Yesterday, I donned up and entered a patient& #39;s room. He was COVID+, and he was decompensating rapidly. His breathing was shallow on 100% NRB, and he was minimally rousable. This was expected - but it was still shocking.
I switched on the iPad and started the video call. [THREAD]
I switched on the iPad and started the video call. [THREAD]
[2/ ] His wife popped up on the screen first. She let out a huge sigh of relief to have connected through. Her eyes looked tired.
Then others started popping up. I asked for her permission to add them in - she nodded. First one family member, then another - then 15 others.
Then others started popping up. I asked for her permission to add them in - she nodded. First one family member, then another - then 15 others.
[3/ ] I was amazed. It had been only 10 minutes since I had gotten the video call arranged. People from across the world had found a way to share this moment with us.
I tried to put myself in their shoes and imagine how it must feel. I stopped myself short.
I tried to put myself in their shoes and imagine how it must feel. I stopped myself short.
[4/ ] I switched screens so they could see him. I stood there for 15 minutes as some remembered the special moments they shared with him, some begged him not to leave, some moaned in grieving, and some offered prayers for peace and comfort.
My eyes filled up.
My eyes filled up.
[5/ ] It was among the heaviest moments I& #39;ve encountered in my short clinical career so far. It is difficult enough to encounter death and lose a loved one - it is exponentially more difficult to see them suffer alone, and to say goodbye through a video chat.
[6/ ] Once every family member on the call had a chance to express their words and wishes - I moved away, expressed my condolences, and thanked them.
I switched the video call off, doffed, and left the room. Then I took some time on a busy Friday to cry.
That was tough.
I switched the video call off, doffed, and left the room. Then I took some time on a busy Friday to cry.
That was tough.