Have you ever found yourself walking around your unit, overwhelmed by the prospect of managing your ever-growing workload? It sometimes feels like a never-ending cycle of assessments, medications, admissions, and discharges. I believe I’m not the only nurse who has experienced this frustration.

It is difficult to admit that, when COVID-19 entered our hospital doors, these thoughts consumed me. We witnessed the first casualties—not just of lives, but also of hope and intimacy—as we struggled to provide care and overcome our own anxieties amidst a scarcity of personal protective equipment (PPE).

Over time, we all learned a great deal about adapting to and managing a pandemic, and I have become more aware of my role within our flawed health care system. Focusing on my own fears and needs was valuable, of course, but these years opened my eyes to the injustices patients face. A significant proportion of the lives lost from COVID-19 due to ill-prepared infrastructure were from vulnerable communities. These realities transformed my perception of these injustices from distant awareness to concrete urgency.

Braiding a patient’s hair, restoring a sense of self.

The question of injustice brings to mind a recent encounter with a patient that deeply impacted me. This particular patient was young and had been struggling with exhaustion and weakness for days. Although they were not under my direct care, I had the opportunity to respond to their call light and assist them in using the restroom.

During our conversation, I noticed their unkempt hair and suggested that I could bring them a hairbrush. It turned out they already had one but couldn’t use it due to their condition. I offered to brush their hair for them, spending nearly 15 minutes carefully untangling knots and mats. They requested a simple braid, and I jokingly mentioned that I’d need to outsource the labor if they asked for a French braid.

This seemingly insignificant task and lighthearted conversation became one of those precious nursing moments where I felt privileged to care for someone. A few days later, a technician was recounting to a colleague how delighted the patient had been with their braid. The patient had shared with the technician the cultural significance of braids in their community and how having their hair done restored a sense of self. This revelation touched me deeply, but it also saddened me to think it had taken days for someone on the staff to brush their hair, unaware as we had been of the profound impact it could have had.

Reflecting on ways to support patient dignity.

Since then, I’ve thought about that patient. I’ve wanted to fill in the gaps of their story. I knew they had to travel for health care, but I didn’t know how far they were from home. I only knew they were surrounded by strangers and distant from their community and culture. Could we have provided this patient this care sooner if we had understood its significance?

I wonder about this patient and about how many others find themselves in similar situations—far from home, grappling with a health care system that fails to fully understand their needs. I contemplate how seemingly small actions, or the lack thereof, can erode a patient’s dignity. I wonder if, like me, they too get frustrated. And most of all I wonder what nurses can do to restore their sense of dignity and prevent its loss in the first place.

Lauren Longacre, BSN, RN, currently works as research nurse coordinator with the University of Nebraska Medical Center Emerging Threat Epidemiology Group. She is in her first year as a nursing doctoral student researching infectious disease transmission disparities in at-risk populations. This story was originally submitted to the University of Nebraska Medical Center College of Nursing Creative Writing Awards.