What keeps you going?

Pt. N is a 50 year old COVID+ patient in the Medical ICU assigned to me in one of my night shifts. He is one of the lucky ones. He's only hooked to a nasal cannula but his outgoing NOD seems to be 'too exhausted' for his shift. True enough, through the glass window of his isolation area, I can see Mr. N weakly removing the medical tapes securing his IV access. "It's gonna be a long night ahead," I told myself. I prepared to call for 'back-up' just in case things get out of hand.

After receiving the endorsements and as if misfortune would have it, Mr. N was successful in removing his IV. "Deep breaths, Paulo. Deep. Breaths." So I went inside his room to assess tonight's battlefield: ECG pads removed from his chest, blood dripping from his IV site, PNSS soiling his bedsheet. After turning off the IV and plastering a cotton and putting pressure on his IV site, I can already feel anger bubbling almost to my neck. It came out in the form of a stern lecture and a question:

"Ano, sir, bakit nyo tinanggal swero nyo?" A slight edge on your words. Relax, Paulo.

"Ayoko na. Uuwi na ako, " he replied, weak but with conviction.

"Mas lalo kayong mahihirapan nyan kapag umuwi kayo." Still, a bit of sharpness remained but a sense of pity started to blanket over my senses.

Trying to look for common ground, I asked Mr. N where he lives.

"Samar. " It's a good start having rendered psychological first aid in a municipality there years ago.

"Malapit kayo sa Quinapondan?" I fished for some familiarity in him.

"Hindi. Ibang lugar."

"Calbayog?"

"Taga dun ka?" he asked inquisitively and a bit of hope for common grounds. Jackpot! I can sense his walls starting to go down, even just for a bit.

"Ah hindi po. Pero nagpunta po kami doon pagkatapos ng Yolanda para tumulong. Nandun pa po ba sa Tacloban yung barko?"

"Oo, nandun pa nga." Then, he smiled. God, that was what I needed to keep this conversation going!

For the first hour, we just talked. Honest to goodness conversation about him, his family, and his condition. Just like any other patients, he was scared. "Para akong kinidnap" were his words. He felt he was powerless in his situation: having tested positive and swooped away from his family.

"Kawawa naman yung asawa ko...Umiiyak sya nung nakausap ko kanina." Here was a man who was willing to give up everything an hour ago but has come back to his senses: a family man.

"Maupay ka."

"Ano po yun? Nakalimutan ko na Waray ko, Tay! Haha!"

"Maupay. Ano parang 'good'."

I know that working in this pandemic can be tiring. Numbing, even. But moments like these warm you from the inside out.

From an agitated, distraught patient an hour ago, Mr. N was more amiable, compliant to orders, and even allowed me to restart his IV (despite multiple attempts. Curse you, fogging faceshield, two layers of gloves, and rusty IV insertion skills). The remainder of the shift was a breeze - no more tantrums, no more pulling of IVs, and he was asleep like a babe. I felt sad that we had to transfer him out of the unit to the ward because, to be honest, he won't be tended to as much as he was being cared for in the ICU. I know this having worked in a service ward of 60-bed capacity a lifetime ago. As I prepared him for his transfer, I bid him good bye hoping he wins this fight against the virus.