Hospital Visiting Policies in the Days of COVID-19

Last month, I watched a YouTube video with two physicians, ZdoggMD (Zubin Damania) and Vinay Prasad, both active on social media, discussing Prasad’s perspective that allowing patients “to die alone is a human rights violation.” He argued that clinicians should not accept blanket rules from administrators and believes there are ways around what seems to have been standard practice in hospitals during the COVID-19 pandemic.

So when we asked on AJN’s Facebook page (December 13), “Should hospitals allow patients with Covid-19 to have visitors?”, I was surprised that the comments were split. Many respondents supported the need for patients to be able to have loved ones with them, but many others felt visitors shouldn’t be allowed because PPE was scarce or because visitors didn’t follow rules and, as one commenter noted, “We don’t have time to be the PPE police.”

No one should die alone.

Nurses have been assisting patients to connect with family members by tablets or mobile phones, or in many cases filling in as surrogate family at the time of death. A colleague told me that in her ICU, nurses decided no one would die alone and made sure that one member of the staff was there with the patient. And while this was comforting to many families, I know from […]

The Baby with Tetralogy of Flow

It is a good day so far—none of the 16 critically ill babies in the neonatal intensive care unit has coded or died. So far, the shrill electronic alarms for dying babies have been silent.

As the neonatologist on call, this gives me the opportunity to talk to Anna and Jake, Baby Milo’s parents. Milo peers up at them with big brown eyes as Anna leans over his crib and whispers to him. A small transparent plastic mask covers Milo’s tiny nose to help him breathe, and a cluster of saliva bubbles percolate between his lips. Despite a sleeve of tape securing his right hand, his tiny fingers tug the orange orogastric tube taped to his cheek.

Milo’s father, a brawny man wearing scuffed brown shoes, ripped blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a tattered Green Bay Packers cap, sits in a chair and nervously taps his knee while he stares with bloodshot eyes at the vital signs on Milo’s bedside monitor.

“Milo is adorable,” I say from the doorway. His parents look over to me as I step into the room.

“We think so,” Anna says with a smile.

“How are you both doing?” I ask. “Being in the NICU can be pretty stressful.”

Milo’s parents glance at each other and nod. Anna takes a seat next to Jake, who touches her shoulder.

I pull up a chair. “Can you tell me Milo’s story? How did you end up in the NICU?” I say.

“We were celebrating my birthday at a steakhouse,” Jake says. “Right after they brought […]

2020-07-15T11:23:21-04:00July 15th, 2020|family, family experience, pediatrics|0 Comments

Even in an Unimaginable Crisis, Nature Heals

“Eleven-year-old Olivia’s parents were ‘done,’ had reached their limit of bad news, and refused to enter the conference room. They didn’t want more information or what they perceived as pressure to withdraw life support.”

The hardest decision.

by Janet Hamlin for AJN

These words in the opening paragraph of this month’s Reflections column,”Little Sparrow,” describe a situation that will be instantly recognizable to many nurses, especially those who regularly work with people who have suffered severe head injuries or other central nervous system trauma. These two short sentences encapsulate the terrible crisis that develops when a tragic outcome seems inevitable to staff—while family members, in shock, struggle to absorb information and make decisions.

A healing garden.

In the essay, which will be free until February 20, Elaine Meyer, PhD, RN, describes her approach to one such family. While the parents of the seriously injured young girl pray for a miracle, staff are distressed because they feel they are inflicting unnecessary suffering on the child. […]

2019-02-05T08:19:55-05:00February 5th, 2019|family, Nursing, nursing stories|1 Comment

The Invisible Nature of Grief

Most nurses know the stages of grief by heart: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. We know the stages do not occur in an orderly, linear fashion. People flow in and out of each stage, circling back around to earlier stages as needed.

But I’m not aware of anyone discussing the invisible, insulating environment grief surrounds its survivors within. An acquaintance described it like this:

“We had just taken our son off of life-support, and sat with him as he passed. Our entire family had gathered to say goodbye. After leaving the hospital, we went to eat. I sat in the café, marveling at the world outside, that people were going about their daily lives, and I had just lost my son.”

When grieving periods were the norm.

collage by julianna paradisi/2018

A cultural understanding of this phenomena developed during the Victorian era, and still exists in period romance novels: People of means, after suffering the loss of a loved one or recovering from traumatic illness or injury, were sent to live with relatives in the country or at the seaside. There, they had no household responsibilities beyond taking long walks through the forest or along the shore, keeping journals, or sketching. In romance novels, the grieving heroine gets the added bonus of discovering a Fabio-like love to […]

Night Watch

Editor’s note: In this tightly observed guest post, a nurse visiting a sick family member experiences the hospital as a kind of foreign country.

Eileen McGorry, MSN, RN, worked as a registered nurse in community mental health for over 30 years. She currently lives in Olympia, Washington, with her husband Ron.

The walkway is hard, the concrete cold, and I am immersed in darkness. Then there is the swish of the hospital doors and whispery stillness. The light over the reception desk shines on a lone head, bent over a book. A clipboard is pushed toward me. The paper on it is lined with names, some boldly printed, others scribbled, the letters unrecognizable. The spacious lobby is filled with individual groups of soft stuffed chairs and love seats. All of it quiet and empty. Over the chairs and sofas, the black of the midnight hour is changed into twilight.

I remember the bustle of the area at midday. Families gathered together, eyes searching the crowd for the green scrubs of surgeons. “She will live,” they say to some, and to others, “We will wait and see.” The frenzy of the day over, the empty chairs wait for tomorrow.

I sign my name in script. I use the old Catholic school script. The script preached by my mother, who is upstairs recovering from heart surgery. I walk past the chairs along walls so […]

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