It ended as it began, with a sense of uncertainty, a feeling of danger just around the corner, and an urgent desire to step into self-protect mode.
2020 was the International Year of the Nurse and Midwife, but will no doubt be written into the history books as a year that everyone wished they could forget. It was the year of disaster – unpleasant surprises, unwanted lifestyle changes, the year of grief and loss, and of one bad news story after another.
In our family, it started with the bushfire season which was one of Australia’s worst ever. RFS firefighting deployments began in late August, and it was a long, hot summer of pager calls, long days and nights, and waiting for the next assignment. I spent a night in December waiting for the dreaded knock on my door after receiving a text from my husband with a photo of the Nerriga firestorm, and a message saying his crew were preparing for a burnover. For hours on end I waited for some news, truly believing that this time he wasn’t coming home. His phone was either out of range, or no longer useable. I was so relieved when he returned the next day, covered in soot, ash and that unmistakeable smell of bushfire smoke. We had no idea that things would get much worse before they would get better.
New Year’s Eve was a warm summer evening that developed into a thick, choking smoky night. My parents were in danger on the south coast, and my husband was out on fire duty, while I tried hard to remain calm and checked my phone for news every five minutes. The firefighting continued for many weeks, I put on my RFS uniform and helped with shifts of community liaison and supporting our crews at the shed. We watched the country burn, and listened to stories of family and friends that lost properties and livestock. The rain finally came in late February, and finally we thought there was a chance to rest and recover.
In March COVID-19 reared it’s ugly head, and the downhill slide into 2020 continued. At work our team rapidly pivoted, adopted telehealth, packed kits of PPE and changed from everyday workwear into scrubs. We worked from home when we could, but there was no doubt our clinical work was going to increase rather than slow down. We planned how to decontaminate after each shift to protect our homes and those we loved. In addition to my clinical workload, there were now multiple COVID-19 committees with meeting after meeting on WebEX, Zoom, Teams. We knew we were in for the long haul. I was exhausted before we began.
July and August were bleak. It was cold, dark and miserable. We shed tears for two very special people in our lives. Uncle was in his late 90’s, and was tired. We were sad, but not surprised when he decided it was time to stop taking the medicines that kept him alive but were failing to improve the quality of each day. Rhonda’s death came as a total shock, and we grieved this very sudden loss hard. She was my second mother, my lifeline when the children were small and I was navigating new marriage and motherhood, and one of my best friends as I grew into adulthood. She was the person who was always there to help out, the reliable person in a crisis, the one you thought would always be there to make a cup of tea and have a chat. She was at every birthday, every special occassion, every Christmas. Life goes on, but we are changed irrevocably.
Both my parents had bilateral knee replacements in 2020, Mum in February and Dad in November. Both had complications with blood clots, and delayed recovery. Usually active, busy and energetic, they have been forced to slow down and are struggling a little. It comes as a shock when you realise your parents are entering old age and you are reminded that they won’t be here forever.
During the year I sat with so many people who were facing loss and grief. I held the hands of the dying and listened to their stories. Every day there was something new to learn, a different challenge to face. While the world seemed to come to a standstill with lockdowns, COVID-19 and a sense of continuously waiting for the next outbreak, care of the dying continued and was made much more difficult by having to navigate border and travel exemptions and visiting restrictions.
I sought comfort in my family, my home, Molly the Wonderdog, and Wonkykitty. My grandchildren reminded me that new life and new energy are always just around the corner when you think things are at their worst. I learned to bake sourdough. I relearned crochet, and used it to relax at night and to keep me awake while watching Netflix. It gave me a sense of purpose, as each item I made was being gifted to someone I loved. It forced me to slow down, to sit, to temporarily lose myself in colour, texture, patterns. It grounded me.
2020 ended with a whooshing in my ears and dangerously high blood pressure that involved an emergency visit to a doctor, tests and medicine. This time I was frightened for myself. It was a wake up call that I need to focus on self-care. My resolution for 2021 is to excercise, eat well and slow down enough to take time to spend with family and friends, to smell the roses, to bake more sourdough, and keep crocheting. It’s time to enjoy the simple things in life.