These are hard times. Every day we watch the number of coronavirus cases and deaths rise and wonder if someone we love will end up a statistic. Medical workers heroically fulfill the oaths they took, but never thought it would look like this. In the wealthiest country in the world, no one thought it could look like this – underfunded, under-supplied, and under-staffed. This is just the beginning of 51 (plus the territories) curves. Even the worst of the current hotspots haven’t hit peak yet. Some haven’t even started the upward curve. It’s a lot to deal with.
Maybe the worst is that we have to deal with it alone. Without a treatment or vaccine, the only defense we have is limiting contact to flatten the curve. No contact outside of those in your household already – no friends, no family, ho happy hours, no Netflix and chill, no colleagues you really can’t stand but would take if they were the only contact allowed outside the people you love but never meant to spend endless 24/7s with. We all know the mechanics by now. We’ve been educated, admonished, even arrested for violating these policies.
But what about those who literally need human contact? Human contact is a proven immune system booster. In the maelstrom that has consumed us, there has been little discussion of those occupied hospital beds that don’t involve COVID-19. Heart attacks, strokes, cancer treatments, kidney dialysis, the everyday illnesses that weaken the immune system are still happening at the same rate they were before. In New York and Los Angeles, Navy ships are coming to save those patients from cross-contamination with coronavirus patients, but there aren’t enough to go around, and they can’t reach most of the country anyway. And it’s not like they’d be able to reach them there, either. How would you even do that? Drive down to the wharf and take a swim?
I’ve spent my fair share of time in hospitals, both as a patient and visiting loved one. When I was an inpatient as a kid, if my parents ere even slightly delayed, it caused a meltdown. Once, they were an hour later than they said they would be, and I just lost it. On the other side, I was so determined to stay with my mom when she was sick that the hospice put a cot in her room for me. I only left once in two weeks.
Holding a hand or talking even when you think your patient can’t hear you (they can hear you a lot of the time), goes a long way to boost mental health and shore up the determination of patients to fight for their lives. It reminds them of what they have here.
So, what happens to these patients who are now denied all physical human contact, even with their doctors? I don’t know. There are many virtual options now, but it’s not the same. We are a social species. Being apart feels unnatural in the best of times. In the worst of times, it could very well hasten a death sentence.