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The WardBeing a Patient During the PandemicDr. Celia BantingIllustrated by Véronique L’Espérance

© 2024 Celia BantingIllustrated by Véronique L’EspéranceCover Photo by Miguel Ausejo on UnsplashAll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address:Wighita PressP.O. Box 30399Little Rock, Arkansas 72260-0399www.wighitapress.comLibrary of Congress Catalog-in-Publication DataBanting, CeliaThe Ward - Being a Patient During the PandemicDr. Celia Banting - First Editionp. cm.ISBN 978-0-9988190-2-0 (hardcover)1. Suicide preventionSummary:This illustrated work is an account of a period when I became very sick and had to be hospitalized, not with Covid-19, during the lockdown at the height of the pandemic in 2020. It explores the psychological aspects of being a patient when both patients and staff were frightened of contracting Covid-19. It examines the nursing process since my own nurse training in 1986 compared with cur-rent practices, and the changing nature of the hospital to accommodate Covid-19 patients. It offers an alternative perspective to mental illness, and questions the practice of diagnosing and labeling patients. Lastly, it is a dedication to all those essential workers who bravely and tirelessly left the safety of their homes to help the sick and dying, and to prevent society from breaking down.Library of Congress Control Number: 2023921485Layout by Susan HarringCover production by Susan HarringPrinted by Sheridan Press, Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA

Other books by Dr .Celia BantingHow to Tell if Your Teenager is at Risk of SuicideThe Right ThingI Only Said I Had No ChoiceI Only Said Yes So That They’d Like MeI Only Said I Couldn’t CopeI Only Said I Didn’t Want You Because I Was TerriedI Only Said I Was Telling The TruthI Only Said It Didn’t HurtI Only Said I Could Handle It, But I Was WrongI Only Said I Wasn’t HungryI Only Said I Wanted To Kill Myself; I Didn’t Really Mean ItI Only Said Leave Me Out Of It

vIntroductionI became a registered nurse in 1989 after !ve long years of studying and three of training. ere was not a day that went by when I didn’t cry and doubt that I’d ever get through it as I was a single parent with !ve children aged between 3-15 years old, and I felt spread very thinly. In those days nurse training was hospital based and the nursing school chose their applicants very care-fully and paid them a stipend to be part of the work force. My stipend paid for my childcare and car costs, and little else. I relied on two trays of cracked eggs that my friend, who owned a kitchen farm, sold me for one English pound. I became very adept at making dierent dishes to feed my children out of !ve dozen eggs!!

viI studied at the Royal Isle of Wight School of Nurs-ing before the days of Project 2,000, which dictated that in the future student nurses undertook a uni-versity led programme. Personally, I’m very grateful to have been a part of the system that had students in school for several weeks to learn theory and safe practice, and then to cement the learning by a practi-cal hands-on two-months stint in every nursing dis-cipline. Student nurses were counted as part of the full-time employee ratio and were not just observers; hence we learned everything and were a member of a team right from the beginning. Bedside manner isn’t something you can learn from a book, it’s something that you learn by a hands-on approach, and in my opinion it is the key ingredient to the making of a good nurse.Part of a good bedside manner is learning how to communicate, and we were taught about non-verbal communication and how our facial expressions could

viibelie what we were really thinking. We learned how to reassure our patients, not only by the words we used but through our facial expressions.I remember my rotation in the operating theatre feel-ing awkward as everyone wore masks, and I had never realized just how much I used lip-reading alongside my ability to hear in order to make sense of what I was being told. Naturally I didn’t opt to work in the-atre after I’d quali!ed because of this awkwardness. Imagine then thirty-one years later when the world is attacked by a pandemic, Covid-19, and everyone is wearing facemasks. How will my nurse training fare without the use of facial expressions to help reassure the troubled children I work with? I was about to !nd out!!

1e Pandemic EmergesI avoided listening to the news while being at work in America as it drove me crazy with all the misleading hearsay and drama. I couldn’t put up with all the disrespectful shouting and berating of others with opposing opinions. I learned from my colleagues that something was going on in the world because suddenly at work we had to do a lot of extra surface cleaning with Clorox. When I !nally tuned into the news, the image that had the biggest impact on me was hundreds of Ital-ians leaning out of their high-rise apartment blocks

3calling out and clapping for their doctors and nurses. It was then that I began to listen to the news in ear-nest at the appalling death-toll occurring in Europe. e news anchors talked constantly about “Shelter in Place” orders, travel restrictions, and school closures, and I felt apprehensive as to what that would mean for me, a British lady working in America. I’m on a mission here in America to help as many suicidal teenagers as I can. I live alone, away from all my family who live in the United Kingdom.I knew that there was a new virus called the Corona Virus (Covid-19) spreading out from China and that it was killing thousands of people. e news anchors were becoming very serious and reported high death rates in New York, the state where my son was living at the time. Each state had their own rules as to how to deal with the virus, and in our state all healthcare

