The folks who work at my dad's nursing homes have been some of the most compassionate people I have ever met. It's another level. They care for people at their most vulnerable and least healthy, and the best ones seem to have untapped wells of humility, dignity, and empathy.
Personnel changes are always rough for everyone; my dad has a steep learning curve with new people, my mom has a profound appreciation for the care they provide to him, and I have an investment of trust that comes with being the farthest and least present member of our situation. Most nurses and aides seem to genuinely love my dad, so I'm sure that some of them don't enjoy stepping away from him either. When he had to move homes, or when a staff member has left, there's always a twinge of sad regret that this person won't be in his life - our lives - anymore.
I just found out that one of my dad's nurses, Carlyne, died from the coronavirus. She was 40. Her parents are both on ventilators, or they were at the last update.
Carlyne is the first person I "knew" who has died from this. I don't know what her hopes and dreams were. I don't know how she ended up working at his nursing home. I don't even know if I'm spelling her name correctly. Was it "y-n-e" or was it "e-n-e?" I can't recall. The only thing I know is that she gave my dad Tylenol whenever she worried that he was in pain.
Over the past two months, his nursing home has become the epicenter of COVID cases in Trenton, New Jersey. As of today, 107 of its estimated 134 residents have contracted it, and 28 have died. A month ago, it was only 10 deaths. Forty-nine staffers have gotten sick. That death count is hard to estimate at the moment based on the available data.
Carlyne didn't resign to go work for a different facility. We didn't have that, "aww, ok, well good luck, we'll miss you!" moment. She didn't retire - she was at least 25 years away from being retirement age. She's just gone. She gave my dad his medicine, made sure he could breathe, and saw to it that he was clean, safe, and maintained. She gave him Tylenol when he winced, and now she's gone, and I don't know how to spell her name.
Do someone you love a favor. Do someone you've never met a favor. Do anyone a favor. Do yourself a favor. Continue to take this seriously. Life isn't going to go back to normal. This is now normal. We are all going to have to accept a lot of changes in the next few years. Stop crying about masks and gloves and sanitizer, even if you don't like it. Ya know how I know gloves and masks work? Because we invented them for this very situation, and we've been using them for a hundred years. A website selling you on the notion that gloves aren't necessary and masks make you lightheaded doesn't compete with the incalculable empirical evidence that comes from over a century of use. This has nothing to do with your rights or your feelings. The coronavirus doesn't care that you woke up in the United States of America. This really is about life or death. Take this seriously.
Do me a favor. Do this for Carlyne.
Author’s note: A dedication to Carlyne can be found here.
