Day in the life of a nurse on the frontline
Every day she sees the challenges faced by those hardest hit by the pandemic, but still this nurse hangs on to hope
SHE’S never seen anything like it: a disease that drives fear into the heart of thousands, affecting every part of her patients’ lives. This is what coronavirus has done, she says – and as a healthcare professional she’s dealing with the mayhem and misery every single day.
As Covid-19 continues to rule the world, Miriam Lethaba*, a nursing sister from Orange Farm, Gauteng, gives YOU a glimpse into her daily life on the frontline of a scourge that’s upended life as we know it.
This is her story.
IT’S Monday morning and people have been queueing since 3am, having arrived with the hope to be first in line when the clinic opens at 7am. By 6.30 there’s already a large group of people outside the clinic. Security guards test each person for fever and make them sanitise their hands before they enter.
A woman carrying a baby has been waiting a long time and when it’s her turn at the entrance gate, she says, “I’ve tested positive for coronavirus, but I’m here for my baby’s checkup.”
The panicked security guards call the clinic manager. The mother is escorted to a secluded building a few metres from the main clinic.
I recognise her immediately. She lives close by and attended antenatal classes here.
During the last weeks of her pregnancy her blood pressure was high and her weight was a concern, so she was sent to a state hospital in Johannesburg for further medical assistance and to give birth there. There was a doctor on the maternity ward who tested positive for Covid-19. All the mothers who came in contact with the doctor were also tested and this mom was among those confirmed to be positive.
After giving birth she was sent home and given strict instructions to stay at home and self-isolate.
I know this patient and her family. She lives with many other people and it’s impossible for her to self-quarantine.
Today she says she was told someone would come to check up on her and her newborn but nobody arrived, which is why she’s come to the clinic.
She seems unaware of the health risk she poses and the consequences of her actions. Who knows how many people she’s made contact with today?
‘I know this patient. It’s impossible for her to self-quarantine’
ANOTHER case involves a woman who recently went back to work. She tested positive in the workplace and was told to self-isolate. She’s breastfeeding her 18-month-old baby and has a husband with hypertension and diabetes. We told her to immediately stop breastfeeding and to ensure she and her whole family go into quarantine.
“We locked the gate and my three children stayed at home,” the woman told us. “We also didn’t go out anywhere.”
But what about regular trips to the outside toilet, which is shared with other people?
How can people quarantine in such conditions?
So far, we’ve been lucky not to have any of our staff infected. We were tested in late April and again in the first week of May. We only get tested when we come across cases of infection, but I worry about the asymptomatic patients we might be exposed to.
We also try to educate patients about the importance of wearing masks and practising social distancing, but we’re often laughed at and ridiculed.
A sign at the clinic reads: “No mask, no entry.” Patients come in wearing a mask but once they settle down, they take it off.
“Sister, do I look like I have coronavirus?” one patient says, laughing at me.
We’ve made markings on the floor and benches to show patients how to keep a safe distance but they ignore them and say, “Sister, we aren’t used to this distance thing.”
MY COMMUNITY is one of the hardest hit in the Joburg area. We’ve had several clinics close because of coronavirus infections. I’m constantly keeping tabs on my friends in neighbouring communities to compare stories and see how they’re coping.
We were given personal protective equipment by the health department and that’s helped us feel safer as we continue with our duties. I’m over 62 and I have asthma, so I’m at risk.
After a long day, I go straight home. I’ve implemented a strict routine whereby I take off all my work clothes and put them in a plastic bag before I enter my house. Then I put on a gown, head to the bathroom and take a shower.
Only then do I settle down to my home duties. I really miss my freedom. I miss going to church and to the shops whenever I feel like it.
In June I was going to travel abroad with some friends and I was also supposed to travel to the Eastern Cape soon for a family gathering.
I’m only recognising now how great a privilege freedom is.
I’m constantly afraid of becoming infected and putting my family at risk – but this is my job. When my colleagues complain, I remind them we’re inspired to serve the people who need us the most.
It’s a hard time for our country right now. Let’s think about those who don’t have jobs anymore, those who don’t get paid because there’s a no-work, no-pay policy.
While recently examining a patient, she asked me for the body cream we usually give to our patients who have specific skin conditions that require them to wash and moisturise with the ointment.
“There’s nothing at home. We have no toiletries and the children haven’t had any lotion to apply on their skin for days,” she said.
That evening I packed a few of my toiletries at home: soaps, tissues and other stuff I could find to give to patients such as her who are struggling to make ends meet because of the lockdown.
I love my job and would do it for the rest of my life if I could. As nurses we’re at risk of getting tuberculosis, a needle prick from HIV testing and other conditions, but we still survive.
And we’ll survive this too. The coronavirus crisis will pass. * Not her real name