4sta had to have their temperatures taken before starting their shift, and all had to wear a mask in the hospital. It must have been quite frightening for the children in my care to only see the stas’ eyes. As all these changes were occurring, and sta were testing positive and going o sick, my thinking became pan-icked and concrete. I recalled what a colleague had said about the demise of civilization, and he drew attention to the way New Orleans deteriorated in just two days after Hurricane Katrina to illustrate his point. He was serious but made me laugh by saying that as no one could cook anymore, within days after any catastrophe everyone would either be dead, or the National Guard would be out on the streets to deal with those determined to !nd food at gunpoint. ose thoughts were in my mind when my colleagues shared their outrage that there were no toilet rolls,

5bread and bottled water left in the stores, and it was then that I began to feel very apprehensive. It’s start-ing, I thought.I’d been burgled a few years ago and it had frightened me. I’d been relieved that I was at work, and didn’t want to think about what might have happened had I been at home. Although I’d made changes to my home to make me feel safer, I was more wary and watchful. e locals say that the crime rate goes up before Christmas due to poverty and need, and as I thought about my friend’s predictions of society dis-integrating in peacetime, I could only wonder what would happen to this society during a pandemic when all the rules and parameters would be tested.I’d just !nished a nightshift and couldn’t fall asleep as there were sirens constantly going o in our nei-bourhood. It made me feel anxious and fed into my apocalyptic musings.

6Normally, I would sleep all day after a nightshift. But that day, sleep evaded me. I kept getting up and turning on the news, and it just got worse and worse throughout the day. Flights were being cancelled and schools were closed; it was unheard of. I felt frightened at the thought of not being able to get home to my family, and fright-ened of being in a country where most households owned a gun. What frightened me the most was that if the virus was as deadly as it seemed to be, and I was going to die, I wanted to die at home on the Isle of Wight, not alone in another continent.roughout the day I heard gun shots (not uncom-mon near me) and the police sirens just didn’t stop, and they just added to my anxiety. By the evening my thinking was tunneled-visioned and very concrete. I went into panic mode and I couldn’t think straight. I had to get home!

7My return $ight to the United Kingdom was in one week’s time, but with the news recounting how many $ights had been cancelled, or banned, I couldn’t wait that long. I got on-line and spent over $500 on a one way ticket to London through a company I’d never heard of. My domestic $ight was with American Airlines but the international $ight was with an obscure airline. When I told my daughter, who used to be a travel agent, she wasn’t happy with me, and said that the company was unreliable, and told me that I had probably just wasted my money. Part of me knew that she was right, but I put that thought out of my mind and took comfort in chatting with one of our night supervisors at work. She was so kind when I cried down the phone, telling her that I had to go home to be near my children and

8grandchildren. She reassured me that she would have done the same thing. I went on to tell her about my potentially dodgy ticket and how scared I felt that my international $ight would be cancelled and that I’d be stranded in a strange city.She was wonderful and really anchored me to reality. She said, “Look Celia, if that happens, and I hope it doesn’t, but if does, then all you do is go to the air-port Rent a Car desk and you drive six hours back home. at’s your plan B.” It was as if she’d turned on a light and suddenly I became calm, knowing that whatever happened I would be okay.I spent part of the night completing my taxes, pack-ing and cleaning my house as I was $ying out in a few hours time. It’s amazing what you can achieve when push comes to shove.

9Year after year I procrastinate over doing my taxes, not because I can’t do them, it’s just that it’s tedious, but that night I gave myself a strong talking to and multi-tasked, completing them as dawn arrived. en I !nally took a quick nap.e alarm jolted me awake, and unlike me, (I’m not a morning person), I shot out of bed, threw the sheets in the washing machine, pulled on some clothes, and drove to Wal-Mart to buy my friend, who’s in a nursing home, some goodies. I already had a box addressed to him, so outside the store I stacked everything in, sealed it, and made my way to the post oce. I felt very $ustered because I couldn’t !nd my tax forms. I hunted high and low in the car, and tried hard to think. I know that I picked them up when I picked up the box, and that’s when it dawned on me; they had to be inside the box with all the goodies.

