I remembered correctly, he even disinfected and cleaned his bus after the incident, taking pride in his work. And yet, depsite all the online trolls, here he was in our ward with the damn virus.

The doors swung shut as we stepped into the ward. I hung back a little, assessing the ward layout. The new beds, or rather, the new patients. And, my heart dropped a little as I noted the missing patients. Sarah and I split up to administer our nursing duties, and see where we could assist and support.

As we systimatically worked, I neared the end of ‘my row’ of beds. And there he was: Jason Hargrove. We all knew him. Or rather we knew of him. He lay in the last bed in the row. I approached with trepidition, trembling at the thought of what this would mean. How much worse this would get.

I tried to give him an encouraging smile as I said, “How are you doing Mr Hargrove?” He gave me a deadpan stare, and took a deep breath in as he readied himself to reply. The rattle in his chest was telling. “I’m not okay,” he wheezed simply. “I am not fu***ng okay”.

And that said it all. I spent my day between multiple wards, but I kept popping in to see him periodically throughout the day. By the time the evening call had come, I decided to stop past and check in on him one last time.

As I approached his bed he gestured for me to come closer. “My wife,” he rasped. Confused,I asked, “You wan’t your wife?” He nodded. S**t.

“Mr Hargroves,” I spoke softly, “she can’t come here because of the virus. It’s not safe.” I tried to let him down gently. He nodded his understanding and clasped my hand as unshed tears glistened in his eyes.

I told him he could fight this. That he would be okay, and that I would see him in the morning. I squeezed his hand in reassurance promising that he would soon be home with his wife, and that he was a hero in my eyes. He continued working, driving people around, ensuring that the country did not come to a complete standstill.

I trudged home to my apartment wondering how much worse this could honestly get.

The next morning, I shouldered through the swing doors and took stock of the beds, and their patients. The bed at the end of ‘my row’ was missing. I turned and asked a fellow nurse where he was. She shrugged her shoulders sadly, refusing to make eye contact.

Dumfounded I stood there. I may not have meant to, but I lied to him. I let him down. The city let him down. And that damn woman on the bus let him down. One of the machines in the ward started beeping, jarring me into action. Perhaps movement would help, but it would not bring Mr Hargrove back.

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Inspired by true events. The factual news story can be found at https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2020/national/detroit-coronavirus/

09/04/2020

THE PARAMEDIC FROM BERGAMO

I couldn't tell her. I simply couldn't tell her that I wouldn't be okay. That everything would be okay. This entire situation simply is not 'okay'.

And so I found myself stuck in a limbo of wanting to reassure her, and simultaneously not wanting to lie. So, instead I chose to say nothing. To do nothing. Because really, what is there to do?

Just a few short days ago I was ferrying people from their homes to the hospital multiple times a day. I had assisted with life support, resuscitation and general hand holding. Through my work at the red cross, to a frail care center, and finally as a paramedic, I thought I had seen it all. Well, if not all then A LOT.

And still, faced with my own mortality, I was numb.

When my test results came back confirming that I did indeed have the virus, it served as a confirmation, nothing more. I asked her to sleep in the spare room. At least it was some form of distancing. But, I truthfully had wondered how much it would help.

Through the haze of the fever I lost track of time. I stopped as I realised that I wouldn't be there to see Ale graduate one day, or get married, or simply become a Nonno. All those little expectations that we took as a natural 'given'.

I know we've given him a good foundation. I know he'll be okay. And I am so grateful to be his Papa.

She pops her head through the door to check on me. The bags under her eyes and newly fainted lines on her face tell more of a story than even she will ever admit.

Am I okay, she asks.

How do I answer that?

There's a bone-deep knowledge within that screams 'No, I am very much not 'okay''.

But, I can't say that. She loves me unconditionally. She has seen me at my worst. Actually, perhaps now is my worst? These rueful thoughts run through my mind.

I coax my lips into the semblance of a smile. "No, no. I'm good. I'm just trying to get comfortable," I reassure her.

Still, she stands there, watching, waiting.
Exasperated I say, "You can go to bed, I'm not going to die".

Even as the words fall from my lips they taste vile. I am lying. Despite all the stats and the precautions, I know that this is it.

Her eyes widen in horror and immediately I know I've said the wrong thing. "Why do you think you are going to die?" She demands. "You are young and have no underlying health issues, you will bounce back from this."

Is she trying to convince me or herself? She rattles the slogans off at me as a reminder to herself, but she has seen the way this virus has ravaged me and how I am deteriorating. Perhaps she knows.

I smile wistfully, roll over and close my eyes. I hear her retreat as I wonder for the umpteenth time how we all got here.

