The emotional trauma from the outbreak at Brighton Rehab
In the beginning, COVID-19 appeared to be under control at Brighton Rehabilitation and Wellness Center in Beaver County.
“It broke out on the east side of the building, and nobody was allowed to leave the east side,” said
Tayler Moore, a 26-year-old nursing assistant at Brighton. “If you had worked there, you stayed there.”
The first confirmed case in Beaver County was reported on March 17. Fourteen were reported at Brighton, which had closed to visitors weeks earlier, on March 28. Two weeks later, that number was around 60, including 10 staff, and climbing fast.
Ms. Moore described how she felt as the scope of the outbreak became clear.
“I was scared. I was terrified,” she said. “I didn’t think it would get this bad, because when it started,
they did a really good job containing it to the one floor.”
There are now 376 confirmed cases of COVID-19 among residents and 39 among staff. Seventy-six residents have died due to complications from the virus, which is disproportionately deadly for seniors and those with comorbidities — in other words, the population of a nursing home like Brighton.
The fear, worry and trauma brought on by witnessing a pandemic sweep through a captive population, or by being cut off from loved ones in the path of the disease, come in addition to these figures. Stressed staff cry as they watch their patients become infected. Family members, unable to visit, talk to their parents and grandparents for the last time over video chat.
“It sucks that we see so much stuff that we can’t control,” said Tristan Adams, a 29-year-old nursing assistant at Brighton. “It sucks that” — she paused, and began crying — “we have to deal with people. … It sucks to watch them have to do this alone and we’re the only ones there.”
“I feel like my mother’s behind the Berlin Wall,” said Judith Marie, a shop owner in Sewickley. Her mother, 78-year-old Dorothy Pulsini-Umstead, is a resident who survived her brush with the disease.
The accounts described herein — from current and former staff, family members of residents, and religious leaders — have been collected by several Post-Gazette reporters over multiple weeks. They cannot capture everything that occurred at Brighton Rehab, but they do provide some insight into the human impact — one that will leave its mark on families and the facility for years.
Thomas Cunningham, a former nursing assistant at Brighton who worked there from mid-February to early March, said he saw evidence of COVID-19 as soon as he arrived.
“I went there and I noticed that all of the residents were sick,” Mr. Cunningham said. “There were many residents on oxygen. I kept talking to employees and [they] said that the flu was going around. But ... people don’t need oxygen when they’re having the flu.”
After he began showing symptoms, he said he called his agency to complain.
“I was screaming on the phone,” he said. “Something is very wrong here. All the staff here are all sick. All these residents are sick and nobody seems to care.” Mr. Cunningham said he will never work as a nursing assistant again after his short time at Brighton.
Pam Prodonovich, 61, said that she visited her 102-yearold grandmother, Bernice McClinton, on March 12, the day before the facility closed to visitors. “I was worried — when was I going to get to go in again?” she said. “That was very rough.” She praised the staff, however, saying they provided regular updates on her grandmother’s condition.
She received the call that her grandmother had tested positive on May 10, Mother’s Day. This, Ms. Prodonovich felt, was especially impactful because she has in recent years convened her grandmother, mother, daughter, and granddaughter — five generations — to celebrate. But not this year.
That call began a 14-day waiting period, after which — if Ms. McClinton showed no symptoms — she would be declared “cleared” of the virus. Two weeks later, Ms. Prodonovich finally heard the news: Her grandmother had survived.
“I was almost crying on the phone with Danielle [the nurse],” she said.
On the other hand Ms. Marie, the shop owner, felt a distinct disconnect between herself and the facility. She said she was unable to get regular updates from Brighton on her mother. When she did hear from Ms. PulsiniUmstead, it was often over a cordless phone she said was shared among all the residents on the floor.
At one point, she said she began receiving anonymous texts from someone who identified themselves as a worker there. The texts, screenshots of which were provided by Ms. Marie and reviewed by the Post-Gazette, informed her another resident in her mother’s room had tested positive and the others in the room were awaiting results — but her mother was not going to be moved.
“It’s literally one person over from her,” one message reads. “Nobody is safe.”
The anonymous texts also say Brighton did not plan to inform Ms. Marie of the situation “because you went to [the] media.” Ms. Marie had spoken previously with WTAE-TV. Facility management at Brighton denied they had ever cut off contact with a family member because they spoke to the media.
