Hospital bed corners

His cornflower blue eyes smiled at me as he reached for the lamp.

“I love you. Good night,” he said. 

“Why do you always look at me?” I inquired, burrowing deeper under the duvet.

“I want  your face to be the last thing I see before I sleep.” He leaned into me and kiss me softly and shut the light. 

I had just fallen asleep when I felt the restless kicking, struggle at the foot of the full sized bed.

“What? “ my voice thick with sleep.

“You did it again” a final kick and then a sigh “You and those hospital corners”, he murmured rolling over creating another wave of movement in the worn mattress.

I peered at the time on my phone, the sharp white glare of the numbers caused me to squint and yawn. Ten minutes to five, I would  maybe get another hour and I would have to leave the comforts of my cocoon to get to my shift at seven.

The moon and stars were bright against the early morning sky, it was cool but the thick frost on the windscreen cleared quickly after running the heat. I could see the heads of the spring crocus peering up from the grass in our front yard, searching for the warmth of the spring sunshine. I thought of them as my heart sank, eyes drawn to the  relentless beating glow of the ambulances glaring  lights.  It looked like half a dozen were lined up outside the ED doors this morning. I watched as two mint green bodies ran from the entrance helping to push the gurneys through the doors; my feet ached in pavlovian response to the day that lay ahead.

Trying to pay attention to the frequently interrupted report, as the code blue locations were called over the intercom, I mentally prepared for the day. It was just past morning meds when I got the request to make up the bed in room 204-A. I had just admitted that patient last evening, I pondered, were they discharged? already? The room had the pale yellow tape across the door evidence it had been deep cleaned after a coronavirus patient passed, in accordance to our new protocol. I crossed the threshold, arms laden with clean white sheets, I could see the gurney approaching with the new admission. It was hard to distinguish personnel these last few weeks, everyone was in full PPE most of the time, but I knew Jane by her duck walk. Her toes kicked out as  she pulled  the foot of the stretcher with one hand and held the zoll defibrillator, perched on the end of the stretcher between the intubated patient feet, that stood like two sentinels beneath the thin white woven blanket. Ben from respiratory was  manning the vent as they cruised  into the room. 

“Hey guys.” I said, completing the hospital corner. “How bad?” I asked with little hope the response would be favorable. 

“Eight intubated this morning I think we're close to max now” replied Janie as she uncliped the leads from the mobile unit , I began hooking up the telemetry and smiled at the elderly  woman, whose wrinkled grey eyes opened  briefly from the flutter of activity felt around her.

“I heard the morgue is full” piped Ben as he adjusted the settings on the vent set up in the room. 

“Code Blue 2 West” the intercom called.

“Oh crap.” I said as I saw two staff members speed walk past the room, “isn’t that peds?”

Ben took off but Janie took her time helping me to settle the patient.

“Yeah it is, but the floor was rearranged last night to accommodate  iso. patients.”

 She struggled to reach the overhead light. I clicked it down for her, as the stark light shone on the frail withered face, mouth slack  and pulled down in a frown from the endotracheal tube that was taped  in place, her small frame lurched with the breath of air forced in by the respirator.  

“She’s in sinus rhythm now “ Janie said looking at the monitor that hung on the wall, but  the 12 lead showed some ST elevation” Janie worked efficiently around the tubes that decorated the landscape of the patient in the bed. “I don’t know if she will make it, we tried to reach the son for a DNR.” With that she pulled the stretcher out of the room and placed it at the end of the hall for cleaning, and raced down the stairwell.

That afternoon I had made up thirteen beds, all of them had been former SARS CoV2  individuals and all had expired as a result of the pandemic. It was five o’clock when my stomach rumbled in a loud protest from  the lack of food. The patient I had just tended to  looked up and stared at me in surprise. “Was that your stomach ?” he wheezed, a hint of a smile across his sallow face. I could feel the flush in my checks under the N95 mask, I nodded.  

“Sweetheart go eat “ he said reaching for my hand “I’m no good if you’re no good” his eyes smiled as his cyanotic lips pursed working to  push out his breath. 

I smiled in reply and nodded. I took his hand between  my two gloved hands reassuringly.

“I will be back, don’t go anywhere” I said and he managed a small laugh.

Once out of the patient's room I stood in the ante room and began doffing the booties,  gown, goggles, mask, and gloves. I washed my hands the sound of the running water reminding me that my stomach wasn’t my only body part insulted by nine hours of work.  I headed toward the  bathroom, grabbing a water bottle from the break room as I went,  and literally filled up as I emptied. I could hear the code call again as I sat there and my shoulders sank. Would this end? This was one of the worst days since it all began in March. Possibly exhaustion, maybe even hormones, or just the weight of the circumstance I froze in that bathroom and sank to my knees. I sat leaning against the porcelain bowl and sobbed, huge great heaving sobs. 

One shift done, another came on. We walked like zombies performing our tasks by  instinct, through the war zone that had become work. We battled the invisible enemy with all we had and lost many people entrusted to our care. The loss of a comrade hit the hardest. Empty, we marched on, weeks and months passed, time unnoticed.  Doffing , donning, the code calls , the white linen and pale tape of yet another bed that needed to be made up for the next victim of Covid 19. Life expired, there was no end. The trucks came and took the bodies away. 

Looking back at the enormous attempt of a worldwide effort to find a way to stop this attack I can feel hope again. Life has opened up little by little and like those sweet shy faces of the spring crocus that peek  their heads out in search of the warmth of the early spring sunshine, so too have we begun our ascent to normalcy. I climb into beds most nights, and I lay there listening to the rhythmic breathing of the man I love, thankful that we are safe and healthy.  I know he lays beside me thankful for the same, and for a bit more -  no more hospital corners tucked in the bed.