I think back on this life that I've lived. How I met her. Our wedding. The day Ale was born. All of the good. I want to go out remembering the good.

But then, I have a ni**le, I still haven't fixed the backdoor that she has been nagging about. I kept thinking I would get to it after this pandemic. I promised Ale that we would stargaze as soon as it becomes warmer. Will our savings be enough for her and Ale? I hope so. I hope that at the end of this there will be some silver lining for them.

Even as death approaches, my mind won't switch off. I think about our weekly grocery list. How Ale is missing his friends at school. How he (Ale) is thrilled because he can header a ball. How my colleague, Davide loved the podcast I shared with him.

And as I drift off to sleep, my chest becomes tighter. I'm aware of the wheezing, but it has long since become melodic, rather than ominous.
And I realize that it's these connections that truly define me. I am the sum of the connections I have made, and perhaps in denying the world these connections through this isolation that will be the true tragedy in the end.

As my chest tightens further, I realise that I am so proud and grateful for these connections and these people in my life. I promise to remember the connections on the otherside.

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Inspired by true events. The factual news story can be found at https://www.ecodibergamo.it/stories/bergamo-citta/diego-una-vita-spesa-ad-aiutare-gli-altrilutto-per-il-tecnico-del-118-morto_1345151_11/

08/04/2020

THE PRIEST OF BERGAMO

The alarm went off at 5am, causing me to squint sleepily through eyelids that weren’t fully cooperating with the ‘waking up part’.

I lay in bed listening to the lack of noise. The lack of traffic. The lack of life.

I missed having her warm body in bed next to me, but for the sake of safety, it was better that we remained apart during this crazy time.

Walking towards the hospital doors, the once bustling metropolis was eerily silent. It somehow didn’t get less strange with each passing day. I quickly scrubbed in, trying to build up my mental fortitude for the day. It just wasn’t getting easier. The patients were not lessoning, and, if the truth be told, the numbers were probably a lot worse, considering not everyone could be tested and many were carriers of the disease without showing any symptoms.

I mentally shook myself, as my mind wandered around the grimness of the situation. I was experiencing mild body aches, that could either be from lack of sleep and long shifts, or from the virus. And, at this point, I was ignoring the probability that I had it, because if I did, there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it, and the patients and hospital needed me. The people needed me.

I stepped into one of the make-shift ICUs we had set up. A simple enough set-up, with not nearly enough space, machines, supplies or downright solutions. I had heard from a collegue that a nearby hospital had hacked some scuba gear in a way that replicated our respirators. I would have to give that some investigation - if patients kept flooding in here the way they had been for the last few weeks, we would need to create supplies of our own.

The day was heavy, long and drawn out. The masks were suffocating within these confined spaces, and with the amount that we were exposed to the virus on a daily basis, even I doubted its effectiveness.

My coffee break consisted of a quick espresso and a phone call to her. To touch base, hear her voice and remember that I did have some semblance of a life outside of this crazy situation. Although, right now, the whole world is experiencing this nightmare.

I assure her that I’m fine. I’m helping. I am where I am supposed to be.
The day flies by in a blur, I spend the day ventilating, coaxing lungs to just work.

There is a commotion from the corner of the room. The nurse seems to be getting frustrated, as an elderly patient persistently refuses the ventilator. He’s gesturing towards a younger patient next to him.

We all know the protocol here, and yet, I watch as he deftly refuses over and over again.

I quickly finish checking on the patient that I am currently busy with, and walk swiftly across the room.
The nurse seems relieved. The elderly patient is refusing the ventilator.
I blink. Is he stark raving mad? I cut in and explain in a matter of fact tone that the likelihood is that he will die if he doesn’t have the ventilator.

The man merely shrugs his shoulders and smiles, “That is in the hands of God”, he says.
I wonder how he is even able to speak. And shrug for that matter. I lean forward and try and explain it again, he is elderly, if he is to survive, he needs the ventilator.

He smiles at me, pats the side of his bed, gesturing for me to sit, and proceeds to tell me that he’s a priest. I nod my understanding, feeling uncomfortable. I don’t feel like a Godly lecture, and honestly, I don’t think I can afford to sit and chitchat when there are patients that need me.

And yet, I indulge him. Because he still refuses the ventilator. He points to a younger gentleman opposite him, and says, “He needs the ventiator, he has two children, a wife and many wonderful years left for him to explore.”

I look across the room, and it’s difficult to judge if that man would survive without a ventilator. What I do know, is that the priest won’t. His wheezing gets worse with each sentence he speaks. I caution him to keep his talking to a minimum. “You going to tell a dying man what to do?” He laughs. The laugh turns into a cough, causing a nurse to rush over to assist. But without a ventilator there is little we can do. The priest hushes us, and once again pats his bed for me to sit. I feel like a child.