Tragedy strikes
As hundreds of residents contracted COVID-19, many faced critical symptoms and eventually died. The physical separation from loved ones has shaped how families and nurses have coped with loss of so many residents.
About two days before Kim McCoy-Warford, a resident at Brighton, died of COVID-19 on April 18, her family received word she was unresponsive. “They didn’t think she was going to make it,” said her sister, Jamie Worthy.
The nurses and aides used their personal cellphones to enable Ms. Worthy and other loved ones to speak with her, and Ms. Worthy, an ordained elder in the Baptist church, gave what she called a “prayer of passage,” asking God to ease her sister’s transition and welcome her to heaven.
Over the course of 48 hours, there were multiple calls. Ms. McCoy-Warford would appear to fade, her sister said, and the staff would arrange a final call, but then she would hold onto life.
“Every single time she heard my voice, her heart rate went back up,” Ms. Worthy said. Ms. McCoy-Warford eventually died an hour after a final FaceTime call with her sisters.
The funeral was held on May 30 at Triedstone Baptist Church in Aliquippa. The mourners wore masks and sat apart in the pews for social distancing, but they raised their hands in fervent worship during the prayers and musical tributes. The two-hour service was also livestreamed over Facebook Live and Zoom.
Ms. Worthy recalled in her oration that after her sister was admitted to the nursing home, “I had to remind the administrators at Brighton that Kim was somebody’s daughter, somebody’s mother, somebody’s sister,” making sure “she was going to be treated with dignity and respect.”
She spoke passionately about the separation she felt during those final hours.
“It is not fair that we had to watch our sister die on an iPhone,” she said, her voice growing louder as she spoke. “It’s not fair that her son couldn’t be with her when she died. It’s not fair that we couldn’t visit her. It’s not fair that a stranger was with her when she died. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.”
Michelle Burris, a nurse at a local hospital, said that her 61-year-old mother, Lorna Fournier, fought the virus for nearly a month. She oscillated between recovery and worsening symptoms three times; each change gave Ms. Burris hope — and then disappointment.
Because she was a “fairly confused” patient due to the onset of dementia, it was often difficult to keep an oxygen mask in place on her mother, Ms. Burris said. She praised the staff at Brighton for their efforts to keep her mother alive.
“I felt like everybody was trying their hardest to take care of her — to take care of everybody,” Ms. Burris said.
Ms. Fournier died at 1 a.m. May 15. Though the family is not planning a funeral because of social distancing guidelines, Ms. Burris said she hopes they can have a family dinner together when circumstances permit.
Janis Balmer, 80, had made herself at home at Brighton after suffering a stroke, according to the Rev. C.F. Hoffman, pastor of First United Presbyterian Church, of Darlington,
Beaver County, and a frequent visitor of Ms. Balmer. She praised the food and gained new friends among the residents and staff, he said.
Rev. Hoffman was alerted by those same staff on April 27 that Ms. Balmer’s vital signs were failing due to COVID-19. He was able to reach her via a staff member’s phone, noting that “in these types of situations, normally the first thing I’d do is jump in the car and go there.”
He read her the 23rd Psalm — “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want …” — and prayed with her.
“About 20 minutes later, the nurse called and said she passed,” Rev. Hoffman said. “In Janis’ case, maybe it was what she needed to take the next step.”
The staff at Brighton, too, have faced a profound sense of loss as so many of their patients were struck down.
“It’s like losing your family members,” said Ms. Moore. “Over and over and over again.”
She and Ms. Adams praised their supervisors at Brighton.
“Mentally and physically, if we’re struggling, they’ve been right there,” Ms. Moore said. “The nighttime crew, we laugh together. We cry together. It’s like we’re all family,” Ms. Adams added.
Another nurse, who agreed to speak on condition of anonymity because of fear of losing their job, said that it is a “really emotional time,” especially because residents’ conditions can become critical rapidly.
“I think the majority of us dealt with it outside the building,” she said, adding that the situation weighs on the “sense of humor” that most nurses tend to have.
“We had someone die, and she was very loved, and we were crying, but we couldn’t hug each other,” she said.
Still, positive moments come now and again. “There was a lady who had the virus; she’s considered recovered,” she said. “I can’t wait to see her tomorrow and give her some Pepsi.”
Frustrations abound
The deeply emotional events at Brighton have led to tension, with staff and families tell conflicting stories about the present situation there.
