For such a time as this - # 20

Update # 20 – April 15

It’s so quiet and peaceful outside, this last day of Pesach, which is like a Shabbat. 

The weather is nice – 23 degrees Celsius, and we had breakfast and coffee on the balcony. A heat wave is on its way, and we’re debating of asking our handyman to put up the sun cover on the patio. For now, we keep moving the umbrellas and the table to stay in the shade.

We received an update from the Haifa home for Holocaust survivors, and I’d like to share one story.

Isolation brings back memories

For some, especially those that are in the process of Dementia or Alzheimer, the breaking of the normal daily routine, is giving them even more flash backs and memories of their dark past of the Holocaust. 

Whenever we visit 98-year-old Miriam she immediately brings you back to her horrific youth in ghettos and camps which ended at Auschwitz. 

Whenever we try to change the subject, she continues to live in and talk about that time.

Although some people are glued to their TV screens all day and evenings, others find creative ways to pass the time in their room. 

Mania e.g. has been painting and has written a poem about the Corona crisis every day. 

This is one example:

“One day I went for a little walk, with my mask on my face and rubber gloves all by myself.

All of the sudden I heard a familiar voice from my dining room neighbor who walked behind me.

She was very happy to see me, and we continued our walk together.

When we had walked for a while, we rested on a bench.

Then my next-door neighbor approached and joined us on the bench.

For a little while we completely forgot about Corona, which had taken away our daily routine and enjoyed each other’s company.”

A few days ago there was an uplifting article in the newspaper:

https://www.jpost.com/israel-news/the-health-ministry-has-begun-producing-multi-use-masks-for-israelis-624539

The Health Ministry has begun a project to produce high quality masks that are not only washable so they can be re-used, but are also suitable for all of Israel's dynamic population to use.

The project began Monday morning with the initial production of 300,000 masks. The project line is 100% made in Israel, and employs over a thousand Israeli seamstresses.

"Thanks to the important venture of locally produced masks, we can are able to back our economy which is in dire need of support during these complicated times," said Health Minister Ya'acov Litzman.

With the goal of further preventing the spread of the virus, the masks will be distributed to residents living in areas with a high concentration of the virus by their local authorities together with the Home Front Command. "A mask can be used as personal protection to spread disease and infection," Liztman said.

With the intention of making mask wearing a norm, residents of these areas will be given instruction by the authorities on how to properly wear the masks. Recipients of the mask will receive a kit including three masks paired with an instructional leaflet printed in a variety of languages such as Arabic, English and Hebrew.

The project is being led by defense systems and the Mossad in cooperation with textile experts, and industries that make products for the Defense Ministry. The Mossad has obtained over 10 million masks for Israel, as well as other medical equipment and hundreds of thousands of test kits.

For such a time as time - # 18

Update # 18 – April 13

Wim and I walk to the nearby shopping center in Kiryat haYovel via the scenic route, enjoying the sunshine and nature that starts to bloom its heart out.

Before I enter the big supermarket, the security guide checks my temperature. All customers must wear a face-mask, otherwise they are not admitted. 

Normally, the security guard doesn’t have to do much except for sit in his chair at the entrance of the shop.  Now, the guy will be exhausted by the end of the day....

Here’s a story from a doctor, Halleh Akbarnia, that was posted on FB on April 7.

I have been an Emergency Medicine Physician for almost 20 years. I have worked through numerous disasters, and I’m used to the daily grind of heart attacks, gunshots, strokes, flu, traumas, and more. It’s par for the course in my field. Yet nothing has made me feel the way I do about my “job” as this pandemic has—that knot-in-the-pit–of-your-stomach sensation while heading into work, comforted only by the empathetic faces of my colleagues who are going through the same. I am grateful for their presence, knowing they are both literally and figuratively with me, that they understand and accept so profoundly the risks we take each day. I also hope that my friends and family forgive me for my lack of presence during this time—precisely when we need each other most—and that they realize that their words, their encouragement, and their small gestures that come my way daily are the fuel that gets me through each day. This is a story for all of us.

I met my patient, Mr. C., on my first real “pandemic” shift, when what we were seeing that day was what we had been preparing for. He was classic in his presentation, his X-ray findings, his low oxygen levels… we just knew. And he was the nicest man I had met in a long time. Gasping for breath, he kept asking if we needed anything, and that it would all be okay. He told us he was a teacher but that he was learning so much from us, and how much he respected what we were doing. The opposite could not be more true.

We had to decide how long we would try to let him work through this low oxygen state before needing to intubate him. His levels kept falling and despite all our best efforts it was time to put him on the ventilator. He told us he didn’t feel great about this, “but Doc, I trust you and am putting myself in your hands.” That uneasy feeling in my stomach grew even more in that moment. But he, with his teacher's steady voice, kept me grounded, where I was supposed to be. I saw his eyes looking at me, seeing the kindness in them, even as we pushed the medications to put him to sleep. To say this was an “easy” intubation is an understatement. It was not. He nearly left us a few times during those first minutes, but he kept coming back. We fought hard to keep him with us. The patience and strength of my team that day, truly remarkable.

I handed him over to my friend and colleague, Dr. Beth Ginsburg, and her team in the ICU, and her calming voice reassured me that they had it from here. And then for the next twelve days, I waited and watched his progress, knowing the statistics, and how sick he was when he got to us. They did their magic, and just yesterday my new friend Mr. C was extubated. I decided to go “meet” him again.

Mr C. was in the COVID stepdown unit, recovering, without family. Nobody was allowed to visit him; even worse, his wife had been home alone in isolation for the past fourteen days, too. My heart broke thinking of how that must have been for her. I cautiously went into his room, donned in my PPE, and when he saw me, he stopped for a second. 

A moment of recognition.

I introduced myself. “I’m Dr. Akbarnia, Mr. C. I was the last person you saw in the ER. You told me you trusted us to get you to this side. Looks like you did just fine.” He started to cry. He said, “I remember your eyes.” And I started to cry. What he didn’t know is that, at that moment, I realized that we do what we do exactly for people like him, for moments like these. His strength, his kindness, his calming words to me meant everything. At that moment, my heart (which had been beating over 100 bpm since this pandemic began) finally slowed down.

I sat down and we talked. I told him that while he is here, we are his family. He will always have a place in my heart. And whether he knows it or not, he will be my silent warrior and guide as I take care of every patient, COVID or not. He will fuel me until the day I hang up my stethoscope.

(Picture and story posted with full permission from patient)