Posts

Final Thoughts

I never planned to keep these daily posts going so long. What started as venting became a tool to help me process, and at some point, it occurred to me that there would be some value in documenting my experience in real time, rather than waiting to construct a narrative out of it after the fact. If you’ve stuck with me all this time, thank you. This whole business of forced redeployments will be such a small footnote in the history of Quebec’s COVID-19 response, but I hope it doesn’t get forgotten. It’s always interesting to think about how current events will be judged in retrospect. Was it a strong, unpopular but decisive action that ultimately brought the crisis to heel? Or yet another example of government taking advantage of an emergency to violate personal freedoms? Did it solve or create more problems in the long term? Those are questions that remain to be answered (although I have some guesses). What about me, was *I* ok with all this? The answer to that is still no. I...
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Day 35

My shift starts at 7am. Getting up early has become a habit, and easier now that the sun is up, too. And honestly, leaving the house in quiet, without all the breakfasts and backpacks, hurry-ups and daycare drop-offs, has been kind of nice. I enter the building, scrub my hands with sanitizer - front, back, between fingers, nail beds, wrists, thumbs - and take a mask from the box in the entrance. There aren’t many left, so I go get a new box from the supply closet. The receptionist greets me and we chat for a few minutes; she brought doughnuts for our last day. The donning station where I spent so many hours has been dismantled. It didn’t take long to pack up; it was never more than a folding table holding boxes of supplies. The stairwell looks empty without it; all that’s left is the shelf for uniforms, bare today except for the largest sizes, which aren’t getting much use now that the army’s pulled out. I hang around until the laundry comes back, then I fold and replace the clean...
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Day 34

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This feels like a good time to mention that I have amazing work colleagues, who have been incredibly supportive through all of this. To name just a few examples: a couple weeks ago I received a beautiful care package from the whole team; a few co-workers have dropped off home-made meals; and so many others have reached out to listen, commiserate, and offer support. I’ve missed all of you a lot, but never felt disconnected. But I think this one takes the cake. Way back when I first mentioned the ukulele, one of my colleagues went and ordered me a brand new one, the intention being to have a dedicated instrument for the hot zone. Unfortunately, due to Canada Post disruptions, it only arrived this evening, and there is no more hot zone to play it in. However! I can promise it will get some good use tomorrow on my last day. And more importantly, it will forever serve as a reminder that viruses suck, but people are pretty great. Day 35
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Day 33

Now that there are no more Covid cases in the building, the PPE procedures have loosened a lot. Staff no longer need supervision for donning and doffing, which means I’m out of a job. Heading upstairs with just a mask and face shield feels strange, and exposed, but certainly a lot cooler! With plenty of workers attending to residents on the floor, I’m mostly left to my own devices as to how to fill my day. This turns out to be a combination of folding uniforms, calling families (mostly with good news now!), visiting residents and playing music in the common areas, where they’re now allowed to gather. Mrs. P is watching the news in her room. “It’s just horrible,” she comments, “this virus is everywhere now.” “I know. But you know what? You beat it, and you should be super proud of that.” She looks perturbed. “What? You’re saying I had THAT?” “Yes, really.” “No no. No, that can’t be right.” Day 34
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Day 32

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The sudden sound of bagpipes draws residents to their windows and staff out to the parking lot; the military is holding a closing ceremony for their mission here. There are pipes and marching, speeches and flags and plaques, and it is all very ceremonial. It’s impressive, and kind of touching, watching these familiar faces standing at attention in their uniforms rather than folding laundry or feeding residents in scrubs. Their departure highlights just how far we’ve come: as of today, our entire building has been declared a clean zone. They did that. We did that. Handshakes and photographs, and then the soldiers pile into their vehicles, and then they’re gone. Just kidding! They’re coming back for three more shifts this week. Today was only the “official” goodbye. News for us as well! Nearly all the deployed staff are being withdrawn this week; I’ve had official confirmation that this Friday will be my last day. An end in sight! It all seems a little sudden, and a bit unusual...
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Day 31

