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“It erased my feet. Totally.”
Susan Searson is lying on her bed in Ward 3A of Cork University Hospital. 3A is a Covid-19 neighborhood and Susan is reflecting on her covid experience.
You have a lot to think about.
Susan lives with her four children, Dylan (19), Jodieleigh (18), Humphrey (8) and Mark, six, in Fernanes, outside Cork City. They had strictly adhered to the Covid-19 restrictions, because Susan is asthmatic. However, Susan began to feel ill in the early days of the New Year.
On January 10, a Sunday, Susan developed severe chest pains, was coughing and could not breathe properly. She called her GP, who called an ambulance and they took her to Cork University Hospital.
Nobody suspected Covid-19 at that stage, why should they? Susan hadn’t done anything that she thought might have stopped her from getting infected. Susan thought she had pleurisy; the ambulance team thought he might have had a severe asthma attack.
Susan was taken to the Cork University Hospital emergency department and given her symptoms, she was tested for Covid-19 there.
The results were positive, Susan’s condition deteriorated rapidly and within hours of leaving home, upon arrival at the hospital, she was being treated in the intensive care unit, with full oxygen to help her with her breathing.
Susan was one of seven patients who were treated in intensive care at Cork University Hospital that night, and one of 135 Covid-positive patients treated throughout the hospital. That was one of the many nights since Christmas that Cork University Hospital had more patients treated for Covid-19 than any other hospital in the country.
The worst was yet to come, for Susan and for Cork University Hospital.
Susan spent the next fortnight in intensive care, while the staff struggled to help her with her breathing.
But his battle to help her was one of many they were fighting. In fact, on the whole, these were not battles, it was all-out war.
Like many other hospitals at this time, the number of Covid positive patients at Cork University Hospital continued to rise. Admissions were consistently exceeding highs, day by day. Hospitals collapsed through the stopping points of their scaling capacity plans, until the hospital system finally faltered. Or, if he didn’t wobble, he got really close.
The fact that the system has not collapsed, has not been overwhelmed, is a testament to the staff who worked on the front lines in those days and weeks, and to those behind them in support roles.
In the midst of all this, Susan Searson and the doctors and nurses who cared for her continued to fight their battle until she turned the corner.
A single battle in a total war.
“I’m still very, very out of breath when I do things, and I burn out really quickly, it has completely erased me.”
Covid-19 was taking the lives of many people, but Susan’s team was working on the basis that she was not going to be one of them and that if they continued to win individual battles, they would eventually win the war as well.
Susan’s breathing difficulties began to subside after two weeks in the ICU. She was sent to a general Covid-19 ward, where her treatment requirements would not be as intense.
She talked to her family every day, but it was distressing, especially for her younger children, so now she texts and sends them lots of virtual hugs.
Fortunately, his recovery has continued. Small tasks make big milestones, like getting out of bed, sitting in a chair, or walking.
He still suffers from shortness of breath, but his condition improves every day and he can afford to think about going home.
Meanwhile, Susan reflects.
“I went from doing everything, as soon as I got up in the morning I wouldn’t stop until I went to bed at night, to doing absolutely nothing,” he explains.
“I couldn’t lift my head, I was tube fed, I couldn’t feed myself.”
“I couldn’t lift my arms. I couldn’t move my legs and then this last week, I’ve been able to sit in a chair … I still get really, really out of breath when doing things, and it really wears me out really fast. completely annihilated.
“But I’m getting there now, I’m getting stronger every day.”
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Susan describes her experience with Covid-19 as terrifying. She was afraid of dying, leaving her children alone.
You would like to send a message to people who are lucky not to have contracted the virus.
“Comply with the restrictions: they are there for our safety,” he says, “we have to be very, very careful and cautious because it is very, very serious and dangerous.”
If Sunday January 10th is an important date in Susan Searson’s Covid-19 battle, the following Saturday January 16 is an important date for Jennifer Carroll.
Jennifer is Clinical Director of Medicine at Cork University Hospital. She is one of the doctors who has been treating Susan. He has also treated dozens of other Covid-positive patients.
