While I enjoy writing as a hobby, I have used the freedom of expression through writing to help me share my own personal experiences.
Writing has been a therapeutic way for me to process challenging events in my life, including the stress and responsibilities faced as a healthcare professional.
The ability to share my own experiences and the simple act of writing has enabled me to express my emotions that I sometimes find too difficult to voice.
If you wish to take part in the Frontline Hero’s project or are just intrigued to see what it’s like behind the hospital walls; feel free to have a read,this has also been posted withing the pen to print magazine. *Please note some readers may find the content upsetting.
Pre- note: The patient whom I was caring for had been diagnosed with COVID-19. The coronavirus pandemic had swept through the entire world and the hospital I worked for as an NHS Nurse on the Coast of England had not escaped. I wish to share with you a true memory of my experience.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. When I looked at him, that’s how I knew.
He looked at me in complete desperation. Unable to express himself vocally, there was no mistaking the fear in his eyes.
The crackling sound in each breath as he tried to gasp desperately for more air like fire spreading through the lungs in search for more fuel to its flames. Every breath even more painful than the last in a desperate attempt to stay alive.
It had become uncontrollable.
My heart wrenched in my chest and my breath became increasingly fast paced as I panicked.
I hurried frantically to pump the medication through his veins, increase the oxygen through his mask in another attempt to give him a fighting chance but nothing was helping.
He panics.
As I try to calm myself down, I reach for his hand and speak of the fond memories displayed within a family photograph on his bedside table.
‘I will tell them you love them dearly’ I tell him.
He moves his hand a little.
‘I promise you, I will help you though this’ I say. ‘The enemy has invaded yet I won’t let it win. Not this time.’
He tries to cry out yet no sound can be heard except the noise of the virus drowning him from within.
I am his family now. I stand as his brother, his sister, his mother in these unprecedented times.
He doesn’t know I shed a tear as my mask covers the majority of my face.
He tries to cry out yet no sound can be heard except the noise of the virus drowning him from within.
We’ve done everything we possibly can but we are losing him. I feel so helpless as I continue to comfort him, humming his favourite song he had once told me about.
Suddenly, his eyes begin to flicker and I can no longer hear him try to gasp for another breath.
I wait for his chest to rise and fall, hoping he can make it through this, but it never comes. The light from his eyes fades away and the pain and tension disappears from his face.
The tears run uncontrollably down mine.
As I open the window, I notice the clouds part and the rays of sunlight that shine through.
He is at peace now.
Mother of Floods written by Madeline F. White, features a creative piece I wrote in 2014. It was a pleasure to work with Madeline and to share my own writing with readers.
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