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Putting on the EMT hat: What to expect if you don't take Covid seriously and it overwhelms your area. Let's assume you're now really sick, brutal fever, having a hard time breathing. Even in normal conditions, that's go-to-the-hospital time. How you get there? ...
1) You call an ambulance. They might not have enough crew that's fresh and/or experienced. Why? Because many are down with covid themselves. 2) Ok, you drive yourself, or risk having someone drive you. Somehow you get to the Emergency Room. Next ...
3) Don't expect you'll go to the front of the line, no matter how bad off your are. Even in non-pandemic times, Emergency Rooms can be quite busy. But now, unless you're collapsing right before them, you're in a crowded Emergency Room full of people just like you. Continue ...
4) The medical staff will be tired and overwhelmed. It's hard enough to take care of seriously ill and injured people. Add the stress and burden of layers of Personal Protective Equipment, and stress and exhaustion goes to new levels. 5) Ok, finally, a doctor will see you ...
... Just as soon as the doctor introduces him/herself, they get called away to someone who will literally die if the doctor doesn't immediately intervene. 6) A different doctor comes by, 90 minutes later. Same thing. They get called away to someone more serious than you ...
7) You've been there 3 hours now. You need to go to the bathroom. But there's no family or friends to take you. They're not allowed in. You can't go yourself. They've got an IV in you and wires all over you. You ring the bell, again and again. Nobody comes by. Read on ...
8) Finally (!), someone comes by to take you to the bathroom. You get walked past a hallway full of people just like you. You now feel lucky to be tucked away in that corner that, at first, felt too isolated. You assure the attendant you know your way back to your bed. More ...
9) In the bathroom, your fever causes a spasm of chills accompanied by uncontrolled coughing. You slip and fall. Nothing too serious, but you can't get up on your own. You're too weak. They should have given you a bedpan. But again, the staff is tired and overwhelmed ...
10) You call for help, but your weakened voice is not heard over the alarms going off at all the beds of people much worse off than you. You sit on the dirty, cold, wet hospital bathroom floor for more than 30 minutes until someone tries to use the bathroom themselves ...
11) Finally, they get you back to your bed and a doctor comes by to do as full an evaluation as can be done in 5 minutes before she's called away ... again. But that was enough to know you have to be admitted. Your oxygen saturation rate is way too low. You're quite ill ...
12) You've been in the ER for 7 hours now. You'd be hungry, but you're too sick. You'd sleep, but the place is too bright and noisy. Plus, you feel too crappy to sleep. You wait. They need to find a bed for you. But there are none. You wait some more. 6 more hours pass ...
13) You notice that the longer you're there, the harder it feels to breathe. Still no free bed for you. They tell you your oxygen saturation levels are getting worse. You know. It's so, so very hard to breathe. You're alone. Cold. Scared. Really, really scared now ...
14) You've now been in that same ER bed for over 17 hours. You lost track of what time it is. Your fever is so bad, and you're now so weak, they put a catheter into you so you can go to the bathroom. It's uncomfortable at first, but you really don't care. Your fear grows ...
15) You strain to breathe. Air, air. That's all you can think of. They've had a mask strapped to your face giving you oxygen for the past 12 hours. At first, it was so uncomfortable, but now you're glad it's there. But you still struggle to breathe. Air. That's all you want ...
16) Still no beds, and you're coming up on 20 hours in the ER. Someone comes by and says they need your space so they have to move you. It barely registers. Until later. Now you're in a brightly lit hallway, people in heavy PPE, coming and going all the time. Still alone ...
17) Noisy. You're sort of awake, sort of asleep now. Getting enough air is all you think. So tired just from breathing. 18) They tell you its Covid. Of course, you think, even though you really didn't think you could get it. You definitely didn't think it would be this bad ...
19) In your half-aware state, you can tell something's wrong. There's two nurses and a doctor talking something about falling oxygen saturation levels. You hear alarms and realize it's you. 20) You no longer need just a bed. You need an ICU bed. And there's none available.
21) For the next 12 hours, you'll be tended to by medical staff whose specialty is emergency medicine, not intensive care medicine. That's the best they can do. 22) Two shift changes have occurred while you've been in the ER. You're still in the hallway, still alone ...
23) At some point they create more ICU space; you'll soon be moved. There are so many patients now, none of the staff remembers you. They get your name wrong, ask the same questions over and over. No one's there to speak up for you. You feel even more alone, more scared ...
24) You wore a mask, sometimes, but like your friends did. But you're grateful for that mask they have strapped to your face now. It's still not enough. All the time now, the only thing you can think of - when you can think clearly - is air, air. It's so hard to get air ...
25) Your loved ones are at home, horribly worried. Calls to the hospital go unanswered. Relatives in far-away cities have been called. Close friends too. They all worry. You know how you are. The whole time, you know how you are. But they can only imagine the worse ...
26) You get awoken by some distant-sounding noise. It's an alarm over your bed, where they had moved you when you were out of it. You're still in the ER. You're now scared out of your mind. Desperate for air, your anxiety level rises. A nurse comes by with an iPad ...
27) It's your loved ones, via Facetime. Something's not right. Your family explains they need to put a tube in you to breathe. You're terrified now. All these people in PPE come and surround your bed now. A tube!?!? "That means I'll die!", you think. You're so, so scared ...
28) Your family cries, and say how much they love you. The alarms keep ringing and you still can't breathe. The medical staff doesn't have much time. Too many other sick people need their attention. 29) They give you drugs. A new paramedic intubates you ... you're out.
Final thought: These scenarios can go different ways. But I've taken enough patients to ER's to have a good sense of how things flow, especially when they get busy. Please, even if others don't take Covid seriously, take it seriously yourself. Stay safe, be well. Pass this on.
I’m sorry if my story scared anyone; that is, unless I scared you to take this pandemic seriously and be careful. Then I’ll have done some good. I’d love to hear back if sometime down the road what I wrote tonight made a difference. Take good care everyone.
