We’re Only Humans

It’s past midnight and I just woke up to the sound of machines beeping and a stretcher getting
wheeled in through the doors of our covid-19 critical care units. The thing is, many have been
brought in, but only a few were able to come out alive. Once their conditions have become
unstable, the chances of getting back on their feet go slimmer. They can only go through
that same door once again in either of the two: lying on the bed, stable and recuperating, or
zipped up in a body bag, lifeless.

I got off from duty a few hours earlier so I’m now busy tossing and turning on a pretty
comfortable mattress we have been provided by the hospital. I can’t seem to imagine doing this
for months. Living in my workplace. Not being able to see my family. Breathing the same air with
that of my patients who tested positive. And seeing people die almost every day. It’s what our job
entails us to do and somehow, we are wired to deal with the strangest conditions so we try to
cope. But for how long? No one knows. And that uncertainty makes my mind go restless from
time to time.

Among other lines of work, health professionals like myself are tagged as ’heroes’ these days. I
guess that’s what you get called for risking your life to save others on the battlefield. After all,
heroes are supposed to be selfless. To be frank, though, it’s a little uncomfortable being placed
on a pedestal like that, because I know that no matter how brave we choose to become, we can
only do so much. We can’t forever hold the defense line and stay strong.

When suspected patients came flooding into our emergency rooms, wards, and ICUs, our world
was turned upside down. No one was ready for this. Sure, we were quick to maximize hospital
spaces and put up protocols, but we definitely had no enough time to sit down and strategize.

In just a few days, approximately a quarter of our colleagues were placed under quarantine.
Some even had to be admitted as they were tested positive. Units began shutting down due to a
lack of manpower. We, nurses, and doctors were dragged out of our comfort zones, taking care
of cases we don’t usually handle on a regular circumstance. Normalcy was abruptly taken away
from us.

To be frank, it was a lot to take in. Saving lives is not as grand as it sounds. It could get a little
chaotic, and the challenge is to build up your stamina for it.

The first time I got my full set of personal protective equipment on, it felt strange. There was so
much barrier that I felt so distant from my patients. Only my eyes are visible and I’m pretty sure
even my words seem incomprehensible to them as I am covered in layers of masks and face
shield. We are also forced to spend the least amount of time at their bedside to lessen our
exposure. As a nurse, my job is to create a therapeutic space for them. But now, that has also
become difficult.

Almost every day, we lose patients and we’re the only witnesses to their unfortunate deaths. No
family and friends present to hold their hands until their last breath. The plague has taken away
almost all forms of social compassion - the very thing humans were made for.
Like our patients, we don’t get to see our loved ones in fear of becoming a threat to their health,
so we lean onto each other for support. We treat our patients like family, thus seeing them give
up one by one is anything but easy. No matter how many times we rationalize the situation, it
would always feel like we didn’t do enough for them. At times, we feel so helpless but we have to
bear
the responsibility of keeping them alive for as long as we could.

We don’t do miracles. Only God has the ability to do so. We’re only humans but that fact keeps
us on our toes. We’re only humans but we try to become the best that we could.