PPE: Isolation in the Name of Protection?

Since the COVID-19 pandemic, Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) of blue nitrile gloves, yellow polypropylene gowns, N95 masks and transparent (yet obscuring) face shields have become more ingrained in the protective protocols that we see today in the hospital. Anyone who lived in the thick of the pandemic remembers the ritual of masking as we exited our homes and stepped out into the world. Contact precautions inspired our fear of contracting the virus, so we donned our masks, stayed inside, attended school and worked online. We became recluses, avoiding social interaction in the name of health and survival.

Apart from its viral pathogenesis, COVID was a social disease that changed how we interacted with one another and connected as humans. The PPE, though a medical necessity at such a time, created even more distance between the patients who suffered and the people who cared for them.

The reality of social barriers created by PPE are explored in Meg Veerres’ short story “Touch Me,” where the aging protagonist-poet suffers alone in a cold, empty hospital room, yearning for a comforting touch. In the story, the nurses and doctors who whisk into the room are heavily clothed in PPE, taking only a moment to address the patient on their sickbed. Veerres writes, “They mumble among themselves and mispronounce my name,” furthering the sense of disconnect in which the patient becomes a mere clinical body, regarded only for its medical knowledge. In this unaware, negligent violence, the patient’s humanity is lost.

The poet laments, “No one else will touch me without the gloves. Everyone is afraid of me.” This brings us to consider what type of environment we create in the process of healing, especially at the level of hospital-administered care. In a place that offers health care, who tends to the human soul, offering comfort where traditional medicine reaches its inevitable limitations?

And yet, a golden moment- a frail moment of hope blooms when the hospital housekeeper walks into the room, bringing with her life. The cold, sterile room is filled with two people. Loneliness and desperation melts the poet’s shame, bringing them to lie: “Did you know… did you know I tell fortunes?” The lie becomes a bid for connection.

The woman, unafraid, sits next to the poet, letting her palm be traced. The poet-prophet foretells a brilliant fate, adorned with the wisdom and stories of comfort the poet’s parents had said long ago. It’s a beautiful moment of intimacy where the poet assures the woman that all is well, and will be well. Veerres writes, “She explained her problems and I listened. My eyelids sagged but one last ounce of will trussed them open, not daring to squander the moment.” It was the woman’s open, kindly response that had meant the world. The poet was not alone in that moment; for to be seen is to be known and met with tenderness. Veerres writes, “We talked. I kept tight hold of her hand.”

The comfort that the woman gives works in ways that the gowned, gloved, silent and eye-averting medical team were unable to create. This is a moment when the patient is recognized as human, opening the door for connection. Together, they examine the woman’s grievances, offering space for her story - her humanity - and offering hope. Though not themselves comforted, the poet offers comfort and in turn, shares in its warmth.

Veerres story shows how the act of kindness works as a salve for loneliness. The poet transcends the disempowered, confined sickbed, and becomes a whimsical reader of the future, filled with the knowledge of life. Faced with the limitations of a failing human body, the patient’s last words perhaps speak to a greater need to be addressed within the administration of hospital, end-of-life care: “I hope that someone, anyone, will remove one glove and hold my hand before I die.” A yearning only pacified by the warmth of genuine connection- the humanizing, gentle touch of a hand offering intangible, immeasurable comfort in the face of suffering and death.

- Tabitha H.

Contributors: Sophia Z., Emily S., Kai N.