A resident passed away over the weekend - the first in awhile. It’s the woman I fed on my very first day, who told me about the grand experiment. I never got to know her well, because her condition started to decline soon after. She fought for a long time, even making it to the green floor, but I guess in the end it was enough for her. I hope she’s at peace. More cleaning and moving on the floors today, as rooms are prepared to receive new admissions. A long, sad procession of empty wheelchairs files down the hallway and out the front door. Day 32
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Day 30

Every day now, one or more staff members return after a long absence, to great jubilation. It seems there’s some (good-natured) friction on the floors, as returning workers compete with the new PABs/helpers for the affection of “their” residents. As the number of workers multiplies, so do the stories of the conditions here in the weeks before we, the reinforcements, arrived. Several orderlies tell me they knew early on that something was wrong; their residents were deteriorating before their eyes. They had already been battling a flu outbreak, but this was different. Staff began to push for testing, and to start wearing masks, but were told the risk was low and this would only alarm people. At one point, PPE was locked up in a storeroom. When the first round of testing finally took place, the health board was shocked by the number of positive results. The staff were not. By the time the virus had run its course, nearly 30 staff members were off sick, and a similar number of reside...
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Day 29

The army pulled out their nighttime laundry support, and now there are no uniforms again. Damp scrubs are mildly uncomfortable. It’s fine. There’s a weird sense that things might be ending, but without knowing when or how. The army staff have been told they could be staying for awhile but they could also be called back at a moment’s notice, and I suppose the same is true for many of us. I notice the soldiers lingering in residents’ rooms before they leave each day; they’re not sure if or when, or how to say goodbye. It’s a bit sad, and also sweet. I also find myself lingering with my “favourite” residents, rather than trying to spread my time evenly. I spend a whole hour with my friend Mrs. P today, singing her favourite hymns and chatting about life and death, faith and family, and her childhood in Barbados. She’s back in her old room, with a green sticker on the door. In the afternoon, my friend from the kitchen teaches me her mother’s favourite song. Armed with the ukulele, w...
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Day 28

The army is slowly withdrawing. They’re now coming in only to help with the early rush, and leave by mid-morning every day. It feels very quiet, after they leave. The soldiers lend a brisk, purposeful energy to our work here, which is slowly giving way to the more measured pace of seasoned professionals who show up every day to do the same tasks they’ve done for years. The sprinters are passing the torch back to the long-distance runners. And this, of course, is exactly as it should be. It’s fundamentally a sign of hope, a reminder that this place is not actually a field hospital but a home. We can dare to imagine a future in which the makeshift locker room will be converted back to a recreation centre, when residents will be cared for by familiar faces and not by strangers in space suits. At some point, residents will gather in the dining hall, sit in the sunny garden with their loved ones, enjoy barbecues and concerts that are a distant memory now. Someday, there will be time ...
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Day 27

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No update; we are not the main story today. Inside our walls, things continue to improve, but outside, the world is hurting so badly. We are all so tired. Day 28
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Day 26

I can confidently add “potty training while also working on the front lines of a pandemic” to my list of Worst Parenting Experiences. And I’ve only been home for two hours. Day 27
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Day 25

We have a green zone!! Enough residents have recovered to fill an entire floor that has now been declared Covid-free. This is very good news. However, grouping the newly recovered patients together is an enormous operation as rooms are disinfected and residents are transferred yet again. I would have time to go visit residents on the floor today, but instead I stay at the donning station and help the manager with some administrative work. I don’t want to be in the way amid all the packing and moving. But also, I’m not super keen to put on that plastic gown and head up the stairs. Even the new cold zone is pretty hot, today! Day 26
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Day 24

I was very honoured to share my 33rd birthday with a lovely woman who turned 90 today! We celebrated with gifts from her family and a video call with her kids and her husband of 65 years. He signed off with, “I’ve always loved you,” to which she deadpanned, “I love me too.” #LifeGoals Day 25
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Day 23

