Tackling Ebola on the front line is an emotional experience, but I’m glad I’m here, writes British Red Cross nurse Marjorie Lee.
Am I a hero? Not for one minute. I’m just somebody helping somebody else. And people here in Sierra Leone, as in Guinea and Liberia, need our help.
I arrived two weeks ago. The first thing that strikes you is how incredibly friendly people are. Everyone you pass says “hello” or “how are you?”
The manager of our hotel in Freetown kept thanking me for coming. He hasn’t left the hotel compound in weeks, he’s too afraid to go out. He sends people out on errands to get him things.
It’s a telling indication of just how scared people are. There’s also a feeling among Sierra Leoneans that they’ve been ignored, that the world has forgotten about them and they’re having to deal with Ebola on their own. Help should have come a lot sooner.
No room for error
The journey to the Red Cross treatment centre, in Kenema, took six hours by road from Freetown. We passed through 15 checkpoints along the way. At each one you have to get your temperature checked.
My first few days at the centre were a steep learning curve. There was a lot of information to take on board quickly. There’s absolutely no room for error.
We’re getting more and more patients – the numbers have doubled since I arrived. We need more nurses and more resources.
You get to know the patients; they’re no different to you and I. Of course they’re frightened, you can see it in their faces. They don’t know what’s going to happen to them. They see other patients with Ebola dying, children as well. It’s incredibly sad.
How do you console a mother who has just lost her child to Ebola? There’s not much you can say. It’s hard to deal with and the sight of a mother weeping over the death of her baby is not something I’m going to forget quickly.
You have to maintain a level of detachment. I jog and do yoga, these are my coping mechanisms. It’s not easy to be here and bear witness to these things.
But on the other side, it’s wonderfully uplifting when patients learn they don’t have Ebola. I’ve only had the pleasure of telling one woman she didn’t have the disease. She was a suspected case and when I told her she didn’t have Ebola, well, her smile was something else.
Life as a nurse
I always introduce myself to the patients. They’re not intimidated by the protective gear. A fence separates patients from the health workers. We talk over the fence.
In the mornings, the local nurses sing their hymns and say their prayers. The patients stand along the fence and join in. We’re all part of the same thing, the same fight.
Whenever anyone goes into the patient areas, they must wear personal protective equipment (PPE). You have to be so careful when you put on the gear. It does weigh upon my mind. Is there a hole? Have I missed something?
The moment you have that costume on, you don’t breathe the same way. I check myself in the mirror and a colleague checks me over. I write my name on the hood and write the time I enter the treatment areas.
You can only spend 45 minutes to an hour max in the costumes, temperatures can reach up to 45 degrees.
I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ll admit to feeling more than a little nervous before flying out. But now I’m here, I’m so glad I came.
My deployment is for a month initially, but I know they need more people, particularly over Christmas. Ebola isn’t going to stop for Christmas, so nor will we.