A Letter from a Healthcare Worker

~A Letter from a Healthcare Worker~

                    By Hannah                         

Please note:

This is my own personal experience from within the bounds of 

Australia. My situation is not the same as everyone. But I think I can 

safely say that all healthcare workers are exhausted and we not 

only applaud those who follow their state and federal rules surrounding

social isolation and quarantining, but we thank you. We're doing our

best to protect you, and what you are doing is protecting us and 

everyone else. 

This is me. All dressed in my work uniform and smiling.

Nothing seems abnormal, does it? Nothing seems like there’s

anything unusual going on in my world. Looking at me you

wouldn’t guess I’ve just come home from an exhausting shift.

You wouldn’t know that I’ve cried in my car on the short drive home.

You wouldn’t know that I’m so sick of the situation the world is in that

I don’t want to go to work ever again. But I do. I get up, I get dressed,

and I go again. 

Why?

Because I’m needed. It’s as simple as that. Being a healthcare worker

isn’t easy. It truly isn’t. You can have a general plan to work to, but that

can easily get thrown out the window within mere seconds of stepping

through those doors. 

I’m not a nurse. I’m not a doctor. I don’t work in a hospital, but rather an

Aged Care hostel. I’m what’s known as a PCA (Personal Care Assistant).

No, I have not come in direct contact with COVID-19. Yes, COVID-19 has

impacted both my residents and me. Just because I don’t work in a hospital

doesn’t mean I don’t understand the impact COVID-19 has on other

healthcare workers. The impact of COVID-19 is different for every healthcare

sector. One can not simply say they have it harder than another. We all have it

hard. Just a different hard to one another.  

At work, the area I work in has ten residents I need to see to and look after.

Every day I enter work with the hopes of sticking to my usual routine.

4 p.m. Handover and start the water jugs

4:30 p.m Have dinner in the oven and tables set for dinner

5 p.m Dinner

5:30 pm Start clean up as most of the residents are done with their dinner

and have started wandering back to their rooms. 

6 p.m Return clean linen from the laundry to residents, help residents into

pyjamas, help with all x2 transfer assist residents from another section. 

6:30 p.m Finish cleaning up the kitchen, continue to help my coworker in the

other section (answering buzzers, helping at least one resident into pajamas and bed).

7 p.m Do the suppers and start the paperwork, answer buzzers.

7:45 p.m Help the last of the resident in my end into bed, finish paperwork,

sanitise the area I worked in (all door handles, keypads, handrails, chair lifts,

keys, seats etc.)

8 p.m Clock off. 

Simple, right? Only four hours of work. Well, not really. You see, that’s the

bare basics of what goes on. We need to remember a few things.

• Residents aren’t allowed off facility grounds
• I have one resident used to going out every day, all day, who is now bored out of their mind
• No one but staff are allowed in and out of the facility
• Most activities that were to be run for the residents are now cancelled as they involved people coming into the facility.
• There’s a food shortage and it’s up to me to invent nice desserts
• I have to come up with activities for the residents on the afternoon’s lifestyle aren’t rostered on to ensure the residents have something to keep them busy 

Now let’s throw in some more. Let’s throw in the fact that most of these residents

have some form of dementia in various stages. Let’s add in the fact that usually,

two residents, at the very least, in my end will need to be changed due to being

incontinent. Let’s not forget that resident that wanders everywhere and forgets

their walker (it’s dangerous for them to walk without their walker), needing redirection

and assistance to find it again. And while we’re at it, I may as well add in that at least

one resident will want to talk because they are lonely. That another one will be upset

after watching the news and need to be calmed. That I need to take time out of my

schedule to sit down and play several pieces on the piano to prevent behaviours

appearing in a resident, or to defuse a tense situation. By the time all of this has

occurred, I’m running around my schedule thrown off track.

It’s sounding hard now, right? It doesn’t end there. 

Now imagine having to come up with some dessert for the residents at dinner time

as all the ice cream has run out. Imagine telling them they can choose between an

icy pole or fruit. Imagine having to explain to them that no, there is no ice cream

because the food delivery hasn’t been made yet. That no, you don’t have anything

else but an icy pole or fruit to offer them for dessert. Imagine having to explain to at

least two residents that their family can’t come to see them. Imagine having to remind

that one resident that is used to going out that they can’t go out and spend some time

explaining that doing so would put everyone else at risk. Imagine needing to come up

with activities to keep the residents entertained and calm on the days the lifestyle staff

aren’t in. Then there are the buzzers. The ceaseless buzzers. I can hear them even now.

Some times I think I can hear those call bells setting off the buzzers when I’m home. I

even dream about them in my sleep. There’s no escape from the buzzers. And then there’s

the behaviours. In the afternoon we have what’s called sundowning. Sundowning is when

residents behaviours usually come out. Behaviours can include aggression, inappropriate

behaviours, wandering, and so much more. Imagine having to deal with all that. Imagine

having a resident being aggressive towards you and sweet the next, only for you to have

to deal with another behaviour an hour later. Imagine those behaviours the residents

display being worse because they can’t go out. They have no real, proper outlet. Imagine

the only slight relief you get from all of this is because you can take your dog into work and

the residents will behave slightly better if they know they’re going to have a turn with your

dog in their room.

No, I’m not a doctor. No, I’m not a nurse. No, I don’t work in a hospital. I work in an

aged care facility. And most days I only work four hours. I work what is considered the

‘easy section’. Yes, this is still the front lines. Everything I do is to bring comfort, happiness,

calm and protection to my residents. That is why I come home in a state of physical and

emotional exhaustion. That is why I cry in my car on the drive home. That is why I wish I

need never go to work again. I feel like I’m going insane there. I feel like tearing my hair out.

It’s a prime time for anxiety attacks to appear from under the false front they’ve been hiding

and have to be fought off, leaving me in a state of exhaustion hours before my shift is over.

Sometime’s I’m left fighting off mini panic attacks as a result of my heightened anxiety.

And yes, I still get up, dress myself in my work uniform, and go to work. 

Why? 

Because they need me and I don’t have it in me to abandon them.

You have read my experience with the impact COVID-19 has had on me through work.

It’s impacted me in many more ways, both physically and mentally, but this is the one

you need to hear. Aged Care is a frontline in this crisis, but in a different way to that of

the doctors and nurses working in the hospitals. Like the scientists working hard to find

a cure and vaccine for COVID-19 is a different frontline. None of this is easy, but we do

what we can. We all have it hard. But a different kind of hard.

Your prayers are always needed. And to those of you who practice social isolation and

follow the rules the government has set out for us, I thank you. I thank you and applaud

you. It's tough. really tough for you all. But what you are doing is helping so much.

Thank you. You have my deepest thanks.

Stay safe my friends,

And God Bless

Xo Hannah