While things are going on, Jennifer was also on duty in the Cork University Hospital emergency department on the first weekend of March last year. A week earlier, NPHET had confirmed the first case of Covid-19 in this country.
Jennifer and her colleagues decided that they would have to separate Covid-19 patients from other patients in the hospital, and they devised Covid and non-Covid pathways through the hospital that remain as dividing lines there to this day.
She and hundreds of her colleagues have been on the front line, as it is known, since then.
She talks about how the hospital coped with the loss of 200 nurses who contracted the virus or were considered close contacts during the first wave of infection. Another 60 young doctors were expelled from the list for the same reasons, while a smaller number of consultants were similarly affected.
Replacing those staff was an impossible job, Jennifer recalls. But the hospital went well. In fact, he managed well during the first and second waves. Colleagues worked double shifts and covered each other.
However, this third wave, which begins on Saint Stephen’s Day, has been different. It has certainly been more difficult.
The third wave is already over a month old. It has already made its mark.
Within the third wave, January 16 is significant for Jennifer Carroll. For her, it was the worst day of the pandemic. It wasn’t that anything unusual happened that day, it was just her sheer intensity.
That night, 152 Covid-positive patients were being treated at Cork University Hospital. Once again, CUH was treating more Covid-19 patients than any other hospital in the country. At age 14, he was also treating the third-highest number of intensive care patients in the country.
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The growing numbers at CUH reflected the national landscape. At 8 p.m. that night, 1,872 Covid-positive patients were being treated in the country’s hospitals. On a daily basis, hospital admissions for the virus continued to be higher than discharges. There was talk that the hospital system could be overwhelmed.
Also, people were dying, despite the best efforts of doctors, nurses, and care teams.
Jennifer Carroll is not a person given to emotions, but describes that day, that night and the following morning, as distressing for her and her colleagues.
The ward rounds alone took him nine hours to complete, not just because of the volume of patients, but because every time he interacted with a patient he had to get dressed beforehand and then get dressed.
And when that ended, there were phone calls to family members, people who couldn’t see their loved ones, even though their loved ones were nearing the end. In many cases, there were multiple phone calls regarding the same patient, because relatives were based in different places, some of them abroad, and it can be difficult to communicate with families as the end is near when they cannot understand why your loved one can’t stay alive any longer.
“I suppose there are two types of pressure,” says Jennifer Carroll.
“There is professional pressure to do things right and make sure their patients are treated properly, but because of this disease, due to the unknown problems that surround it, there is enormous emotional pressure. We are trained to be resilient. We are trained to manage under pressure and we do it. I haven’t seen anyone who doesn’t because of Covid-19 and the pressure it is producing, but it comes at an emotional cost. ”
“We cannot fail at the last hurdle, because we cannot manage in this hospital if we have a new crisis like the one we had two weeks ago.”
In the middle of the dark, there are also some encouraging experiences.
Just over a week ago, the CUH intensive care unit reached its critical capacity, there were simply not enough trained nurses to deal with the increasing number of positive cases requiring ICU care. An appeal was made for staff from other areas to volunteer to work additional shifts to help colleagues in intensive care.
Everyone from surgeons to physical therapists responded and worked as “runners” for the trained ICU nurses on duty. The intensive care unit, its staff, and its “runners” came through: they weren’t overwhelmed.
“We are all human and we all need that mutual support as colleagues,” says Jennifer Carroll, “that’s what a hospital is all about.”
Jennifer calls on the public to show similar support for the NPHET recommended and government endorsed restrictions at Level 5.
She describes meeting a nurse the morning we met, who told her she was physically drained, exhausted, and tired. He wished it was all over.
“That’s where everyone is, if I’m honest,” Jennifer Carroll says of herself and her colleagues.
“I would like to emphasize again for the public, I know that they are feeling the equivalent tiredness. I cannot stress myself, I know that we just have one other obstacle to go. We have vaccines on the way and I know that it is difficult and I know that people are frustrated.” but it makes a big difference. Our numbers are decreasing now because people are adhering to the restrictions.
“We cannot fail at the last hurdle, because we cannot manage in this hospital if we have a new crisis like the one we had two weeks ago.”
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