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It's been a few days since I came home from hospital, so a good time to reflect on what it's like inside an Ontario Hospital during COVID-19. The nurses put a brave face on it, but the hospital systems are stretched to breaking point.
First, some context. I went to ER last Monday with severe stomach pain and fever. Turns out it's acute appendicitis. ER docs were fabulous - gave me amazing pain meds and prepped for the op within 6 hours of me hobbling in the door. And ER was busy!
Unfortunately, my appendix burst during the operation, so I ended up with ongoing infections and fever, still with me ten days later. Spent five days in hospital. Would have been longer, but hospital wasn't helping me recover. Why not, you ask?
So COVID. They gave me the swab while I was in ER. But told an average of 36 hours for results. So after my op, I'm put in an isolation ward. Was a 3-person room, cut down to 2-person for social distancing. Most of the time I shared with one other patient, also on isolation.
I started to realize how broken the whole system was about an hour after the operation. It's gone midnight at this point. An orderly wheels me into the ward, helps lift me onto the bed and leaves.
No pillow. No call button for the nurse. None of my stuff (it's still in ER). I removed my contacts for the op, so I can't see very well. The door to the room is propped open, and the full lights from the corridor shine on my eyes. I hear a lot of noise in the corridors.
I eventually figured out the protocols, but not till a couple of days later (nobody ever explains it patients). Door is propped open permanently to avoid anyone touching the handle. Anyone entering the room must put on fresh PPE, and remove it when they leave.
Putting on PPE is hassle, so nurses typically stand at the doorway and call out to see if patients need anything, rather than come all the way in. If they've entered, and find they need something they didn't bring, they call out to another team member to bring it to the door.
This makes the hospital very noisy and very bright. All day and all night. Loud team interactions are going on all the time. The nurses work 12 hour shifts. Shift changes are very noisy, and seem to take forever (so much to do, so few staff to do it)
Every visit to a patient to administer meds, take vitals, etc. takes far longer than normal. Equipment must all be wiped down each time. PPE must be put on and taken off. Nurses constantly apologizing for taking the time to get to me because they are so short staffed.
Strictly no visitors allowed. Family can drop stuff off in the lobby for patients, but is rejected if it can't be wiped down. No books. No newspapers. My son had to argue hard to get them to take my glasses and a change of clothes (I only had what I walked into ER with)
Even a phone charger was rejected, but my persistent son tried again the next day and managed to get one to me! My poor roommate, not so lucky. Had to conserve his phone battery for 3 days (BTW why are phone chargers not universal??)
I was in a lot of pain during my stay, and needed regular pain meds. Doc says "manage your own pain, ask for meds before it gets too bad". So I press the call button when I feel them wearing off.
Call button has an intercom, someone at the nursing station always answers and says they will be there soon. I wait. Always more than half an hour. Sometimes as long as two hours. I am in agony. I keep pressing the button, and keep getting reassured someone is coming.
Shift changes are particularly bad. If I don't get my dose of pain meds before the shift changes at 7am & 7pm, I always have to wait, at least an hour. But if I call too soon after previous dose, nurses won't administer. I learn that timing is everything.
So, back to that first night. After an hour wondering WTF was going on, I managed to call out and get the attention of a nurse. She apologizes profusely. Brings pillow, installs call button, says she will have my stuff brought up.
All I really want is my phone to text home to say I'm okay. My stuff still doesn't come. It's 3am and I'm getting frantic. I ask to borrow the nurse's phone, but she says it won't text. But my stuff will come soon.
Finally, 4:30am, orderly brings my bag and kindly fishes out my phone for me. I can relax.
But now my roommate is stirring, calling for help, trying to climb out of his bed. A nurse calls out she's coming soon. But she doesn't come. Roommate persists for two hours. I try calling the nurse for him, but just get the same reassurance.
I later learn he is elderly & senile. Has no idea where he is. And is in no fit state to leave the bed. He doesn't understand this (and nor do I), so our attempts to get someone to help him out will never work.
I get exactly zero sleep that first night after the operation. The next day the nurses move me to another room, and dose me up with some serious narcotics, so I can sleep for a couple of hours.
Over the next couple of days, I piece together just how badly broken the system is. This is one of Toronto's finest hospitals. But years of funding cuts have left it in a sorry state.
The pandemic has tipped it over the edge. The doctors and nurses are brilliant, caring, wonderful people. But the extra burden on them is overwhelming. One nurse I chatted to said nothing she learned in nursing school was any use. "They should have taught us how to survive".
Another said when she entered nursing, she thought she would get to spend time getting to know her patients, learning what they need. There's no time for that this year. I snatch brief conversations with the nurses when they take my blood pressure.
I'm running a fever the whole time, so the bed is soaked in sweat. I only managed to get them to change it once during my 5-day stay. One morning a PSW brought towels and washcloths for me. Only happened once.
Food is awful. No fresh fruit. No fresh veg. My potassium levels crash. Each time the nurses bring supplements, I joke that they should just bring us bananas. They agree. They know it. It doesn’t happen.
So five days of little sleep, poor food, poorly managed pain, no visitors, nothing to occupy me. My surgeon concludes the hospital isn’t doing me any good. She sends me home.
My family doctor is surprised. He’s been monitoring my progress, and assumed I’d be in hospital for weeks. I should be. But I’m lucky. I have amazing family who can look after me, monitor my vitals, and feed me wholesome food.
I’m assuming this is typical of all Toronto’s hospitals. Understaffed, barely able to cope, no time at all to attend to patient wellness. Just surviving.
Don’t get sick.
