Holding On: A Theatre Nurse’s Story from the COVID Pandemic

The Days We Became COVID Nurses

There are days when I still think about life before everything shifted. Back when the OR had rhythm. I knew the flow by heart — prepping instruments, checking sterile packs, reviewing the surgical list. It was demanding, but predictable. The OR felt like home, a place where focus and teamwork created a kind of quiet confidence.

Then COVID arrived, and that steady world changed almost overnight. Elective surgeries stopped. Lights stayed dim. Protocols changed faster than we could memorize them. The familiar sounds of the OR were replaced by the hiss of ventilators and the rustle of isolation gowns. Fear had a sound, and suddenly it was everywhere.

One day we were OR nurses. The next, we were COVID nurses. Redeployed to ICUs and COVID wards, stepping into roles we never trained for but had no choice but to learn. The virus was invisible, but it felt present in every hallway, every surface, every breath. We were scared, but someone had to walk into those rooms. So we did.

Living with Fear During COVID

Fear became part of our uniform. Fear of getting infected. Fear of bringing it home. Fear of missing a step in a role we were still learning. It wasn’t occasional — it was constant.

What helped was honesty. We stopped pretending we were fine. We admitted when we were scared. We cried in supply rooms and empty hallways. We reminded each other that fear wasn’t weakness — it was proof of how deeply we cared.

PPE shortages made everything worse. One mask had to last for days. The straps dug into our skin and left marks long after we got home. Still, we showed up. Showing up became our version of courage.

Small Moments That Stayed

Some moments will stay with me forever. A young patient admitted alone, terrified, struggling to breathe. No visitors. No family. Just us.

I sat by her bedside, gloved hand wrapped around hers, speaking through layers of PPE. I stayed until her breathing slowed and stopped. That moment broke something open inside me, but it also reminded me why compassion sits at the center of nursing. Even when we couldn’t change the outcome, we could make sure someone didn’t leave this world feeling alone.

Coping in Our Own Ways

To survive those days, we found comfort wherever we could. Food became a love language. Someone brought pastries. Someone else brought coffee. Chocolate appeared in pockets like tiny lifelines.

We’d gather in the break room for a few minutes, masks lowered just long enough to eat, share a joke, or breathe. It wasn’t really about the food — it was about feeling human again.

Tiny Acts of Self‑Care

Self‑care felt impossible at first. But slowly, we learned it didn’t have to be big. It could be a deep breath before entering the ward. A stretch after hours on our feet. A minute of fresh air outside the hospital doors. A quiet prayer before bed.

Those tiny acts didn’t erase the exhaustion, but they reminded us we were still ourselves beneath the scrubs and PPE.

Teamwork and Silent Promises

What carried us through was each other. Teamwork stopped being a concept and became survival. Emily wrote small reminders on the whiteboard before shifts: Drink water. You are enough.

Sometimes it was just a look across the hall. A nod. A tired half‑smile that said: I see you. I’m with you.

We improvised when supplies ran low. Shared tips as protocols changed. Stepped in when someone needed a moment to breathe. None of it was perfect, but it was real — and it kept us standing.

What We Learned After Facing the COVID Pandemic

Being a COVID nurse changed more than our job descriptions — it changed us. The lessons weren’t just clinical. They were human.

We learned that compassion isn’t only for patients — it’s for ourselves and each other. We learned that self‑care isn’t optional — it’s what keeps us going. We learned that teamwork doesn’t divide the load — it multiplies strength.

Most of all, we learned that courage isn’t the absence of fear. Courage is walking into the ward anyway.

Moving Forward After COVID

Life feels calmer now, but the quiet doesn’t erase what came before. The memories still sit in the corners of our minds — the sound of ventilators, the fog on our face shields, the way days blurred into one long shift.

But what lingers more than anything are the human moments: shared laughter in the break room, a hand on a trembling shoulder, a soft check‑in spoken through a mask. Those were our lifelines.

We shifted from surgical precision to survival mode. And somehow, through heartbreak and exhaustion, we found each other in the middle of it all. It wasn’t policies or protocols that kept us standing — it was compassion.

If you’re a nurse reading this, whatever you felt — or still feel — is valid. You are not alone. Reaching out for help is not weakness. It’s wisdom.

If you’re not a nurse but chose to read this, thank you for seeing the humans behind the masks.

Helpful Resources

• What Does an Operating Room Nurse Do
• WHO Guidelines for COVID‑19

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