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Write viscously. The impressions of the fourth support on the front of Kovido are embedded as in a fossil rock. In a matter of minutes, the feelings in the “reactor” solidify into concrete and then have to be scraped archaeologically. You walked, you did, and the action behind the “spacesuit” panel happened. “One hundred and five, one is not eating,” shouts my nurse’s assistant. Talk about eating one hard. But most importantly, drink. I convince him to suck water with the straw.
A pierced hand pushes the cup away from itself after each sip from the catheter. Then turn your head and groan for a minute. When I stop moaning, I ask again if I want to drink, do I want to. Again, everything repeats as if you unscrew the tape, your hand pushes the cup, turns, moans. Maybe I’m just playing? But no, after repeating the painful ritual a few more times, the cup empties. Then we beat another half.
A pierced hand pushes the cup away from itself after each sip from the catheter. Then turn your head and groan for a minute.
“One hundred and sixteen” boys “need help, not walking.” The young man is relatively healthy. But looking at what you are comparing. Seeing the uncoordinated movements, I initially offer a straw, but he grabs the cup with one hand and drinks it himself. “Sometimes it spills, if it is full,” says a neighbor of the neighborhood. Neighbor of those eternally sixty intellectual-intellectuals. Let’s move on to the mush. I give it a teaspoon. Eat. I have a conditional satisfaction reflex from twins if someone eats well. I examine the man with my eyes. A strong but seemingly damaged nervous system, the gaze is as if you are behind bulletproof glass. I’m here while he’s somewhere …
Swapping places in my mind. Now I am half paralyzed and someone gives me a teaspoon. Someday we will all lie like this. What happened to him, what diagnosis, does he have a family or will he have a full life again? “Here it is after the accident,” the neighbor covered the veil of secrecy, as if reading a thought. Suddenly the guy reaches out his hand and slaps my suit while leveling. “Paul,” I introduce myself, summarizing that I was interested in the name with a marker on his chest. I’m going to ask him what his name is … “He likes to play … in passing”, the neighbor wisely deconstructs the situation.
Consequences of the accident. He stares through the bulletproof glass as if asking, “Why am I here?”, Like a mad professor lost in his laboratory. Suddenly, the spoilers stretch out and begin to urinate directly on the bed. Of course, we will arrange it conveniently. We calmly finish the porridge teaspoon after teaspoon. “Because I am here?” Asks the look of the lost teacher. In the adjoining pavilion, we discussed parachute jumps with a reserve officer. There is nothing better than remembering past hikes and adventures. Maybe just a sip of air or water.
I am happy with the cup that the weakened grandmother overcomes. “I wonder if it’s snowing now,” asks the neighbor of the neighborhood. I raise the curtain by opening the world to the joy of the residents of the neighborhood. “There is snow, the grass is green, spring has arrived,” I show. “Take the wheels and take Mr. Ž from 16 to 18 for dialysis.” After joining the sixteen, I ask two guys, one of whom is Mr. Ž. N4 only does not support, but tries something semi-Lithuanian, semi-Russian. “Are you Mr. Z? No? Then you? I turn to the neighbor, not understanding. “Mr. Ž himself came out” with these “shows how he goes on crutches We laugh with the nurses my patient escaped from.
Luke April / 15min photo / Paulius Saudargas
I go into the adjoining pavilion. Our eyes meet. Anxiety is hard on her face. Not for me, apparently for the baby. “They give me a reduced dose of that medicine,” she explains, wrapping her arms around her already swollen belly. The virus is not contagious. Together with the student. “Na dizainera učitsa”. Draw on the bed with your legs crossed. Here is more life, she clings to life … “It is better today”, writes a young man on the phone, pointing to his bandaged neck, probably after a trachostomy …
What does it mean to be hooked up to a famous lung ventilator that was missing from the first wave? If you think it is a slightly larger oxygen mask on your face, it is not. Everyone wears such masks here. Ventilation of the lungs takes place during resuscitation. Sometimes it is intubated through the airways, sometimes a trachostomy is performed: the neck is cut and a plastic tube is inserted into the windpipe.
Anyone who’s been tested for covid will likely assume that they won’t be quiet for long with a tube inserted into their nose, causing patients to fall asleep. They stop breathing on their own, the robot breathes behind them, attached electrodes and other probes measure heart rate, oxygen uptake, and blood pressure. Various medications are pumped through the inserted catheters. Enteral nutrition, for someone: hemodialysis. Patients become sleeping biorobots whose lives are supported by a group of technicians and staff.
The patient must be turned over: more than 100 kg. Severe patients with comorbidities, heart disease, or diabetes are often overweight as well. We stop several times on both sides of the bed, squeeze firmly, twisting the top and bottom sheets together. We are waiting for the team. Someone with more knowledge than the volunteers holds all the hoses and hoses so they don’t get disconnected when translating. In number three, we harmoniously slide to one side of the bed, then turn to the side and lie on our stomach. It turns out that with intensive treatment of the lungs, patients also need to lie face down some of the time. Flip-around, on the other hand, ensures the prevention of bedsores, although in practice this is difficult to combat, especially when there is a shortage of personnel.
The tube inserted through the hole in the neck should be replaced periodically. I help support some accessories. The doctor works exactly like clockwork: here every second is expensive. The whistle turns off the oxygen. The thinner tube is temporarily inserted into the thicker one, penetrating deeper and deeper into that rough hole in the neck. The thick is replaced and then the thinner is taken out. The doctor says something about a blood clot that is removed along with the tube. The TAS lung ventilator is reconnected. “Intensive care” is an operation that lasts for weeks.
Here, without interruption, tubes and catheters are cleaned, used, drug pumps filled, vital signs checked, and thousands more performed that cannot be described as biophysical alone. There are no free hours here, neither day nor night, nor weekends, nor Christmas. Every second is precious here, here is the last front line. There are no more lung ventilators behind. There is nothing behind. Don’t go, stay home …
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