Stories From Our Unfortunate Incarceration by Rocket Barber

The following piece is an excerpt from a brief series of online entries composed and posted while my wife was hospitalized because of complications from COVID. The series began as a few lighthearted commentaries, largely comedic, heavily snarky, yet good-natured, tapped out upon my laptop as a way of passing the time and providing a few blissful moments of respite from the serious nature of my wife’s condition. As the conditions of our stay began to change, so did the nature of my writing.

When they first admitted my wife, her room was on a floor that had two COVID patients. Within 48 hours of our arrival, they converted the entire floor to a COVID unit, complete with 25 positive patients in various stages of struggle. The ward was locked down as a safety precaution, creating a scenario where I could stay because I was already living on the unit round-the-clock while my wife was being treated and thus had already been exposed, but because of the lockdown provisions, I now could not leave to visit our children, grab a coffee, or get fresh air. If I left the room, I could not return.

Unwilling to leave my wife to fight the virus and its complications alone, I resolved to stay. This led to many long hours of boredom as my wife slept between the bursts of frantic and anxious activity related to her care. In these long lulls, I wrote, I read, I studied my Bible, and perhaps most importantly, I had numerous conversations with the staff. Many of them said that having someone from outside the hospital with whom to speak during working hours was a breath of fresh air. Most had spent over 20 months treating extremely ill patients, most of whom were not allowed visitors, and a large percentage of whom could not communicate because of the toll the virus takes upon their bodies. These conversations, accompanied by my observations of the care they provided my wife and me, and in confluence with my unconventional means of coping, led to the article you are about to read. I hope it brings some perspective to the breadth of their function and purpose in a world so greatly changed by so much that we cannot see.

Stories From Our Unfortunate Incarceration: Part 6—September 6, 2021

This might sting a little, as the old saying goes.

Let’s talk numbers for a moment. Since we have been here, we have seen 4 doctors. The ER doctor disclosed that he has personally treated over 3000 COVID patients this year. For the sake of this conversation, bear in mind that this does not include treatment for other ailments or injuries in the course of that time frame.

The subsequent 3 doctors we have met since my wife’s admission have treated approximately 300 virus patients each in the same timeframe. Again, this does not include patients treated for other ailments in this hospital, nor does it count patients treated in the offices of their personal practices. The doctors visit each patient daily, and the average length of stay for a COVID patient in this hospital is 10 days. We have had 3 different respiratory therapists visit with us since admission. The respiratory therapists treat approximately 90 patients per 12-hour shift.

We have had 4 different phlebotomists visit with us since our interment. One of them confirmed for us they draw blood from up to 120 patients per day, usually twice per day, but sometimes more often based upon doctor’s orders, in the course of a 12-hour shift.

We have had 7 different Nurse Assistants. These nurses confirm that each nurse treats, on average, 20 patients per 12-hour shift, checking and recording vital signs at least every 6 hours, and performing general checks for wellbeing and personal needs a minimum of once every 2 hours, but often more frequently based on specific needs or calls for assistance outside of scheduled room visits.

We have had 5 different Registered Nurses care for my wife. They work 12-hour shifts. A regular schedule is 4 days on, 2 days off, but many of them have been working 5 and 6 days on since the onset of the outbreak last March. They administer medicines and review vitals with each patient in their care at least twice per shift, but often more frequently, based on individual patient requirements. We have not once had an RN in our room when their phone did not ring requesting attendance for the urgent personal needs of other patients or calling for an unexpected change to a patient’s care due to revised doctor’s orders. (On my wife’s worst day, I called the personal line of our nurse no less than 7 times in a single shift, besides the regular visits she was making—and my wife, even on her worst day, was not the sickest person on our floor. The point is, these interruptions are common.)

These numbers are just room visits… face-to-face interactions with patients. This doesn’t include coworker interactions, administrative functions like paperwork, filing, retrieving medicines, delivering vials of blood to the lab, and who knows what else happens beyond this door behind which I am imprisoned these last several days.

All this to say: Every single time one of these folks has entered our room, they have done so while smiling.

Every. Single. One. Every. Single. Time.

Not just doing their job. Not just being knowledgeable, focused, urgent. These people have been personable, helpful, gracious, kind, and smiling in the midst of difficulty, during hopeless moments, and amid decline and hardship, just as equally in moments of celebration, joking, and improvement.

Now look back at those numbers. Do a bit of math if you’re so bold. That’s how many times they have smiled. That’s how many times they have sincerely cared. Today and every day for the length of their careers, that’s how many times they have done more than just their job description.

I review those stats and frankly, I’m ashamed of myself. As a textbook introvert who is sincerely and truly empowered to do what I do for the Lord by the grace of God and nothing less, the thought alone of having that many human interactions in a day, the thought of having to so routinely muster the cavalry of joy, sincerity, and selfless humanity on-demand, and furthermore, the thought of summoning the strength to make eye contact and smile so often in the course of 12 hours is cause enough to necessitate throwing a handful of anxiety medication down my gullet like a fun-size pack of Skittles. Quite frankly, I’m embarrassed to think people call what I do “the Lord’s work” after observing the service of these individuals.

Proverbs 3:6 urges us, “In all of your ways, acknowledge Him ...” In every situation—not just at church, or during devotions, or when you visit your grandmother—in ALL your ways, give credit that there is something bigger than yourself, more pressing than your burden, that there is a world beyond what we see and feel that needs His presence and His intervention more urgently than it needs to hear of (or make an exception for) your own personal experience.

For a full week now, I have watched these men and women swallow their own experience—everything from events in their personal lives, to the harrowing, life-altering tragedy to which they attended moments before in the room next door and summon a smile for the sake of acknowledging and communicating that something greater than themselves was happening in our cloister of the ward.

I know from conversations that some of these individuals to whom I’ve spoken during this ‘unfortunate incarceration’ do not have a relationship with the Lord, and yet I have seen with my own eyes that they are far more frequently acknowledging Him and far more devout in demonstrating His character than a good number of disciples I know— myself included.

May God bless, abundantly beyond all they can ask or think, the men and women serving in this field who are demonstrating His nature and acknowledging His heart for His people, even as many of them do so unaware. May God reveal Himself to those who do not yet know or understand or believe in the One whose love they are demonstrating daily. May God give me wisdom in every opportunity and use me to reveal Himself to them while I am here. And may the Holy Spirit convict and move to repentance those of us who call ourselves disciples yet neglect to acknowledge Him in every situation.

If you happen to know of someone who serves on the front lines in the medical field, please feel free to share this post or tag them as a means of acknowledging and thanking them for their service.

Rocket Barber

Rocket Barber is a husband of one, father of three, a minister, a musician, an introvert, and writer who suffers from, in his own words, “a deplorable excess of vocabulary.” He has been published in a variety of locations and showcased a number of styles over the last 30 years. His credits include articles, commentaries, and short fiction for various online, print, and periodical publications, a children’s book, short and full-length screenplays, speech writing, a small poetry anthology, comedic literature, ghostwriting an NYT Bestseller, and once, the album liner notes for a #1 selling musical artist. Rocket currently lives in Granite Falls, NC. He pastors a small congregation at Anchor Church on Duke Street, and encourages you—yes, you—to drop by and say hello if you’re ever in town.