Yesterday, I found myself contemplating the unthinkable: writing a will. At just 24 years old and in good health, the notion seemed absurd. Yet, as an ICU nurse in New York City, the stark reality of my situation has forced me to realize that my life could be at greater risk than I ever thought possible.
When I completed my nursing degree in 2018, I envisioned a different path, one where I would care for patients and witness the natural course of life and death. In my initial year in the ICU, I encountered death frequently, but nothing prepared me for the onslaught of loss I’ve faced recently. In just two weeks, I’ve witnessed more deaths than most people experience in a lifetime, and it’s left me questioning my own emotional resilience.
Death is not just an abstract concept anymore; it feels personal.
Last week, I received a call from a daughter about her mother. She believed her mother’s condition was stable, unaware of the grim reality. I had to graciously inform her that, should I disconnect the IV, her mother would not survive. The raw grief in her voice was palpable, leaving me feeling helpless.
As I stood there, ready to enter the patient’s room, I felt the weight of responsibility bearing down on me. My mind raced through a checklist of necessary supplies—medications, tubes, and syringes—while also trying to listen to the daughter’s desperate pleas. Each time I entered a COVID patient’s room, I was reminded of the risks; anything I forgot could endanger my life.
I often think about how to convey to families that I am doing my best, but how do you apologize for not being enough? Yes, I work on the frontline, but I am also the last line of defense. The current nurse-to-patient ratio has changed drastically; where I once cared for two patients, I am now expected to manage three, sometimes even more. On particularly hectic days, I feel overwhelmed and exhausted.
ICU nurses are trained to provide meticulous care. We medicate, intubate, and comfort patients, yet even on my best days, I find myself unable to perform every small act of compassion I wish to. Sometimes, patients lie in their own waste longer than I care to admit. How do you balance urgent needs when a patient’s heart rate flatlines next door?
Even when I leave the hospital, the specter of COVID-19 follows me home—lingering on my clothes and in my thoughts. It’s in the sirens outside, in the phone notifications about colleagues who have lost loved ones to this virus, and in the silent moments at home that feel heavy with dread.
On my days off, I consume endless articles on the latest treatments and findings related to this disease, yet I still feel ill-equipped. Every shift leaves me with a sense of inadequacy. I don’t want to be called a hero; that label feels like a burden I cannot bear. I wear guilt like a shroud, racing through twelve-hour shifts, thankful if I can eat or use the restroom without interruption.
This isn’t the healthcare system I expected to join. I wanted to save lives and provide care, but I never signed up to become a casualty myself. If I end up on an ICU bed, it won’t be because I chose this path; it will be due to the systemic failures in our healthcare infrastructure.
As an immigrant child of nurses, I have often taken my parents’ sacrifices for granted. Now, I find myself reaching out to them more frequently, haunted by the faces of my patients—faces that remind me of my own family.
I am still young, with dreams of a future that includes family and love. I want to cherish moments with my parents, to see my nephew grow up, and to build a life with someone special.
So, I ask that you don’t call me a hero or pity me. Instead, remember this time in history. Remember the fear and uncertainty, the empty store shelves, and the ice trucks used as makeshift morgues. While applause is appreciated, it does not change our reality.
This is my plea: let us work together to ensure this never happens again.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt piece, an NYC ICU nurse shares her candid experiences during the COVID-19 pandemic, expressing feelings of inadequacy and the emotional toll of witnessing frequent patient deaths. She discusses the pressures of her profession, the systemic failures in healthcare, and her desire for recognition as a person rather than a hero. The narrative emphasizes the importance of remembering the pandemic’s impact and the need for systemic change in healthcare.