10It was very embarrassing to ask the lady in the post oce to open the box to check if they were there, and sure enough, they were. She was very kind and with my cheeks burning red, we giggled.I had to call a taxi to take me to the airport, and waiting for it to arrive was nerve racking; I couldn’t be late. I hate $ying, but this time I was eager to get there. e taxi arrived and everything felt surreal. Normally when I travel I have time to reign in my fears, take time to pray, and pack methodically, but the past twenty-four hours had shot by, and I didn’t feel at all prepared in myself. I got to the American Airline check-in and went through the process, my hands shaking. e lady took one look at my newly bought ticket and shook her head saying, “at $ight’s cancelled.”

11I just fell to pieces and started sobbing. All that came out of my mouth was, “I have to get home to see my babies.” I had no coherent thoughts other than my daughter was right about buying a ticket from an unreliable source, so I cried harder feeling like a fool. e lady behind the desk was so kind, and her voice became motherly as if comforting a bereft child. She told me not to worry and that she’d book me for a $ight the next day. She rebooked both $ights with American Airlines and told me to go home and get some rest. As she gave me my two new boarding passes ready for tomorrow, I recognized that she had given me a reliable ticket rather than the dodgy con-nection I was expecting. It gave me a modicum of hope and comfort.Dragging my heavy cases behind me, I hailed down a taxi, and as we pulled away I saw the driver I’d donated my old car to waving at me from the drivers’ waiting

12room. He brought a $icker of a smile to my face as we drove o. e sight of him reminded me that if it was my fate to get stranded in the States during a pandemic then I’d take it like a big girl, and know that I had people here who loved me, too. Leaving is always bitter sweet because I love working with the lost children and with my colleagues, some of which I’ve known for over twenty years.I have no clue what my neighbours must have thought with all my comings and goings, but after running one errand, I went straight to bed. I fell into a deep sleep as I was physically and emotionally exhausted. When I woke I pottered around marking time until the taxi came again to leave for the airport. I was calm and resigned to not being able to $y home. I went to the desk and the same lady was there. Her voice was gentle and caring and she processed my boarding passes, and all I could say was, “Is this really going to happen?”

13“Oh yes,” she said. “It’s going to be !ne. Don’t you worry. You’ll see your family soon enough.” I gave her a bleak smile and held onto plan B. e concourse was noticeably empty and it brought it home to me that the pandemic was indeed real, although few people were wearing face masks. While I waited to board there was not one moment when I didn’t expect the overhead speaker to announce that the $ight had suddenly been cancelled. It was only when the same lady from the check-in desk came to the gate and threw her arms around me, and told me to be safe, that I realized the plane was actually going to take o. She made me feel wonderful, and I was so grateful to her.It was the !rst time I wasn’t afraid to get on a plane. My mind was focused on the six hour drive that I might have to make. To maintain my sanity I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be stranded

15in America for an unknown amount of time, with a rabid virus seeking to destroy all of humankind. I was remarkably calm, and thinking back I must have been in a disassociated state of mind. It was very odd.Once the !rst $ight landed I was on automatic pilot, knowing exactly what to do having $own so many times before, yet everything around me was dier-ent. e plane was virtually empty, which in itself felt peculiar, there was no complementary cup of tea and pretzels, and disembarking was staggered so that each passenger could maintain social distancing.I made my way to the connecting overseas $ight, holding my breath with dread, and I just couldn’t believe my eyes when I turned the concourse corner. ere were hundreds of people crowded together, all ignoring social distancing, clutching a boarding pass. American Airline sta were shepherding every-one onto the plane faster than usual and as the queue

16moved forward and I stepped onto the huge plane and found my seat, I still couldn’t believe that I might actually be going home. Only after we took o, with the plane packed to the gills, I allowed my good for-tune to $ow over me, and I started to relax. I wanted to cry with relief.It was only once we’d touched down at Heathrow airport in London that I gave any thought to being reuniting with my husband, Des. We’d had a very dicult Christmas where his ex lover continued to stalk and taunt me, and I’d been relieved to return to America in the New Year. As I fell back into my work schedule, the horrors of that awful Christmas receded from the fore of my mind. But as I walked through the arrivals entrance at Heathrow airport I felt in such a state of shock that I had actually made it home, and when I saw Des waiting for me, I cried.He’d clearly forgotten all about Christmas and I felt

17so fragile at that moment that I was grateful I wasn’t plunged straight into an autopsy of what had hap-pened, and why. I needed nurturing, peace, and serenity. I was physically and mentally exhausted, and said very little during the drive home. I stared out of the window relishing in my “green and pleasant land”.Pulling into our road always brought back a myriad of memories for me; the end of every work day span-ning twenty years. Parking outside our house made the last few crazy days real to me, and again I cried with relief that if I had to !ght a pandemic then at least I was within miles of most of my family.Over a cup of tea in my own mug I felt an over-whelming longing to lay my head down and sleep.