Cheryl Yevak, 55, described her frustrations with communication from Brighton about her mother — 88-year-old Anna Mae Yevak, a resident since 2017, who tested positive for COVID-19 on May 8.
She claimed Brighton has refused to call her to provide updates on her mother since she went to the media — they call her brother instead, who then relays the information to her — and that they always fail to pick up the phone if she calls from her cell.
“They blacklisted me — they won’t answer the phone, they won’t answer me at all,” she said. “Their mindset, they’re kind of — they don’t want to accept responsibility.”
The problem got worse after her mother received a positive diagnosis for COVID-19, she said.
“We can’t tell you anything,” Ms. Yevak said she was told, “and if anything changes, we’ll call you.” Her mother has yet to clear the virus, as far as she knows.
The nurse who asked to remain anonymous said expectations of regular updates on every patient are “unrealistic.”
“If we’re sitting there answering the phone all day ... we’re not down the hall taking care of our patients,” she said, adding that some family members want a “playby-play that they’re not going to get.”
Ms. Burris, the nurse at a local hospital, said she was always able “eventually” to get through with her phone calls to check in on her mother, even if she had to call several times in a day. She also said that, as a nurse herself, she has seen both sides of the issue.
“I know it’s very frustrating for families to call in and not get any answer,” she said.
Ms. Marie said the situation at Brighton has “put a rift” between her and her brother. She said before her mother became infected, Brighton called, requesting permission to use hydroxychloroquine — a drug touted by President Donald Trump, but for which there is no evidence to show any effectiveness against COVID-19 — as a prophylactic.
Her brother, a supporter of the president, urged her to allow it, she said, but she refused, pointing out the lack of evidence of efficacy and that Ms. Pulsini-Umstead has heart problems that could be exacerbated by the drug. The incident drove them apart.
“I don’t even talk to my brother anymore,” she said, adding later that “the whole thing has just been a nightmare.”
Facility management said in an emailed statement that hydroxychloroquine is not being prescribed and noted facility staff only administer medication, not prescribe it. They did not address whether the drug had been used previously.
Ms. Adams and Ms. Moore both said negative news stories and online comments are damaging to morale among the staff.
“It hurts,” Ms. Moore said. “It hurts because we are literally doing everything we physically can, and we have been, to keep it from spreading. To keep the residents happy because they can’t see their families … we’re all they have right now. We cry with them. We laugh … we are their family.”
Ms. Adams said some patients are simply difficult to control.
“You can have a dementia patient that has no idea what she’s doing, she doesn’t even realize she’s sick, that could be going around touching this person or that person,” she said, adding, “Can we redirect them? Do we redirect them? Absolutely. But they’re touching stuff. We go and scrub their hands. … But they don’t understand.”
The nurse who asked to remain anonymous said some staff do not wear personal protective equipment — which she called “unsettling.”
“There have been employees that I see without the mask, because they think it’s dumb, or that touch things with their bare hands,” she said, adding later that “you can’t breathe when you’re wearing this stuff. You’re sweating. You’re screaming.”
She clarified there are occasionally instances when it makes sense to interact with patients without PPE — when providing CPR in an emergency, for example — and that most of the staff do wear it all the time.
Facility management at Brighton said in an emailed statement all staff are required to wear PPE in accordance with Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and Pennsylvania Department of Health guidelines.
There is a feeling of separation from the community as well. Ms. Adams said she has been kicked out of local stores out of fear.
“‘Oh, you’ve been exposed …’ Everyone has been exposed,” she said. “It’s in the air. It’s a droplet precaution. You can get it anywhere. It’s getting ridiculous.”
The anonymous nurse said that she takes her badge off before going into town, and that local residents have refused to come into the building or even deliver food. Additionally, the local bus route stopped servicing the stop closest to Brighton.
“How are people supposed to get to work?” she asked. “That’s crazy.”
Mary Joe Morandini, general manager at Beaver County Transit Authority, said the stop was eliminated on April 10 because of the outbreak, but that BCTA partnered with a van company to provide alternative service that would likely extend through August.
Mark Ondrusek, the owner of Beaver Super Market, said the town has been supportive because residents understand it was an unforeseeable situation. He indicated he has no problem allowing health care workers in his store.
“We all sympathize with the nurses and doctors up there,” he said. “I just can’t imagine what they go through. My heart breaks for them.”