“It was at the beginning of an evening shift. One of the nurses in the new COVID-19 ward we had opened came to work after a few hours of time at home. ‘Afraid of me? Do you think I’m contagious?’ she asked.
The staff members in our COVID-19 ward, like the other COVID-19 wards in the country, had been instructed that they were forbidden to walk around the rest of the hospital. They had to adhere to the hospital’s pods.
I didn’t know what to say. How can I face that nurse and try to explain to her that going home to see her family and the children is fine, but that at the hospital, she can’t hop over into another ward? If we trust the preventative system that ensures us a routine outside the hospital, why can’t we act the same way inside it?
At that moment, I made a decision. If the COVID-19 ward staff is allowed to go home, they’re also allowed to wander between hospital wards and congregate in common areas. It was not an easy decision, but as a manager, I knew I was responsible for the resilience of the teams who were working so hard.
The month the pandemic began was also my first month directing the hospital (I initially served as deputy for a short period). We opened the COVID-19 ward at the beginning of the crisis. It wasn’t required for a rehabilitative hospital to open a COVID-19 ward. Many of the operations in the ward are conducted remotely, but can anyone imagine treating a rehabilitative and geriatric person remotely? Feeding them remotely, or supporting the patient as he or she walks down the hall?
So our team felt refreshed handling emergency care; we put on hazmat suits, worked in shifts and kept doing what we know to do best: provide dedicated, personalized care. The Ministry of Health’s guidelines restricting family members’ visits created anxiety among my staff: how would they maintain their patients’ moods?
So I decided to allow visits, refining the guidelines. I trust that the families who come will do their best to not infect their relatives.
We cared for patients. But who will take care of the medical professionals? When MAOZ called to ask if we needed help strengthening the team’s resilience, I realized this was our mission. In examining our resilience index as a hospital, we were in a pretty good place. But my heart skipped a beat when I thought of one disturbing factor: a relatively low score in the dimension of support and solidarity.
The staff in the COVID-19 ward signaled that they felt separated and alone; that the hospital didn’t see them. They felt disconnected from the rest of the hospital, and the rest of the hospital felt disconnected from them. That was enough for me to understand that action had to be taken.
We decided that for two hours, all the hospital staff, no matter what ward they belonged to, would have to work with full hazmat suit protection. Just like the COVID-19 ward staff does every day.
The very next day, all hospital wards started the work day in full hazmat suits: the medical staff, the nursing staff, the support staff – and me. We asked everyone to take a photograph of themselves in their suits and share how they felt. They felt hot, clumsy and stressed; even the air conditioner didn’t help. But the message was clear: we’re all in this boat – not just one department. And we can’t allow ourselves to forget that.
The other benefit of this experience was that suddenly, the hospital workers realized that the simple cloth mask they had been required to wear at all times is nothing compared to a full hazmat suit; in fact, it was barely noticeable.
With this small step, we all disconnected for a moment from our personal difficulties, and we were able to think of someone else and identify with his or her difficulties
I can already imagine the day after COVID-19: we’ll return the hazmat suits to the closets; maybe we’ll even take off our masks. Only one thing will remain: a team that managed to produce solidarity in a difficult time. And this sentiment will stay with us, even for the challenges ahead.”