It’s really hot. Staff on the floor are soaking through several sets of PPE per shift. The hot-button topics today are air-conditioners and fans, and everyone has a different opinion. What if we aerosolize the virus and spread it through the building? On the other hand, how long can you leave an elderly person with a fever in 30C heat? Every option has risks. I hope this is sorted out soon, because it’s going to be a long summer. Day 24
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Day 22

How much longer now? That’s the question on everyone’s mind and in every discussion these days. It’s now been more than one month since the involuntary redeployments began. I don’t think most of us expected it to go this long... then again, we were never given any indication what to expect. And that’s largely still true - we get our schedules week to week and continue showing up until someone tells us not to - and no one’s even quite clear who that “someone” would be. Everyone involved is making this up as they go. The military staff gather in the common room today to watch as the prime minister announces an extension of their mission, and I know they feel the same. They knew this was coming, but they’re also anxious to get back to their homes, their families and lives. On the one hand, signs of hope are everywhere. Our centre certainly didn’t flatten the curve, but we’re now on the descending slope. Regular staff are returning from their sick leaves. Every day, the sick resid...
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Day 21

The trickle of visitors that started late last week is turning into a flood. It’s touching to see how many family members have braved plague and bureaucracy to come sit with their loved ones and help with their care. The visitors look nervous and solemn as we train them on PPE and infection control. But up on the floor, lots of faces erupt in smiles. From the hallway I catch glimpses of happy reunions and snippets of conversation: “Happy birthday Grandma! You’re ninety-five today.” Oh, and “Kay” already got to see her mom, twice. Day 22
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Day 20

FaceTime with families is frustrating and awkward, heart-wrenching and beautiful. There’s a weird intimacy to it, peering into the kitchens and living rooms of strangers as they shout and wave into the camera, show off pools and patio gardens, coax reluctant toddlers to come say hi. I hold up the tablet and try to fade into the background while also awkwardly dispensing technical advice. “I think your thumb is on the lens… ok you need to flip the camera… tap the screen then you see that icon, ok perfect.” Sometimes the conversations are in Italian or Russian or Polish, and this is better because I feel like less of an intruder, unable to listen in on the details of their lives. I’d rather guess at the content by watching the reactions of the person with me, the dancing lines around the corners of their eyes. Inevitably, it comes time to sign off - “Ciao Nonna, ti amiamo!” - and the resident will wave and smile until the screen goes dark, and then they’ll lie back and close their...
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Day 19

Back on the floor today. I’m getting to know more of the residents; I can greet them by name without always consulting the signs on their doors. Among other things, I get to play chess with a gentleman who can’t speak much but who seems very sharp - certainly sharp enough to beat me soundly, although I like to think I put up a fight. It’s tempting to let my guard down at these times, and get lost in the sense of normalcy before something snaps me back to this bizarre reality. A woman asks “Huh? What was that??” and I remember that my mouth is covered by a mask, my voice muffled by my face shield - a communication disaster! Walking down the hallway, a resident calls out, “excuse me, can you help me with this tray?” I’m about to go in when I notice the green sticker on the door - I just came from a red patient’s room. I have to go find someone from the Green team to meet this simple request, while the woman sighs impatiently. One of the residents has a particular bit of wisdom to sh...
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Day 18

PPE Songs for Ukulele: When you’re going to the hot zone wash your hands When you’re going to the hot zone wash your hands When you’re going to the hot zone And you put your PPE on When you’re going to the hot zone wash your hands When you’re going to the hot zone wear a mask… When you’re going to the hot zone wear a gown… When you’re going to the hot zone wear your gloves…. — Mask and visor gown and gloves Gown and gloves Gown and gloves Mask and visor gown and gloves In the hot zone — Wash your hands doo doo doo doo doo doo Wash your hands doo doo doo doo doo doo Wash your hands doo doo doo doo doo doo Wash your hands Wear a mask doo doo doo doo doo doo Wear a mask doo doo doo doo doo doo Wear a mask doo doo doo doo doo doo Wear a mask Wear a gown doo doo doo doo doo doo….. — When you go to work in the CHSLD You must wear a yellow gown CHSLD! With a gown gown here and a gown gown there Here a gown there a gown everywhere a gown gown When you go to wor...
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Day 17

