Redeployed: A Pandemic Diary

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

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

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

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...

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

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...

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...

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...

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...

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

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

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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

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...

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...

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...