A Letter To My Sister, The Nurse Practioner

Hey Jess, 

First of all, thank you for doing what you are doing. I don’t particularly like that you have to risk your life at your job, however, I applaud you for doing it. You are not just a nurse anymore, you are a warrior, in the true sense of what the word actually means. You are fighting for us. 

You must be lonely and sad. You can’t see anyone after work, not your friends, or me or mom and dad. I know, you told me you walk by corpses in the hallway and then put on a full-body suit to see patients who may die at any moment. You could catch what they have. You could die. 

Thank you for doing this, for us. 

I had no idea when I was slapping you around as a kid that you would turn out to be such an amazing woman. I know I was kind of a mean girl to you when we were little, and I am sincerely sorry for this. Remember when we would pull each other’s hair and scratch each other with our nails. We kind of hated each other, didn’t we?

Then I moved away to college and we started to become friends. I remember you called me from college and told me you were going to run away from home with your boyfriend. I told you to stop being an idiot. And then later when I ran away from home to New York, you never once called me an idiot. You understood that I needed help. You helped me.  

And don’t think I don’t remember the times you invited me to live with you, the times I was depressed and needed someone to take care of me. And shopping, how could I forget that a great part of our relationship was based on shopping together. When we were teenagers, and now. And all the times we talk on the phone and bitch about our parents because they are the most hilariously annoying people we have ever met.   

I am crying right now. 

I am crying because you have become my best friend over the past few years. You are the best person I know. You were there for me emotionally every time I needed you, and even financially. You were my biggest support when I had a breast cancer scare and had to get a biopsy. When I got Bariatric surgery. I am privileged and lucky to call you my sister. 

It has never occurred to you to take some time off or just, I don’t know, quit your job right now. Dad even asked you to take some time off, but you said you could not do that. In fact, your father called you one night eleven times and left six messages on your phone to beg you to stop doing this for a little while. But you were not having it. 

I know why. I know that you think your only purpose in life right now is to save people’s lives. It is your mission, one you have been preparing for your entire life. In fact, when you went into this profession, this was always your mission.

You didn’t know there would be a final exam to see if this was really true in the middle of your life. But this is not just your test, this is a test for all of us. This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Can we get through in an emergency without the entire system failing? You, the healthcare workers, are the ones that have not failed us. Again, you have saved us. The rest of the system is questionable.    

I know you and your colleagues are pretty much selfless. I know you are all just trying to keep people alive, even risking your own life to do that job. You told me that other day that they are asking you to wear the same mask for seven days. I asked you if that was OK, “In the past, I would have gotten arrested if I did that,” is what you said.

That makes me mad. 

I know you are not the only one in this fight, I know there are millions of you. I hate to sound so flowery and cliche but you are angels. You are doing god’s work. You are gods in fact, in the sense of what the word actually means. 

Thank you. Thank you, Jessica. Thank you, all of you. I cannot put into words our gratitude.

I cannot articulate our appreciation for the sacrifice you make every single moment of every single day. 

And you don’t even think it is a big deal, do you? You think you are just doing your job. 

Well, we think it is an enormous deal. It is the biggest deal there ever was. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry the world is not giving you the protective gear you need. It is unimaginably horrid. I’m not sure if they can’t get enough supplies or they won’t. But you deserve everything that you are asking for. You deserve better.  

You and your coworkers will save us. In fact, you are the only ones who can. 

I sit in my living room, fighting with your parents, complaining about confinement, while you risk your actual life on a moment by moment basis. 

This is a war. You are a soldier. Whatever you need to win this battle, we have to give it to you. We don’t need to think about it or talk about it. 

I’m talking to the government and the president and any person who can help. I’m talking to all those people sitting in their homes.  

What can they do, they say?

Stay at home. 

Every time we go out of the house when we don’t need to we are killing, actually murdering, health care workers. That blood will be on our hands. 

So I won’t do it.  

And when this is over, the next time I see my doctor or my nurse, I will tell them how much I appreciate what they have done.  I will bow to them if I feel like it. Hug them. Give them flowers. 

They need to know that we know. We know what they are doing. We see you.

We cannot comprehend what you all are doing for us. 

We cannot ever thank you enough. 

You are my hero.

nina

I have been featured in a new blog called, Corona Chronicles, check it out here…