To Endure Suffering

           Zinnia answered the cell phone, only to hear Jan, her supervisor, on the other end. With eyes half shut and an unsteady slump, she breathed slowly.

           “The new nurse quit when she realized what wearing the PPE was like. We need you in the ICU.”

 Zinnia did not dare go back to bed. She straightened up and opened her eyes fully. “Yes, I’ll be there.”  

After dressing in the white nurse’s uniform, Zinnia entered the bathroom and stared at the slightly wrinkled, tired face of a fifty-year-old woman. “Is it worth brushing my hair? No one will see it, and the headgear will squash and tangle my hair anyway.” She grabbed a loose strand of light brown hair. “The patient won’t even know my hair color.”

“Thank you God, for my job, but I need help to withstand the heat and the sweat of those PPE suits.” With a cotton swab doused in rubbing alcohol, she stroked the underside of her breasts. “Maybe that will keep it dry enough to prevent a rash from re-forming.”

           On arriving at the hospital, Zinnia held her arms wide while facing Jan who did the same. The imaginary hug between co-workers met a comforting need for the day ahead.

“Thank you so much for coming in.”

“Three times in two weeks is enough. Any prospects for hiring more nurses?”

“Personnel hasn’t said anything.”

“How is the hospital’s war on CoVid going?” asked Zinnia.

“We’re keeping up. So far. This CoVid is supposed to become worse. We will run out of suits before the end of the week.” Jan fidgeted. “No one wants to deal with Barton Gustave.” With hope in her voice, she said. “Will you be his nurse? You know what he is like. The rest of the nurses are already stressed out by him.”

Zinnia sighed and nodded with understanding. Not the first time one like Barton has been assigned to me.

As she took off her coat, her face brightened with hope. “Have Barton’s children called?”

“No,” said Jan. “A nurse from the previous shift called one. That child said, ‘He did not have time for us as kids. I will not waste my time on him now.’”

 Zinnia sighed yet again. “All we can do is relay calls,” said Zinnia. “No visiting. Just another curse of the disease. Those who want to visit, can’t. And those that don’t, won’t even call.”

“Barton needs a sponge bath,” said Jan.  

Crummy PPE. It is worse than being in grade school with no bathroom breaks. “I’ll go to the bathroom, then suit up.

Zinnia entered the ante room next to Barton’s room. The inhale and exhale of ventilating machines in other hospital rooms could barely be heard.

First, she scrubbed her hands, including between her fingers in the proper hygiene manner. At least this is familiar.

Then she put on the oversized isolation gown which would prevent contamination from her clothes. These PPE suits are easy to tear. No rubbing against anything!

Then the facemask, then the clear plastic face shield, then the gloves. I’ve never timed it. I wonder if it takes as long to suit up as to give a bath.

When she was about to enter Barton’s room, she brushed up against the door frame. She gasped, then relaxed to see the PPE had not been torn. Thank You God.

On entering the patient’s room, Zinnia glanced at the clicking heart monitor, then at the oxygen reading.  

Barton gave Zinnia a look as if she was prepared for outer space. “What planet are you going to? I don’t want to be on it.”

“Good morning, Barton,” said Zinnia smiling underneath the mask. “I am Zinnia. I’m here to give you a sponge bath.” She set the pan of soapy water on the table-tray.

“Dadblasted. I don’t want a bath!” he said. The man had thinning gray hair. The bags under his faded green eyes aged him even more. “I do not get sweaty,” cough, cough, “like you nurses claim.” With labored breathing, he said, “Get me a male nurse. I don’t want a female seeing me naked.”  

“I know what it is like to be sweaty,” Zinnia said as the sweat trailed down her face. She licked it for the sake of her already dry mouth. “Take my word for it, you are sweaty from your fever. You either let me give you a bath, or we sedate you and give it to you that way.”

Barton turned his face away from her and pounded his fist once on the bed. Then he turned to her again, pursed his lips, then glared at her before sticking out his tongue.

“I’m starting with your face, then your neck and chest, then your arms, and finally your legs.” Zinnia pulled back the blankets and opened Barton’s gown. She dipped the washcloth in the pan and started wiping down his face and neck.

“I’ll take you to a lake and . . . Let’s go skinny dipping.”

Zinnia halted, gave him a look of disbelief, then realized he was delirious.

He tried to thrash his arms as if playing in the water. “Maggie, do you remember when we first touched each other on our wedding night?”

The feel of a plastic glove on his chest interrupted his memory. Barton coughed, wheezed, but found the energy to yell. “No! Not there. Not anywhere. That’s none of your business.” He balled up his fist. “You witch! I’ll tear your arm off and beat you with it!” He swung at Zinnia, but only managed six inches off the bed.

Zinnia stopped a moment to consider what to say. Maybe a conversation about his wife. “You must have loved your wife a lot.”

“My wife didn’t love me. She said so when she served the divorce papers.”

Whoops.

Barton wheezed, coughed, and gasped for breath. “I don’t need—“. After another cough and wheeze, an insufficient gasp passed through to his lungs.

“Mr. Barton Alexander Gustave. You need to calm down so I can finish this bath.

“I am going to roll you over for the other side. And check for bed sores while I am at it.”

“I can roll myself over.”

Zinnia stood still with hands on her hips. “Then try it.”

Barton leaned to the side but dropped back to bed for lack of strength. That brought on a coughing, choking, wheezing fit.

“Stop flailing your arms. You are using all your energy. Save it for breathing.”

“I love running.” Barton’s arms weakly pumped back and forth as he ran in his mind. “Late spring. A breeze that keeps me cool. And the flowers smell like Maggie’s perfume.” His voice turned angry. “Those kids again. She can’t run with me because of those kids again. I hate those kids.”

He breathed in with a mighty effort, then coughed out the exhale.

“You children of a whore! I fed and clothed you. What right do you have to say you don’t love me? You have to love me!”

Barton remained silent as Zinnia washed his right arm.

He broke his silence by asking, “Nurse. Did my children call?”

She debated what to tell him. It will be best to keep the answer simple.

Zinnia braced herself and answered, “No.” It is the truth. The children were not the ones who initiated the call.

Make him think of something else.

“I will be your nurse when we put a tube through your mouth to ventilate you.”

That’s worse than not saying anything.

Her voice drug Barton back awake to the reality he did not want to know. “When?”

“Tomorrow. You may feel like gagging when the tube is put in.” Zinnia said. “But if the doctor sedates you, it shouldn’t bother too much. For now, I am going to do your legs.”

“I am so glad,” sang Zinnia as she lifted his right leg, “that Jesus loves me.” She sang from habit. “Jesus loves me.”   

With the intubation and sedation, what would be the last thing that I would want to hear?

“Jesus loves e-ven me,” Zinnia sang while washing his left leg.

Barton turned to study what little he could see of her face.

Zinnia’s crows’ feet showed when she smiled again under her mask. “We are finished, Mr. Barton Gustave.

“With God’s help, I love you too.”

Barton smiled and drifted to sleep.

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ICU nurses who have worn PPE: Help! I need your critiques on procedure and whatever else you find.