Coming back after a long weekend is hard. I should say that I’m extremely grateful to have had a long weekend, something many (most) healthcare workers can’t benefit from right now. Still, it doesn’t make the transition easier. On Saturday morning, my 5-year-old opened her eyes next to mine in the bed. She’s been coming into our bed at night, and we let her - pandemic anxiety affects small people, too. Her face lit up with incredulous joy: “MOMMY! You’re HERE!” I smiled back and hugged her, but my heart broke a little bit. I spent the weekend soaking in small moments with the kids that I’ve been missing: eating breakfast together, digging in the garden, hunting for worms. But the horror of this virus is that even those moments are tainted. With every cuddle a nagging voice asks, am I getting too close? Am I already contaminated? Am I putting them at risk? When I got the news of my deployment, I was offered the chance to stay in a hotel room, and had to make the difficult decis...
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Day 16

I brought my ukulele today, having some idea about singing old-timey songs with the residents. Unfortunately, there are some issues with this plan: 1) The procedure for disinfecting a ukulele has not been well defined; and 2) I’m posted at the donning station all day. The ukulele does serve one purpose, which is to pass the long hours at the donning station between busy periods. I get a few smiles and a bit of side-eye for my rendition of “Gown and visor, mask and gloves, mask and gloves, mask and gloves” (I miss pediatrics, a little). I don’t think the army guys find me that intimidating anymore. Speaking of army guys (and girls), while I’m idly strumming they are certainly finding ways to keep busy! A whole team is assigned to wash all the bannisters in the building, and when they’ve finished, they wash them again. By the end of my shift they are mopping the walls. The walls! If any of us gets covid, at least it won’t be from the walls. Day 17
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Day 15

I don’t have anything smart to say today. 5am mornings catch up to you after awhile, especially after a second shift with kids, and today, a third shift grading and submitting exam results. The main development today is the news that SLPs and audiologists have been authorized to conduct swab tests for Covid-19. Will “authorized” come to mean “required”? We’ll see. Day 16
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Day 14

My kitchen friend wants to see her mom. We set up a FaceTime call in the morning but it doesn’t go so well. Her mom has advanced dementia so communicating through a screen is hard. My friend - let’s call her Kay - almost prefers not to see her, because it makes her too sad not to be there where she could help. The nursing staff do their best, but they’re always changing and they don’t remember all her mom’s idiosyncrasies - like that she won’t eat or talk unless she rinses her mouth with water first. What’s ironic is that I can visit Kay’s mom if I want to, just by donning my PPE and heading upstairs. In fact, I saw her yesterday. But as a non-clinical staff member, Kay is classified as a visitor, and has been barred from entering the floors since mid-March. So she prepares the meals that her mother eats every day, and asks the nurses for updates when she sees them. Last week, the news broke that visitors will be allowed back into the long term care homes across the province. Th...
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Day 13

Today I am part PPE manager, part social worker and part IT support. And just a tiny part, wait for it…..SLP! After restocking supplies and folding uniforms at the donning station, I head upstairs with the recreation coordinator to see what I can help with today. Good news: last week we received a donation of SIX new iPads from a local high school, to help residents connect with their family members. No one has had time yet to set them up. This is something I can do! The recreation coordinator gives me a list of usernames and passwords. “Great! Now all I need is the wifi.” “Oh. Um. I have no idea what the wifi is.” This launches me on a scavenger hunt of sorts, in which I carry my iPad through the building having what feels like the same conversation at least half a dozen times: “Excuse me, do you happen to know the wifi password?” “We have wifi?” “I assume you have wifi, you’ve been using FaceTime on an iPad.” “Oh, yeah we must have wifi then.” “Any idea what the networ...
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Day 12

