I seriously thought June was going to be my month. Yeah... apparently someone up there looked at my plans and said, "Not today." I was so excited. Just a few more days of work and then a whole week off. My garden was waiting for me. New flowers, new plants, sunshine, fresh air... and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of color on my vampire-white skin. Don’t worry, I learned my lesson about sunscreen the hard way.
But nope. Life had other plans.
Working in healthcare means you see a lot of things. And when I say a lot, I mean A LOT.
Last week started perfectly. Great team, great mood, four workdays ahead, and I was sure they would pass quickly and peacefully. What a stupid thought.
The first few hours were normal. Morning care, getting residents ready for breakfast, the usual routine. Then things started getting... weird.
I walked into the first room. Brown. Second room? Brown. Bed, floor, clothes... brown everywhere.
My coworker came looking for help. "Mine too," she said. A few minutes later another coworker arrived. Same problem. Then the fourth one. Same thing.
At this point we were all standing there wondering if somebody had secretly served expired pudding to the entire floor. We called the other floors. Nothing. Only our floor.
What the hell?
We started searching for explanations. Maybe food? Maybe those sour cherries relatives had brought? But not everyone ate them. Nothing made sense.
The residents kept having what I will politely call a brown liquid party. Every. Single. Hour.
Then the vomiting started. One resident became so sick that we sent her to the hospital for testing. Four hours later? Sent right back. Apparently they found nothing.
Okay then.
The next day was exactly the same. Twelve hours of cleaning, changing clothes, changing beds, disinfecting everything, and trying not to lose our minds. Meanwhile more residents started getting sick. Still no tests. Apparently it was "probably food." Sure. Because food magically affects only one floor of a building.
By day three we were begging for someone to investigate properly. Nope. Soup, black tea, pills, and isolation in their rooms. That was the plan.
By day four some residents were improving, but new ones were getting sick. And one lady became extremely ill. She couldn’t keep anything down. Her oxygen saturation dropped below 77.
We immediately called an ambulance and informed her son, who is her legal guardian. His response? "Wait, I’m coming first." So the ambulance was cancelled.
I was already speechless.
He arrived, looked at her, and said he would call a doctor and pick up some pills. Pills. For a woman who looked like she was about to collapse.
She became pale, started shaking, developed a fever, and was clearly in pain. We called him again. Please let us send her to the hospital. "Wait, I’m coming with pills."
ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!
When he finally arrived, my coworker explained that even with oxygen her saturation was only 85. Then he asked my coworker if she thought his mother should go to the hospital.
Sir. We tried to do that hours ago. You said no.
Eventually he agreed. No shit, Sherlock.
I still can’t believe people like this exist.
But honestly, that wasn’t even the worst part. Because I knew exactly what was coming next.
My first day off arrived. I woke up and immediately started running to the toilet. Every few minutes. For three days straight.
At one point it would have been easier to move my bed into the bathroom. I survived on tea and black bread, probably lost two kilos, and felt completely exhausted.
And tomorrow? Back to work. Because, as always, I only get sick when I’m finally free.
Every coworker who worked those four days with me got sick too.
Guess what? Yeah... Norovirus...
But hey... one more week. One freaking week. And then vacation starts. And hopefully, finally, I’ll get to finish my garden.
Stay healthy, people.
And if there’s a virus going around... wear the damn mask.
With love, 