Anxiety and Nursing in the time of COVID-19
I was meant to write this piece weeks ago but ironically the nature of anxiety and creativity is that as it comes and goes it affects your life in ways that you can’t control. I’m also a nurse and a freelance creative which meant that in preparing for COVID-19’s imminent arrival to Australian shores one aspect of my life became chaos and the other all but disappeared. I’m a person who thrives on routine and personal freedom (some might call me a control freak) so it will come as no surprise to anyone that the current state of the world has had a complicated effect on my mental health, particularly as a nurse.
Nursing is an interesting profession, you get into nursing for one of two reasons; a) you like people and you want to make a difference or b) it’s a guaranteed job. For me it was the latter. I needed a job. I am very lucky that I love my job and the people I work with but we didn’t sign up for this.
I do want to acknowledge that I am in Australia and I am so fortunate to work in a hospital with available resources and that my country hasn’t yet been decimated by this disease. When I pitched this article my outline was the effects that pandemics and mass casualty situations can have on an individual nurse’s mental health, so I’m going to stick to that. To my colleagues around the world, stay strong, we stand with you.
I live with anxiety, every day. My brain races and over thinks things, changes in routine and not having control trigger me more than I realise.Three months ago we didn’t know what life in Australia was going to look like. My colleagues and I would sit in our tearoom watching entire countries go into lock down, we watched as our colleagues overseas begged for more equipment and we stood by helplessly as the international death toll began to rise.
Three months ago we didn’t know what was going to happen in Australia, realistically we still don’t. We would go to work and hear rumours of us being sent to other departments to help with possible overflow, that theatres (I work in surgery) would be closed, that potentially what I had been trained to do and done every day for ten years would be all but obsolete. Three months ago I went home in tears every day, the anxiety sitting on my chest, because I had no control at work or home. Nothing peaks anxiety like the prospect of not only being isolated from your family but also being removed from your ward, from everything you have known for your entire career and being allocated elsewhere. For weeks I went home crying, waiting for the floodgates of my brain to burst and for my mental health to dissolve around me along with the rest of the world.
Thankfully that didn’t happen, not quite. What did happen was an influx of anxiety so severe that I barely made it through my work day, my creative flow became non-existent and while I pushed through there were some days where my brain forced me to stay in bed because I could not face the thought of going out into the world. So in bed I stayed, crying, unable to breath, internally begging for someone to come to my house and wrap their arms around me. I knew that because of my profession I was more at risk than most and couldn’t put my friends in danger. So I laidd on my living room floor, tears streaming down my face, alone, a reality which I’m sure I share with others.
Two months ago, the number of confirmed COVID-19 cases started to rise in Australia. Our elective surgeries were cancelled. Half of the theatres in my department were closed and nurses all over the country were worried about their jobs. Practices started to change, reports of ENT surgeons being admitted to ICU in the UK and abroad were reaching our ears and my team (the ENT team) crossed our fingers, fought for resources and prayed that we would not meet the same fate.
Eight weeks ago, every time I scrubbed for an ENT surgery I got anxious; the COVID-19 status of our patients was unknown and our resources were restricted meaning that we were using the same mask for our 10–12 hour shifts. I would leave the hospital, afraid of coming into contact with people and go home to ugly cry in my shower and try to soothe my sore and blemish covered skin. I live by myself. I would come home with a heart full of fear and loneliness and pray from some kind of human connection.
It affected us all, and still does. Tensions were high but we are all dealing with the current strain the best we can. Nurses are snapping at each other, unable to control their environments or work in a way that they usually would. Some have opted to take leave to be with their families while best practice is confirmed and the risk to staff is minimised. But for the rest of us we went to work, stayed away from each other (where possible) and did the best we could. We talk to each other, grateful to have some social interaction and still be employed, our hearts break when we can’t hug a colleague who is crying because they can’t go home to their family and we hide our own tears when it all gets too much. Coupled with this fear and dread with the guilt that many nurses have felt as our colleagues overseas fight this pandemic in horrible conditions and lose so many lives. Our brains are an interesting mix of emotions and mental health.
One month ago we started to see a difference. The number of hospitalised COVID-19 cases hadn’t spiked as predicted and we all secretly hoped that we had bought the healthcare system enough time to be prepared if we were to be inundated with patients. Protocols were made, simulations were run, protocols were amended and staff were trained. We feel prepared but no one can really tell if we are or not. One thing is for certain though and that is that we are lucky.
One week ago the Australian Prime Minister told us that we could visit people. We were told that up to five people could visit the house of a loved one and the country rejoiced. My extroverted heart burst and last night I had a movie night with friends. I did this knowing that every single one of my patient’s this week was tested for COVID-19 and returned a negative result. We’re lucky in Australia but we are here, waiting for a second wave, a vaccine or to possibly be in isolation forever. For a control freak like me, I’m not coping.
The world has changed a lot in the past four months. Hundreds of thousands of people have died, families have been torn apart and the way we see the world and our roles within society have changed. The work of healthcare providers and essential workers has never been more recognised and the world will be forever grateful for the work that we are doing during this time.
I sit here today balancing the fine line that comes with living with mental illness everyday. I am constantly aware that if I lean too far to either side that I may come undone and it’s ok if I do. COVID-19 is pushing all of us to breaking point, particularly those in the healthcare system. So please be kind to yourself and remember that you’re only human, we are imperfect beings, we get sick, we live with and suffer from mental illness and that we can’t save everyone, sometimes not even yourself.
Lacey-Jade Christie
