Sep 27, 2021 | Grace
On March 1, 2020, my granddaughter was born. My 22year old daughter lives with me and I am her only support. The experience was joyful and yet frightening as, at the same time, the pandemic had just started. My existing anxiety disorder, which I’ve had since my twenties, was fueled to the point of panic. I was terrified of getting COVID-19 by working at the hospital and passing it to my newborn granddaughter and daughter. I had to take a week off of work, having made myself sick with anxiety. The thought of being in the hospital environment led to terrible panic attacks. I eventually found the courage to return to work. I pushed through my severe panic and fear with the help of my wonderful nurses on Rehab 4. They always took the time to calm me even though they were dealing with their own fears. Part of my daily routine was to go to my patio to take off my uniform and then head straight to the shower. I was careful not to kiss my granddaughter but helped with her care to support my daughter. At the end of March, I was informed by Community Living that I could no longer visit my Autistic 26 year old son at his group home due to their new COVID protocols; nor could he come home to visit with his family. This was devastating since my son relies on me for all of his emotional needs, as hugs and cuddles are not allowed to be given by the staff. In addition, all of his regularly scheduled daily respite outings had been cancelled. As much as I understood that this was all in Ben’s interest to keep him safe, I knew that even small changes to his routine would cause him great anxiety. This was overwhelming!So, I tried to keep up a brave front at work while dealing with these personal worries because I knew that my co-workers were each arriving at work with their own concerns, and having to do the same. I did my best to stay cheerful with the patients because I knew that they had an additional layer of suffering. The weeks that followed were full of the ups and downs sparked by the joy of being a first-time grandmother and complicated by the constant worry and sadness that consumed me after losing physical contact with my son. I became obsessed with cleaning both at home and at work. I suffered from constant insomnia, crying myself to sleep for brief periods every night. Things improved a bit during the spring and summer months when we could sit outside. I felt that my anxiety was starting to calm down, and I felt increasingly safe at work with all the PPE and safety planning for staff and patients. My son and I communicated daily by phone, but he continued to struggle with the COVID protocols like wearing a mask, having to stay home, and losing contact with his respite workers. In July, I was finally allowed to visit Ben for an hour once a week, but we had to stay six feet apart and wear masks and shields. I was also required to get a COVID Test every two weeks in order to keep up the visits. Not being able to hug my son or let him cuddle with me was heartbreaking, but we made the best of it. All I was able to do was go to work, and then return home and try to keep my daughter and granddaughter safe.Then devastating news reached us – my unit, Rehab 4, was in outbreak. All visits with my son stopped, and my panic attacks returned. I was so terrified of bringing COVID-19 to the baby that I became even more obsessed with cleaning both at home and at work. Even though we could see the fear in each other’s eyes, my co-workers and I tried to remain cheerful with the patients. My co-workers are like family to me, and the thought that any of them might get COVID-19 was truly terrifying. Yet we continued to comfort each other while going above and beyond to meet the emotional and physical needs of the patients, especially since they were not allowed visitors. Each day I returned home drained of all energy, praying that I would not bring this horrible disease home to my family.As Christmas approached, I was saddened to realize that this would be the first time that I could not celebrate the holiday with my son since adopting him at the age of two. Luckily, the staff in his group home gave him a loving Christmas, so Ben handled it better than I did. Finally, when the outbreak ended and I had been vaccinated, I was able to resume the one-hour weekly visits with Ben with the now familiar protocols in place.In addition to coping with fear, sadness, and anxiety, I have also had to find ways of dealing with my anger. I had grown increasingly frustrated with the anti-maskers, anti-vaxers, and COVID-deniers. Moreover, knowing that Ben’s struggles with the changes to his routines were creating behavioural issues led to me being in frequent conflict with staff in his home. I have always been Ben’s strongest advocate, but I’m afraid that the loss of control and contact with him just caused me to be more irritable with the people who are responsible for his care. I regret this, but now have a better understanding of how the lack of contact with their loved ones is affecting the families of our patients. I have also come to realize that anger is self-defeating; it simply fuels my anxiety.It is now May 2021. I am doing better with all things related to COVID-19, largely due to the support of my co-workers, and particularly the nursing staff on Rehab 4. I feel somewhat safer now that I have been vaccinated but I still fear for the safety of my unvaccinated loved ones. I am coping better with my anxiety, and just pray that one day soon I’ll be able to hold my son again. We have lived with this long enough now that we seem to be adjusting to the ‘new normal’, but I long for the day when we can start enjoying some of the ‘old normal’ again.