Day 12... Or, Day 1 of my new job! What is it exactly? The doctor says to ask the recreation coordinator, but she’s not in today. I ask the nurse but she’s preoccupied: “I guess you could go talk to people?”, but not right now because breakfast is in progress. I hunt down the social worker to see if she has any ideas. “Oh that’s great,” she says. “Mrs. P is the sister of the resident who died last week. She could use a check-in.” Ok, that got heavy fast. I’m adding social work to my expanding list of qualifications. I find Mrs. P in her room, sitting in her wheelchair. She’s slumped over but when I ask how she’s doing she perks up a bit and smiles sadly. “Oh, you know.” By the standards around here she is very coherent, although she chides herself for forgetting names and details. “You know, I never thought my sister would go like that. I went to see her, she recognized me but she couldn’t talk. She’s younger than me. I always thought she’d be the last one. I could have gone first...
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Day 11

The army is back, but the same laundry backlog delays them from getting on the floor. This time, the sergeant major takes matters into his own hands. He makes a phone call to order more uniforms, then promptly sends four of his soldiers back home, to report back later for nighttime laundry duty. This won’t happen again. Army people talk mainly in jargon and acronyms. It’s another language to add to the mix of French, English, Spanish, Tagalog and Arabic. A woman I don’t recognize comes through the donning station. A new volunteer? No, she’s an occupational therapist who normally works here. It’s her first day back since she became sick with the coronavirus - more than 5 weeks ago. Since my arrival, she’s the first employee to have recovered and returned. The kitchen staff are taking a break when she comes in, and they stand up and cheer as she walks past. She smiles sheepishly and waves. It’s a nice moment. At the end of the day, we get our schedules for next week, and it look...
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Day 10

Ok, now the army is really here. Yesterday, we received 7 soldiers. Today, there are 28. They all need scrubs. There are not nearly enough scrubs. Or rather, there are some, but they’re being laundered, and this is not a process that can be expedited. So the troops wait outside until one load is finished drying, then a third of them are allowed inside. An hour later, another third, and the remaining group comes in an hour after that. Even so, the uniforms that come back from the laundry are not the right sizes. The soldiers come back from the locker room wearing ill-fitting and mismatched tops and bottoms. They’re very good sports about this. My job is to train the troops on the proper use of PPE. “Everyone listen up!” The platoon leader barks. “She’s the boss.” OKAY! I don’t have much experience directing military personnel, but I do have some experience directing toddlers. Military personnel are decidedly more compliant. I walk them through the donning procedure and call t...
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Day 9

The army is here! Veterans of international Ebola missions are now feeding seniors in Quebec nursing homes. That’s not a sentence I ever thought I would write. It’s an unusually busy morning as the staff scramble to set up for and train the 7 medics who are now helping nurses and PABs on the floors. With the extra help, the situation seems to be increasingly coming under control. The patients today seem to be largely stable and even improving (even though we know that can change quickly). Lunch for the staff was generously donated by the family of a resident. The sun is shining. Overall, today was a good day. Day 10
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Day 8

The army is coming! Soon. Sometime. Maybe? Since yesterday, official-looking people have been touring the building with clipboards, taking notes. The Donning Station is an important part of these tours, and seems to be a point of pride. Look how well we follow the rules! One of the official-looking people is a man who I gather is coordinating “délestage” (deployments). I guess in addition to the army, we’re getting more reassigned professionals from elsewhere in the health sector. The man is discussing these assignments with the head nurse, who explains the challenges they’re facing with constantly training new inexperienced workers, not knowing how long they’ll be there for. The man mentions that his background is in economics. He seems surprised to learn that not all healthcare workers receive some sort of “basic medical” (I guess he means PAB?) training before specializing. He asks whether an occupational therapist can take over the duties of an RN. Wut. Since I’m openly ea...
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Day 7