“You look tired,” he says. “God knows I’m tired,” and he laugh-coughs at his awful joke. He begins to tell me about his love for motorbikes. How the open road on a bike offers freedom, and that he is so happy to have discovered that joy in his life. He talks of the lives his seen lived. Truly lived. Families created. Babies birthed. Lives lost. And all the mssy, grey-area bits inbetween.

I’m soon called away to other patients, but I keep an eye on the old priest throughout the day. Patients are shifted around through the course of the day, and as luck would have it, the gentleman he gave up the ventilator for is wheeled next to him, creating space for someone new.

I check his vitals periodically, and as the day passes he becomes less chatty. He communicates through the gentle squeeze of a hand, or a simple brush of his fingers. This is the hard part.

It feels like I’ve blinked and it’s 6pm already. I look across at the priest and see that one of the nurses has shifted the younger gentleman’s bed closer to the priest. His arm is stretched across the drips and IVs as he holds the old man’s hand.

I walk across the room, fearing, or rather knowing the worst is about to come. I see the rattle of his chest as it struggles to rise and fall. His eyes are closed, as he wheezes for his last breath.

I stand motionless, as I realise that although I’m not fond of priests, I liked him.

Time stops for a moment as I take in the busy room. The Ventilators. The tired nurses. The drip, drip, drip of the IVs. The tears on the gentleman’s face who is still holding the priests hand. And the wheezing. The ever present wheezing.

By Erin Mc Luckie Moya

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Inspired by true events. The factual, news story can be found at www.cbsnews.com/amp/news/italian-priest-coronavirus-ventilator-don-giuseppe-berardelli/

06/04/2020

STAY HOME

They swept us into our homes,
with a stern, “Stay in doors”.
Social distancing, the term was coined,
and yet, people wanted more.
They listened though,
as social as they were,
they watched shows like
Tiger King, Ancient Aliens
and general trashy telly.
Anything to make the situation
seem less absurd.

And while the people were in their homes,
the drones flew overhead.
The crazies were whispering,
“It’s 5G instead.”
Others couldn’t understand
and bemoaned the fact
that they were ‘stuck’.
And still people replied,
“be thankful you have a home,
instead of moaning ‘F**K’.

And yet, all the while
the boarders were closing.
Those wander-lustic dreams
were fading away slowly.
“But why can’t I leave my home?”
Dear Karen from facebook said.
“I’m perfectly well, and I’m not
scared of this Corona thing,” She said.
The facebook warriers fiercely replied,
“It’s not about You! Keep safe! Stay in!
Remain inside.”

The shops were a sad affair,
with their long empty shelves.
Toilet paper seemed the first
to be sold, for all those
smelly as****es.
Leaving the home was a frightful event,
with gloves and masks donned on right.
Videos circled the interwebs on how to wash your hands so that there wasn't a spec in sight.

"Why are China's figures so low?"
The people of the world cried.
Conspiracy junkies everywhere chimed in,
"Trump has also lied!"
And all the while, the hospitals were crowded
As the virus seemed to creep in more.
France created a pizza video about Italy
And Corona, so i guess that's a political score.

Italians serenaded from balconies, while Brazil shrugged it's shoulders, and America screamed yes, then no, then yes again and the conspiracies screamed again, "there's about to be a New World Order".
The crumbling of the EU began
With Corona spreading deeper.
Italy begging for help, as other powers simply
Looked for options that were cheaper.

Social videos were made showing
How much the earth has healed,
While others countered, 'who cares if there's less gas emissions within the earth's shield!'
The environmentalists said, 'there's deer in the street'
While others replied, 'with this economy,
How are we going to eat!'

And all the while, they sat in their homes
And watched their economies crumble.
As the presidents, prime ministers, kings and queens debated the necessity of a 'lockdown',
Ignoring the healthcare scientists and their mumbles.
The virus swept down, not sparing anyone.

Disney's online channel went live
As the world went into lockdown.
Can you hear the parental
Collective sigh?
Again, the conspiracies pointed
And screamed, 'zombie children
To be vaccinated, don't listen to the queen!'

Bill Gates stepped down from microsoft
As coronavirus hit the stores.
Coincidence, or something more?
People joined online fitness classes
As they flattened the curve,
Whilst others crumpled into
Crippling anxiety and retreated for sure.

And all the while, the hospitals overflowed
And people died alone.
Without the holding of a hand.
Without the lullallby that was once sang.
Without the funeral to say 'hey, that person was great'
And again, the conspiracies whispered, 'this is all a big mistake'.

By Erin Mc Luckie Moya

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