on Newman Boulevard in LaSalle. She has been writing, on social media, her journey through the COVID-19. She explains the emotional roller coaster of trying to laugh with your coworkers to stay positive to facing death every shift. Like many healthcare workers, she is running on little sleep. Her words are powerful as she explains how hard it is to watch family members look on from outside the facility as their loved ones die alone.
“They depend on us for their everyday lives.We often unintentionally cross the line of “professionalism” without realizing. These people are our family and it’s exhausting to lose so many that you’ve come to grow attached to.There’s nothing else to say but to just thank everyone on the front lines,” shares Kathryn in a recent post.
Here is Kathryn’s posts to Facebook:
On April 11, 2020
The real side of it,
Work 3pm till 7am. Go home for 8 hours. Start over.
The emotional roller coaster, the trying to laugh with your coworkers to keep positive, but then turning around and facing the reality that someone else is dying.
Opening curtains and turning beds so that those who have parents or children on the first floor can say their goodbyes through the window. Is this even real?
Every single shift there’s multiple bodies being picked up and taken out. Every shift begins with news of a death.
Look outside and there are families holding signs to try and show their loved ones they are here with them. Not physically. But they are here.
It is exhausting. No days off. We are their right hands. We know everything about them. They depend on us for their everyday lives.We often unintentionally cross the line of “professionalism” without realizing. These people are our family and it’s exhausting to lose so many that you’ve come to grow attached to.There’s nothing else to say but to just thank everyone on the front lines. ❤️
I work in a CHSLD on Newman, I just moved to ile perrot from Dorval
On April 8, 2020:
The face of exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty.
I miss coming to work and getting to hug my residents. I miss the “normal”. I miss being able to sit on their beds when they can’t sleep and listen to their stories. I miss them not being confined to their rooms. I miss not having to worry about contaminating myself or one of them. I miss not packing extra everything because I’m not scheduled for a double but will likely have to do one. I miss sleeping more than 6 hours in the last 72.
I miss not worrying if I’m going to catch this virus and not feeling like a giant germ. I miss regular human contact a simple hug would help so much right now. But that’s still weeks if not months away. And to think we haven’t even hit the peak of it yet.
You don’t realize how serious the situation is until you’re in it.
Shout out to all the essential workers out there 💪🏻
Stay home people!
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