Coronavirus

In an ICU on Thanksgiving, gratitude is measured in lives saved from a relentless virus

Registered nurse Kat Phillips cares for a Covid patient in the Medical Intensive Care Unit (MICU) at UNC Hospital in Chapel Hill on Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, Nov. 26, 2020.
Registered nurse Kat Phillips cares for a Covid patient in the Medical Intensive Care Unit (MICU) at UNC Hospital in Chapel Hill on Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, Nov. 26, 2020. ssharpe@newsobserver.com

There is no turkey and dressing in the feeding tubes. No smell of pumpkin pie in the oxygen masks.

On this Thanksgiving Day, like every other day for the past many months, the goal of the gracious hosts is simply the survival of their guests. There are no football games, no sports on the many screens — instead life and death is measured in heartbeats and those very precious breaths.

And the guests keep coming as the number of COVID-19 patients in N.C. hospitals continues to surge to record levels — 1,811 as of Wednesday, according to the Department of Health and Human Services. (DHHS did not update the numbers on Thursday.)

And the nurses and doctors and therapists and specialists keep working, 12-hour shifts or longer, trying to hold back COVID-19, all the while fending off the repeated blows of their own emotional and physical stress, living the ups and downs of their patients, and their own families.

Emily Howarth and husband Brian, both registered nurses at UNC Medical Center, worked the Thanksgiving shift in the medical intensive care unit together. “If you have to work a pandemic, it helps to work with your partner,” Emily said.

Registered nurse Emily Howarth works the Thanksgiving Day shift caring for Covid patients in the Medical Intensive Care Unit at UNC Hospital along with husband Brian, also a nurse.
Registered nurse Emily Howarth works the Thanksgiving Day shift caring for Covid patients in the Medical Intensive Care Unit at UNC Hospital along with husband Brian, also a nurse. Scott Sharpe ssharpe@newsobserver.com

“There are no holiday’s during COVID,” Brian added. “If you don’t bring your A-game every day, this job will roll you over.”

On Thanksgiving Day, the Howarths and others working in the MICU passed an endless flow of doses of medication instead of the green bean casserole, and took calls from worried families instead of laughing with their own, even on awkward Zoom calls.

The many thanks today are for those next heartbeats, those next breaths, those opening eyes.

The dream for everyone in these halls, in these sterile rooms, in their alien-like protective gear, is to return home, to wear a mask, to simply wash their hands, perhaps even to argue at their family tables about politics or sports, rather than fighting for their lives and the lives of others.

This story was originally published November 26, 2020 at 1:41 PM.

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