Maybe it’s Monday or maybe it’s the weather, but today I’m feeling less grateful and more frustrated. We have a new volunteer, a lovely woman who normally works as a dentist. While gowning up, she told me that she put herself on the volunteer list over six weeks ago, but was never contacted until she called repeatedly to follow up. She has several friends who are still on that list, but have not been called. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of people - including people with medical, nursing or PAB experience - trying unsuccessfully to volunteer. But when she said this, something broke inside me. Because when we were first deployed, it was on the assumption - or so we thought - that there was truly no one else available to do this work. And it turns out that’s not quite true. There were - are - qualified people ready and willing to help, who could have allowed at least a few of us to stay in our jobs. Look, I get it. Vetting and organizing volunteers is hard, especially in a cr...
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Day 6

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Week one is done! Oof, it feels like a month. I don’t have much interesting to say today, so today’s post will be a gratitude post. Because I truly am grateful, even overwhelmed by the outpouring of support I’ve received in the past week. It’s been a true bright spot in this whole ordeal. I’m incredibly grateful for my husband, who’s been admirably and calmly holding down the fort at home while balancing his own work; for my brother, who continues to provide not only respite babysitting but something for my kids to look forward to every day; for my parents and in-laws for dropping off food and supplies while social distancing. For my colleagues who continue to support each other, my friends who have listened to me vent and cry, my medical worker contacts who shared valuable tips and offers of protective equipment, and the many, many people who have reached out to offer both  moral and material support. I’m so sorry if I haven’t replied to you yet; I’ll get there, but in the me...
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Day 5 Addendum

A Helpful Hint for Employers If you are an employer and you sense that your employees are exhausted and stressed, you might think that offering them a chance to “talk to someone,” via an employee assistance hotline, is the thing to do. It’s well intentioned, and these programs are certainly essential. However, you should know that under certain circumstances, this suggestion can actually be received as insulting. Here’s how it feels: It feels like I’m walking home from the grocery store carrying 15 heavy bags, when a friendly neighbour approaches. “It looks like you are struggling with all those bags,” she says. “Would you like to talk about it? I can teach you a meditation exercise to help you cope.” The problem is that at this moment, I don’t want to learn to cope. I want someone to take some of the bags. You might not be able to help, and you might feel bad about that. But in that case, you’re honestly better off just walking on by. Especially if you’re the one who handed m...
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Day 5

Today, perhaps due to my PPE expertise, I’m working with the infection control team. We’re working on setting up different nursing stations and supply rooms in the Hot and Cold zones on each floor, so that materials are no longer being transferred between zones. This is harder than it sounds. How much material gets allocated to each station? There are more Hot than Cold patients, and they have more needs. On the other hand, if needed we can transfer materials from Cold to Hot but not the other way around. When it comes time to transport things, we need a rolling cart, but all the carts are currently Hot. Here’s what you do in that case: take the cart down the Covid elevator, doff PPE, disinfect cart thoroughly, don PPE, take the cart up the Clean elevator, load items in the Cold zone, roll to the Hot zone, unload items. The cart is now Hot again. It’s a bit dizzying. To get materials, we go down to a large room on the first floor that’s storing a jumble of miscellaneous items. Parts...
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Day 4

Big day: we have uniforms! Not enough and not the right sizes, but still. Ça s’en vient. Now in between PPE policing I have another job: folding uniforms. Laundry while multitasking, at least this feels familiar! I’m stationed near the kitchen. A friendly worker pops out often to give me juice and make sure I’m taking my breaks. Her mother lives upstairs and is sick. She hasn’t seen her in weeks, but she’s told she is stable. Regular staff are starting to grumble about the “volunteer” PABs. An extra pair of hands is appreciated, but it’s not a substitute for a trained worker. Staff are not sure what the helpers can and cannot do. A (real) PAB comments to me that it takes her longer to see her patients with a helper; she has to explain everything and feels responsible for supervising closely when she does delegate. There are now lots of people on site who can do a few things, and only a few people who can do all the rest of the things. 81% of our residents have now tested pos...
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Day 3

