Getting Through the Days Without Visits
Since the beginning of the Lunar New Year, the hospital's anti-epidemic measures have been raised to the emergency response level. To reduce cross-infection from the flow of people, and except where special arrangements have been approved in individual cases, the wards have put a “no visitors” policy into effect. Consequently, in addition to coping with their daily nursing duties, ward colleagues also have to receive family members outside the ward door, explain the patient's condition, and exchange the soup or vacuum flasks, food, messages and items brought in ... and so on. Although the hospital already provides video visits by telephone, these are often not as heart-warming as meeting face to face, gently stroking a relative's hand and saying a word of greeting.
In the convalescent ward, we often saw an elderly couple who came every day to visit their son, who had long been bedridden. Although their son had long since had no consciousness or response, they never missed a day, washing him down, applying moisturiser, wiping his saliva and massaging him ... and so on. Their love for their son moved all who saw it. Sometimes they would sit quietly beside their son's bed reading the newspaper or chatting, asking only for a moment of companionship; the daily visit had long since become a habit and an emotional anchor in their lives.
Both husband and wife were professionals, and they understood that the measures were, after all, unavoidable. But emotion won out over reason: every week, when they brought the nappies to the ward, they would always plead earnestly:
“I won't ask for much — I just want to look at him from a distance for a moment.” So close, and yet a door keeps them worlds apart; it is not a matter of enduring a few days — it may well be counted in months! My colleagues said a video call could be arranged, but they replied frankly: “Our son can't even speak ...” Truly, it made the heart ache to hear it.
The ward tried to balance reason and feeling: we took time out to act as presenters, broadcasting the little moments of their son on video, reporting the details of the process and his physical condition on the spot, and capturing a smile or even a small yawn from the patient. Though there was no sound of their beloved son, the precious images were enough to comfort his parents' longing for a while. The sense of presence that comes from touching someone in person still cannot be replaced; our only wish is that the end of the pandemic may be in sight, and that once visits resume, the day this family is reunited again will be the day the ward once more brims with family affection and warm scenes.