Sarah Blake LaRose

I watched an interview with a doctor this evening in which he said that one of the most difficult things for him about all the COVID cases was that his patients could not see who was treating them. My reaction was to feel anger at all the times Kevin and I have been in the hospital and had to explain why simply having a sign on the door stating “PATIENT IS BLIND” was inadequate. I learned recently that the sign is always on the door anyway, along with our additional request: “Please knock and identify yourself when entering.”

The reason we object to the sign is not because we wish to hide our blindness. It is because staff are not properly equipped with knowledge about how to respond when simply presented with the fact of blindness. To many people, it means we are at risk of falling when we stand on our legs, even if we are otherwise mobile. It generates excessive inappropriate touching, tight elbow-grabbing as staff perceive that we are about to go down, when they should be observing to see how we are truly navigating or allowing us to gently take their arm for guidance.

One staff member decided, upon my admission, to conduct an exam for open wounds and began to undress me without my permission. Blindness, to her, meant that I was not capable of undressing myself or putting on a hospital gown.

Our requests for instructions on the sign provide staff with clear instructions regarding how to interact with us, not a fact that will present them with further anxiety and confusion. If staff were trained in these basic behaviors and did not assume that all patients would simply take visual comfort from seeing their faces and badges, there might be much more calm today when they relate as masked professionals to infected and isolated patients.

“Hello, [patient]. I’m [doctor X.]. I’m here to help you today. Is it ok if I [give you some medicine], [take your temperature]? I need to [do xxx] to help your breathing.”

[Hi, [patient]. [I’m [nurse Y]. I’ll be here until xxx time.” We always find it very calming to know who the nurses are and when they change shift.

We always ask staff to speak to us, even if we appear to be sleeping. Both of us are light sleepers and it is disturbing to think that we heard someone in the room and did not know what they were doing. If someone has come in and quietly said, “It’s the nurse. I’m just getting your vitals,” we go right back to sleep.

I think my most peaceful moment occurred when I was struggling with bronchitis and a respiratory therapist came in while I was trying to sleep. She said very gently, “I’m Angie. Just keep sleeping. I’m going to put some medicine in your CPAP.” I never knew she could connect the medication directly to my CPAP, and when I felt it going in I felt soothed to my soul. I never knew when she left the room.

I hope this post is helpful to hospital staff as you navigate this new situation. I am certain it is terrifying to try to connect emotionally with terrified patients who cannot see you. I want you to know that it can be done. These two people have already been terrified patients who cannot see you, and some of you have related exceedingly well. Please take heart and learn [and keep] new practices that will benefit everyone you see for the rest of your careers. Kevin and I are praying for all of you across the world.

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