Today I’m the full-time PPE Police. I suspect this assignment is a reflection on my abilities as a PAB, but if so I don’t disagree and I’m not complaining. It’s sometimes stressful and sometimes very, very boring. I guess it’s a good idea to have someone do this, because when things get busy it’s easy to miss a step. I say, “wash your hands again,” at least a hundred times. The nice thing is I’m getting to know names and faces because I see them each so frequently. “What are you in your other life?” is a favourite subject for small talk. Everyone seems to be settling in to the new routines. The main concern today is the supply of Purell; a growing number of dispensers are marked Empty and the refills are on back order. The staff don’t seem too worried. Just a little bit worried. I’m off for now. Day 4
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Day 2

My shift starts at 7am. I get up early, leave my rings on the night stand, when was the last time I took them off? Get dressed, pack a change of clothes since they don’t have scrubs for us yet. I get stuck on tying my hair - where does the visor strap go again? I can’t remember, this is all too new. Peek into my kids’ rooms, they’re still asleep. Bye my loves, praying I don’t bring anything home to you today. On site, the atmosphere is radically different from last week. Infection control protocols are finally in place, starting today. Many more staff are there, all in protective gear, almost all from other sites. The whole building, so quiet last week, is buzzing with activity. There’s a new donning station where a staff member watches us put on the PPE before heading upstairs. A similar station for taking it off, at the other end of the hall. I’m assigned to a floor where all the residents have Covid. Weirdly, without the red dots, I wouldn’t have known. I don’t know what I ...
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Day 1 (Part 2)

7 staff from this morning’s training were assigned to our site. 4 showed up. So I guess the training was effective. Staff at the CHSLD are clearly overwhelmed but holding it together. Most of the staff we met today have been transferred from other sites in the past few days. Everyone was very kind and so grateful to have help arriving. We had a general orientation to the building and passed by the residents’ rooms. COVID positive rooms are marked with a red dot, “clean” rooms with a green dot. There are very few green dots. We got to practice the PPE procedure a couple of times with supervision, which was helpful. They seem to be working hard to get protocols in place and get the situation under control. It was overall less chaotic than some of the scenarios we’ve heard about, although definitely still critical. So far the goal is just to keep up with residents’ basic needs: if everyone has had breakfast by 1pm, that’s a good day. But staff expressed hope that with more help, ...
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Day 1 (Part 1)

Morning training session for the new recruits. Walk into an auditorium for general orientation. Try to find a seat 6 feet from anyone else. The room is full of healthcare professionals. Everyone is visibly upset, anxious, borderline hostile. Almost everyone cries at least once during the session, including the presenters. We start with a cheerful background on the mission and values of elder care. The goal is to create a welcoming environment that feels like a home rather than an institution. Because of this, residents don’t wear ID bracelets. This might make it hard to identify them, especially now that many have changed rooms, so you should ask someone on site. Will there for sure be regular staff on site? Yes. Well, no. There will be people who have been there longer than you. A couple of days, at least. Most of us are deployed as “PAB assistants.” Tasks include feeding, changing and bathing residents. Including those with COVID-19? Yes. Will we be with someone else for these ...
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The Call

Just got the official call informing me that as of tomorrow I am redeployed full-time to a CHSLD, aka ground zero of the COVID-19 outbreak in Quebec. I am not a doctor or a nurse; I am a pediatric speech-language pathologist. I have no training or experience with this population. I don’t know yet what I’ll be doing, but I’ve been assured it is unrelated to my profession. You’ll hear a lot in the next days and weeks about reinforcements from doctors and nurses, but it is much more than doctors and nurses. You’ll hear about brave volunteers, but we did not volunteer. You’ll hear that we are going because we care, and this is true, but we’re also going because our contracts will be terminated if we refuse. So anyway, if you were wondering how bad the situation is. It’s this bad. Day 1 (Part 1)
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