The Hallowian - Volume I 2021 - Flipbook - Page 17
Uncharacteristically helpless, calling ICU for
their expertise.
Watching the sats probe fluctuate and drop,
Like the fluttering scattered course of auburn
autumn leaves.
The hospital a new type of quiet.
Devoid of families gathered by the bedside,
Delivering coffees, finger paintings or bouquets
of flowers,
Of their stoic “being there” and sharing tears as
one cried.
Harder to place patients in their outside life in
your mind,
Which has zoomed in,
Fixated on their virus,
Realms of possibility confined.
Dr Beth Hamilton
(Class of 2010)
Beth worked in acute general medicine in
the Oxford University Health Trust Hospitals
over the past year, while undertaking
her PhD studies in Population Health
at the University of Oxford. Beth has
written a powerful poem reflecting on her
experiences during the first wave of the
pandemic:
An elderly couple hands clasped over metal
railings,
Using Skype to talk to their grandchildren,
Who earnestly informed them of school and
shiny bicycles,
News of outside; their numerous achievements
and failings.
A Nurse now gently connects their weathered
hands once more,
The man so weak, gurgling breaths on death’s
door.
His wife lying facing him, fixated on his breath;
Her heart beating in synchrony, until there were
none left.
The first wave—a junior doctor’s
reflections
The next day an empty bed
A broken heart
A family unseen grieving in their home,
Their mother, grandmother, still in hospital
Alone.
Masks, gown, gloves, visor.
Plastic upon plastic and more hand sanitizer.
Instructions for PPE changing by the day,
From no skin exposed, unable to tell you from
me,
To feeling almost naked compared to figures
we’d seen on TV.
A young man, father of four,
Fit, healthy, coronavirus not a threat to him, he
had been sure.
Now quietly in bed awaiting urgent transfer to
intensive care,
You will need a respirator, a ventilator, the virus
boldly declared.
Patient contact materially changed, now a place
of the past,
Struggling to communicate from behind a mask.
Dying and living alone
In a sterilized airtight room,
In your own saliva on a pillow,
As you lie uncomfortably prone.
On nightshift, admitting a Nurse and single
mum who works in Aged Care,
Where resources prior to the pandemic were
already threadbare.
A raspy dry cough and temperature spiking
above 38,
Worrying about her children and if there would
be enough food on their plate.
Consultants wringing their hands in despair;
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The Hallowian | 2021
Reassuring them,
Convincing them (herself) that she
would be fine,
That this admission was near to the
end,
“No darling, it’s okay, I know, I know it’s
so hard,
But I will be home, not like my friend”.
A man whose chest was almost silent,
Airways constricted with asthma so
severe,
He’d delayed seeking treatment
“Other people needed it more”, his
voice singed with fear.
obsessive exertion of our autonomy,
Falls often blank when considering the
lengths we would go to survive.
Yet it’s also struck me that amidst the
darkness and gloom,
There is still empathy, warmth,
kindness and understated beauty,
A phone line full, exchange of a hot
drink or clasp of a gloved hand,
Hope that perseveres through these
challenging moments of humanity.
A young woman informed she could no
longer be part of a cancer trial,
All resources would be focused on
COVID for the next little while.
A “little while” a currency of time of
which no more could be made,
Her belly bloated with cells which
multiplied and continued to invade.
Nervous men sitting in the carpark
Fingers drumming on the wheel or
scrolling frantically on their phone,
Their partners above them in maternity
Labouring, screaming, enduring special
moments on their own.
Hospital staff dying
As it became more and more real
Faces immortalized in daily emails
With broken words from families as the
virus continued to steal.
People becoming numbers
Another point on a graph with a
predictably rising trend,
Telling a familiar and frightening story
Yet missing the people,
Their absence a weight loved ones
unable to comprehend.
I’ve been struck how ill-prepared we
are to talk about death and dying,
How death is falsely distinct from the
living of our everyday lives,
How our forethought and planning and
2021 | The Hallowian
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