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 residents get stronger; every day I encounter more smiles and fewer listless stares.
On the other hand, the stability we’ve built feels fragile, propped up by temporary supports with no real plan for their removal. There’s increasing pressure to fill the many empty beds in long-term care with new Covid patients from the hospitals. Will this start the cycle over again?
And then of course, there are the warnings and rumours of a “second wave,” and this is not something anyone wants to think about. Workers across the health sector are already exhausted, pushed to their limits; grumbles of resentment are growing, the system is sagging and starting to crack. We can’t afford to rest now, and we can’t afford not to.
Daily emails from the health board remind us that we are heroes, but that this is not the time to let our guard down, “lâchez pas”, we need to stay the course a little longer.
How much longer?
Day 23
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 residents get stronger; every day I encounter more smiles and fewer listless stares.
On the other hand, the stability we’ve built feels fragile, propped up by temporary supports with no real plan for their removal. There’s increasing pressure to fill the many empty beds in long-term care with new Covid patients from the hospitals. Will this start the cycle over again?
And then of course, there are the warnings and rumours of a “second wave,” and this is not something anyone wants to think about. Workers across the health sector are already exhausted, pushed to their limits; grumbles of resentment are growing, the system is sagging and starting to crack. We can’t afford to rest now, and we can’t afford not to.
Daily emails from the health board remind us that we are heroes, but that this is not the time to let our guard down, “lâchez pas”, we need to stay the course a little longer.
How much longer?
Day 23
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