Doctor John Wright tells two love stories from the Coffed-19 Patient Care Department at Bradford Royal Hospital in the UK, the first about a patient marrying his fiancée hours before his death, and the other about the nurse’s difficult decision to live away from her four-year-old child until The epidemic crisis is over.
These are not normal days but rather days when feelings of fear and loneliness increase, but also exceptional love increases.
When the newly qualified nurse, Sophie Bryant Miles, started her night shift work in the Corona Patient Department, she was told that a young man with multiple health problems, as well as an unconfirmed virus infection in their ward, was not expected to survive as he was receiving Now a treatment for pain relief only.
Also, accompanied by him, a woman wore all necessary personal protective equipment: two gloves, an apron, a face mask and a hat.
She is his fiancée 15 years ago, who had told hospital staff that they had not had a wedding because of lack of money and time. Life has constantly stirred them.
It was a painful contrast between love and death, but it gave birth to something very beautiful of it. Nurse Sophie called the hospital chaplain Joe Felder, and asked him if he could marry the couple immediately.
Sophie recounts what happened
Joe said that he could not do it now legally, but that he could do something similar to and close to what usually happens in rituals of the marriage contract, and complete them; they are able to repeat some sentences behind him such as “accepted to marry him / her”, and nothing but us will separate us Etc.
Everything was achievable except that the place is a hospital rather than a church.
The priest attended, and we made two seals of tin foil, and we also called the patient’s daughter over the phone to see it with sound and video.
It was a really great service, and it was a great atmosphere, as he provided notebooks with the names of all the hymns and prayers we echo.
The fiancée fully understood the fact that we all had to wear full protective clothing and the patient also had to wear a face mask, and despite all that, they were surprisingly excited about what was happening.
Joe was on the alert, looking like he was sweating.
We took a photo of them afterwards, at their will. We tried to make it look like a real wedding as much as possible, and we gave them the cake too.
The fiancée knew perfectly well that these were the last hours of her fiancé’s life, and I think that was the last thing they felt they could achieve together, so at least they would have this last memory together.
And the priest adds, Joe, I think we all were crying
His health report confirmed that he would not live until the morning, and in front of him for a few hours, so I performed a service and ritual celebration of obligations that were very similar to the church wedding service.
The patient did his best to repeat the words, but he was suffering from difficulty breathing. His partner also did her best to repeat the words, but she did so with tears pouring down her cheeks, and the family was smiling and crying at the same time.
And all this was done and everyone wore complete personal protective equipment, it was a very imaginary night. At least, this patient will die knowing that he repeated these words of commitment to his fiancée, and his family will know that he died after he did it.
His partner was very grateful for everything that happened, it was an opportunity for her fiancé to crown and hear her fiancée words of commitment to the marriage pact as well.
I just wanted to play my part in dealing with people with dignity, and help them feel like they are being cared for, cared for, and loved. I am so grateful for this opportunity to help them celebrate their love in this way.
It is too early to speak to the wife and son about how they felt at the hospital – the funeral service had not yet taken place – but they agreed to publish their story.
Professor John Wright is a physician and infectious disease specialist, president of the Bradford Institute for Medical Research, and an expert on cholera, HIV and Ebola in sub-Saharan Africa.
Director of the Covid Patient Division 19, Jenny Marshall Hamad, found out when she woke up the next morning.
Her feeling was mixed with joy and sorrow, a feeling of pride in her team and a bitter feeling of the patient’s death in just hours.
Four weeks ago, shortly before her son Zaidi’s birthday, she entrusted his care to her mother, knowing that they would parture for a while.
Jenny’s mother is in the category of people most at risk of contracting the virus, because of Jenny’s work in caring for those infected with Covid-19. A number of her fellow nurses also fell ill. Therefore, she could not risk transmitting the virus to her mother, instead, she handed her baby over to her to live with her, devoted her life to working in the hospital and doing as many hours as possible to care for Covid patients 19.
I feel I have a responsibility to be here and to give everything I can to the team at this particular time,” she says.
But this is the utmost sacrifice the mother of a young child may make, and my question has cried when she expects to embrace her son Zaidi again.
Here she explains what the true dimension means to a four-year-old mother and child:
Every day we have conversations, hugs, and kisses online, but the mother’s worst nightmare is her inability to kiss her baby before bed and see him only on the phone.
I did not see him face to face for three weeks, and I did not think he would understand it. I was visiting my mother and watching him from the window, without feeling there.
After three weeks, I was overwhelmed and no longer able to bear it. I spent many times on the phone explaining to him about the necessity of moving away from each other in a way that suits his understanding, and he was good and understanding, and until now, I have seen him three times.
And his birthday was the hardest of all, because I couldn’t even touch him, I even saw him from behind the door of the greenhouse garden.
My mom had drawn chalk line in a corner and taught him that it was not allowed to cross the line; we used to call her joking in the dirty corner.
Fortunately, it was Easter, so we clowned and watched how he was looking for Easter eggs, and he was very happy to find all those eggs made of chocolate, but he did not know it was his birthday. We will celebrate greatly when this crisis ends.
Zaidi feels comfortable and happy with my mother, because he is always used to staying with her during my absence at work.
He knows that his mother works to help the poor, and that she may carry germs that harm him, so he must stay with his grandmother to keep her safe and healthy.
But the need to keep a distance is very difficult.
At Bradford Royal Hospital, we have adapted to the height of the epidemic and are dealing with it well.
But none of us knows when the crisis will end.