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Editor’s Note: Sarah Carlson is a surgeon at Boston VA Medical Center, an associate professor of surgery at Boston University, and has a Master of Science. Follow her on Twitter at @sarahcarlsonmd. The opinions expressed here are those of the author. See more opinions on CNN.
(CNN) – Like most Americans, I have spent the past few days trying to adapt my life to this atypical concept of “social isolation.” Faced with the challenges of covid-19, the disease caused by the coronavirus, as a medical surgeon I am beginning to worry about the effects of what I call “patient isolation”. That is, separating families from loved ones in hospitals and long-term care facilities.
In addition to treating patients with cardiovascular disease, part of my job is to help families cope with the illness of their loved ones. So when I finish a surgery, the first thing I do is go to the waiting room to see the patient’s family and friends to tell them how everything went. The most frequently asked question is when will they be able to see it. Beyond hearing that the result of the surgery was good, the family wants to personally verify it, accompany him and give him some comfort.
A few years ago, I had to put aside my role as a doctor to be one of those family members. It was the day my sister Lyn died. At 31 years old, he lost the battle against cystic fibrosis in which he had fought all his life. He went through years of hospitalizations, intubations, stays in intensive care units, and even a double lung transplant. She was my only sister.
Lyn passed away in a university hospital after receiving top-notch care from a team of experts who, for many years, fought her illness and accompanied my family. We never had to consider that there might not be a respirator for her when she had pneumonia, which was prevalent. There was never a shortage of doctors, nurses, or therapists to attend to his respiratory needs, which he had day and night. And, perhaps most importantly, there were always enough healthcare workers ready to contain our family.
We were never denied the possibility of being with my sister in the hospital. My mother, father, and I take turns for countless nights, sleeping in the intensive care unit next to her. There was always one of us sitting near his bed in an uncomfortable hospital chair, like a watchdog. When she died, she did so peacefully, surrounded by all of us as we rubbed her feet and held her hands. We were comforted to be with her at the time.
Now, with hospitals across the country preparing for an overwhelming number of covid-19 patients, non-urgent surgeries have begun to shrink in an attempt to conserve resources and limit the risk of infection for patients and staff. As part of these efforts, many hospitals and care facilities have dramatically restricted or banned visiting hours.
As a health worker, I am thankful that our hospitals and nursing homes are preparing for the worst. But as a family member, I am concerned about those patients who, in the coming days, will be admitted to a health center, either because of covid-19 or any other disease, because many will be alone. Those patients are not going to have the joy of having family members accompany them as they fight their illnesses or transition to the end of their lives. They will not be able to hold hands, they will not be able to wipe away the tears of their loved one. They will only have the comforts that a phone conversation or a video call can offer. I am sure that the doctors, nurses and other health workers will treat you with compassion and kindness, but that will never be a substitute for the love of family and friends.
Many of our medical colleagues in Italy have told heartbreaking stories about the life and death decisions they had to make, with scarce resources and in facilities with saturated capacity.
But tragedies are not limited to decisions about who gets a respirator and who is allowed to die. Hospitals and care facilities are already implementing necessary but heartbreaking policies to eliminate or restrict visits. The psychological impact that this “isolation of the patient” can have on the sick and their relatives cannot be measured. As we continue to deal with this pandemic, I am hopeful that Americans will continue to adapt to the new concepts of “social isolation” and “flattening the curve.” Even if it is not for our own good, it will be for the benefit of those we love.
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