A Hospital Admission During The COVID-19 Pandemic
3rd July 2020, we are just out of the crux of the first wave of a global pandemic that swept through the UK during spring and early summer. It has been a long, grueling four months for the NHS staff dealing with an influx of patients being taken ill from this novel virus.
From a cystic fibrosis (CF) perspective, we were, of course, considered “vulnerable” and advised to stay home shielding. Funny, because I really don’t class myself as vulnerable. Anyhow panic stations begun alarming when the big dogs at the hospital started to advise patients to stay away due to our designated CF ward being used for COVID-19 patients. This highlighted fears that if we were in for treatment, we may just pick it up too.
When It All Started To Go South
I had super pills (oral antibiotics) in reserve at home, I was to start these if I felt unwell. I plodded on with all usual day to day meds, plus a lot of exercise to keep my poorly puffers in check.
I wasn’t too happy when my little lungs stopped playing ball in mid June. I was gutted, well, more breathless than gutted but you get the picture. Two weeks orals, no change. I spoke to my nurse about the latest happening in my lung life. Not to my surprise, she put on her serious voice and told me:
“You should probably come in for some IV’s”
What? No, I don’t want this. I really don’t want this. What about the virus. I persuaded her to let me go on for a third week of orals but it just didn’t cut it. Two lung bleeds later and…
Waving My White Flag
At the end of June I unwillingly gave into the advice. A hospital admission was planned, I usually do my IVs at home but this time I needed to go in to be desensitized to the antibiotics because as it turns out, my body really doesn’t want to play ball.
24hrs Before Admission Day
A COVID-19 test was required to rule out the prospect of me carrying the virus and being asymptomatic. A quick tickle of the old dangling fleshy bits at the back of my throat followed by the same swab stick being fluffed around inside my nose does it. Not as uncomfortable as I had imagined.
I am assured this is procedure is to ensure patients are not slipping through the net onto our reclaimed “covid free” spot in the hospital.
Admission Day Diary
Thursday 2nd July
11am:
Covid test is negative. Relief. I am invited up for just after lunch. I rush around making sure I’ve got enough clean knickers and all my charging wires for my electrical gadgets.
Clearly, the two most important things to have in hospital.
1:20pm:
I arrive, late. I couldn’t get into the hospital through the normal entrance closest to the ward because a “one way” human traffic system is in place. This means; in one end, out the other.
1:30pm:
I am stopped at the correct door by burly men wearing florescent jackets, security tags and buzzing radios — they ask where I am going. Well, this is new. Admission approved, I am at the beginning of the human traffic train and immediately get hit with a sanitize station. Troughs filled with industrial sized bottles of hand alcohol rubs plus signs telling people to use them. Useful but surely obvious? Anyhow, it is another win for the hygiene scale.
I move onto the next station… masks. Everybody is required to wear one at all times. I already had my Cambridge mask secured in place, like a true CF pro and skip through the final threshold. I am in the vicinity.
An NHS appreciation wall adorns the long, brightly lit corridor ahead of the main entrance, it is covered in colourful, rainbow artwork thanking our National Health Service Heroes.
1:45pm:
Walking through the hospital was strange, E-V-E-R-Y-B-O-D-Y is wearing masks, even the admin staff on their breaks.
I arrive at the second floor to spot big, grey scale posters being lit by the florescent lights pinned outside the wards advising - No Visitors. Well, that clears that up.
Another print off, this one laminated, explained what personal protective equipment (PPE) is required and by whom.
2:00pm:
It takes a while to be buzzed into the unit, it is surprisingly quiet for a Thursday afternoon — usually it is bustling with visitors and staff but not this time. On entry, I am met with another sanitize station consisting of alcohol hand gels, surgical masks and much needed “use on entering” sign.
Within seconds my nurse appears wearing a mask and leads me into my private, freshly cleaned room. The set up is the same as normal: fridge, exercise bike, chair, tray table, cabinet, TV, drip stand. No changes here.
2:15pm:
The CF medical team pop in and out all afternoon, the usual shebang of bits and bobs. All are wearing gloves, apron and masks as they normally do in CF care. The only thing that is a bit different from a PPE point of view are the physios — they need to wear full face shields. That’s strange but soon becomes the “norm”. This is the most I have interacted with people since beginning of March, it is feeling a tad taxing.
5pm:
Still waiting on my first IV challenge. I am feeling a little irritated plus h-angry. Low and behold, my IV is hung up at 5:25pm, all goes swimmingly well. Food arrives too. Caterer is wearing a surgical mask, gloves and gown. Food made me feel much more human but incredibly sleepy.
6:30pm:
I fall in to an unplanned but much expected snooze. Dreaming of Saffi (the dog).
8pm:
Woken by an an irate patient throwing things outside my little hospital haven, security are talking him down. Inconsiderate but, meh.
With the green light from my nurse, I pop my Cambridge mask back on and head down to Marks and Sparks situated inside the hospital. Not a soul in sight. No queues. Can not contain my excitement about going into an actual shop. This is a first since the ‘rona lockdown. Hospital is proving to be somewhat entertaining.
Spotted a few bright yellow bargain stickers, I grab a couple and stock up on the hospital snack essentials — cookies & chocolate. All set for the week ahead.
8:45pm:
Strolling back up to the ward, I start to wonder if my accustomed Deliveroo treat will be a thing anymore. Will they even be permitted to enter the hospital?! Fear sets in!
10pm:
Night nurse seems a bit flustered and I do need to remind her to put her mask on once inside my room. I think this was a genuine mistake and I am not too worried by it. IV fluids are hooked up, obs taken and I am set for bed. Night.
Overall Experience
To my surprise, the infection control practices in place were stricter than I anticipated and people were listening to them.
ACCESS: To gain entry to the hospital, you need to pass through security who require evidence of your appointment or reason for being there, after 9pm, you need to buzz an intercom to get in. They are also re-directing any lost A&E patients to the correct entrance to avoid the wandering through the main hospital.
PPE: There was no shortage of PPE and everybody seemed to know exactly what they needed to be wearing. Masks are required to be worn by patients if they go off the ward. There is plenty of hand sanitizer available with sanitize stations set up along corridors throughout the hospital.
VISITOR POLICY: The no visitors policy felt a bit daunting at first but once I spoke to my CF nurse about it, she explained that one visitor per patient was allowed as long as it is the same person visiting throughout the admission.
NEW PATIENTS & COVID: For a planned admission, a COVID test is required 24hrs before admission day. If any new patients attend A&E, they are not admitted into the hospital wards until the COVID tests results are back, this ensures they are not placed in a COVID free ward.
DELIVEROO: Meeting the Deliveroo driver at the entrance to collect your take out is possible. Relief!
Overall my experience of being treated in hospital amidst the COVID-19 pandemic didn’t feel to dissimilar to before. My personal experience was positive, reassuring and safe.
