I am an anesthesiologist, a doctor who specializes in anesthesia. I have chosen this profession, and it has its hardships and its rewards. I knew there would be sacrifices and I was willing to make them. I didn’t expect this, but if it’s for no other reason than what I’m doing, I’m doing what I have to.
I would like to share something I wrote in the summer of 2020. I couldn’t share it then. It was raw, personal, and everywhere at the same time. Reading this may evoke feelings of fear, anxiety and fear. Feelings that have slowly faded away over the past year due to tests, treatments, vaccines, and the decreasing severity of the disease. Life feels better now. Work made me feel better. I have arrived at a place ready to share and remember. I hope that remembering it will motivate you to prepare. What are we doing now to prepare for the next pandemic?
“How did you get back?” asks a friend or colleague. Honestly, it’s hard, much harder than it used to be.
2020 was going to be our year. My husband and I have had life-changing years trying to make up for the age difference and do what we’ve always wanted to do before it’s too late. I switched. I was full-time for only part of the year. The rest of the time we are nomads and travelers.
The plan was to travel abroad from January to May, return to work in the warmer months, and take off again before the first frost. We got off to a strong start, but then factors beyond our control, such as the global pandemic, pulled us back. We don’t have a home anymore, so we’re going back to the US where we realize we’re really back, not at home, but in the anesthetic trenches.
I don’t know what you expected. I don’t know how he thought of it, but this is how he did it.
I regularly report to the operating room around 7am. To achieve this, I am waking up 45 minutes earlier than I did pre-COVID. I used to eat breakfast at work whenever time allowed. Five minutes before my allotted time, I entered the locker room and put on my scrubs to get ready.
Now I’m planning time to eat at home and put on my safety gear in the shared locker room.
I always wear an N95 mask covered by a level 3 mask with a face shield. N95 first rides on the hair hat. I have five of her N95 masks in my locker, the type I wore.
N95 masks are designed for one-time use, but now I use them for multiple days. The type I am wearing cannot be sterilized. Instead, they are stored in dated brown paper bags and cycled in five-day rotations until they become soiled or have difficulty breathing. I mold it onto my face, take a breath, and feel the leak. , a mask with a shield and a second hat to fully cover your N95 and keep it clean for days of use. I grab her two plastic phone sleeves. One for your shared work phone and one for your personal phone. Repeatedly sanitize your hands every time you touch something.
When you’re ready, head to the OR area.
I try to avoid unnecessary interactions with others. That being said, I speak to many people every day. Masks make it difficult to hear and understand each other, so I often see other employees wearing thin paper, non-medical grade masks or masks with vents. close to the staff. To protect not only the wearer, but others. I walk into a patient’s room and ask them to put on the mask they’re supposed to wear, but often they don’t or they pull the mask up under their chin or nose. In a delivery room with unknown COVID status, I ask both patients and their partners to wear masks and wonder if there is any point in this. I’m walking to the room where we lived together. I stop by to offer labor epidurals for pain control.Women in labor fight labor pains by alternately using breathing techniques and screaming that increase the risk of viral spread. increase.
I take off the mask once a day and eat and drink for 20 minutes. Go outside or find a quiet place to eat. After touching all the hospital buttons and doors required to get to this place, touch your face and remove your mask. Outer mask I think is dirty, inside is clean. After removing the mask, sanitize your hands before and after eating and before putting the mask back on your face. If she works more than nine hours, she may allow a second round of drinking. This requires doing this dance all over again.
Listen for the overhead page code blue or “Anesthetic STAT” from the moment you put on the scrub until you take it off. This could lead to her being summoned to her COVID-19 patient’s room, who is out of breath or unconscious. Fight. In these cases, I immediately put on a gown and add multiple layers of clothing to protect myself and my loved ones from this terrible disease.
Then you find yourself in a constantly stressful situation with these additional burdens. Hopefully the N95 mask maintains a fragile seal, as he is performing one of the riskiest procedures for spreading the virus: intubation. If you’re lucky, a colleague will be standing outside the door in case you need help, watching over and guiding me as I carefully remove layers of clothing so as not to contaminate myself after the fact. increase.
At the end of the day, return to the locker room. I threw off my mask and scrubs, put my N95 back in the paper bag, and wrote today’s date on the bag. Remove the scrub so the shirt doesn’t rub against your face when you take it off. I wash my badges, glasses, and cell phone because they have to be in the car. Wash your hands and neck with hand sanitizer, put on your old clothes and go back to work. Glasses and badges go in her UV sterilizer in the car. I drive home, put my shoes outside, go inside, undress in the laundry room, switch on the washing machine, and go straight to the shower. I can’t tell if my mouth and nasal passages are from the mask or from dehydration. He has a scar on his chin and his face is ragged. Yet under the warm water, I begin to relax. When I go outside, her husband will be there, confident that all precautions are worth it. We spend the night together and the next morning we do it all over again.
Again and again, we become nomads again until the first frost. Where are the nomads going? What will you be able to do then?
Do not know. only time will tell.
David Grossman I’m an anesthesiologist.
Image credit: Shutterstock.com
