With ringing in a new year comes a time of reflection and, normally, a ton of gratitude. Today hits a little different. I’m still thankful for a ton (I got married this year, after all!), but professionally, it’s been nothing short of brutal. A few days in particular stand out most; each one feels simultaneously like yesterday and forever ago. My top five, in chronological order:

1. February 28, 2020: The day I was quarantined. I had returned from a trip to Rome four days prior when our company issued a new policy: any recent travel to Asia or Italy would warrant 14 days of self-isolation. Even though I’d been back at work all week, I was out of luck (being away from the community for so long is my nightmare). Our weekend in Italy was coincidentally that of their infamous outbreak, and truthfully the first time I’d ever really heard about/looked into COVID-19.
2. March 11, 2020: The day we decided to ban visitors in our community. It wouldn’t have been right to make it effective immediately in case anyone planned on showing up that afternoon, but we knew time was of the essence. We stayed late that night to call every single family member and alert them of the precautions we’d be taking, effective the very next day. One of my favorite residents had dinner plans with her son that evening but wasn’t in the mood to go out (it was freezing!). I begged her to take the opportunity, explaining that I didn’t know the next time they’d be able to see each other in person. To this day, I’m so glad she went.. and grateful for the others that took my advice and snuck in one last embrace. We knew the ban wouldn’t be as short as they were predicting (two weeks, HAH!), but we could’ve never anticipated it’d last this long.
3. March 12, 2020: The day of our COVID-19 open forum. It ended up becoming the first of weekly update meetings (though those were in much smaller groups and at a safe distance), but we hadn’t yet stopped large gatherings – little did we know, it’d be the last time we were all together. I remember typing up a coronavirus FAQ list to distribute and it was the first time most residents had ever even heard the word. They had questions, I did my best to provide answers, and we were all a combination of scared/confused/aggravated/skeptical.
4. April 8, 2020: The day of our first positive. I’ll never forget answering that call from the hospital. A resident had gone out for seemingly unrelated symptoms, so when they called and told me “the test was positive” my immediate response was, “What test?!” As if life hadn’t changed enough in four short weeks, the rug was really pulled from under us on April 8^th.
5. April 10, 2020: The day of the FaceTime funeral. One of my residents lost her adult son suddenly (unrelated to COVID), and her poor family couldn’t even grieve appropriately. From what I recall, only eight people could attend his services, and bringing their mom in the midst of an outbreak was not a risk they were willing to take (I still don’t blame them). I helped her join them via FaceTime and it was nothing short of devastating.

Wow, my most memorable days (professionally, at least) all happened in the span of a month and a half. The rest of 2020 has been a complete blur – a terrifying, sad, helpless, rollercoaster of a blur.

This month, I had the pleasure of (virtually) sitting down with Joshua Crisp and Lucas McCurdy, co-hosts of Bridge the Gap. The senior living podcast aims to help shape the culture of the industry by being an advocate and positive voice of influence. Hearing about their mission and values was like music to my ears, so when they asked me to join them for an episode, I was ecstatic. Full interview (which is about more than our wedding, I promise ;)) in the attached video!

On September 20th, in front of our families and closest friends, my now husband (!!) and I were married. Being engaged as an assisted living administrator (me) & physician (him) during a global pandemic was the worst. Cancelling our dream wedding in Italy (and the ceremony at my ALF for the residents) was the worst. Pulling a small domestic wedding together last minute was the worsttt – I even half hoped my weekly swab would come back positive so we could nix it and secretly elope. 😉 But that day.. it was the best.

My residents couldn’t be there, but in true form I took no time off (sorry husband) and showing them photos the following week was the [second] best. I laminated them and disinfected in between suite visits, of course. Along the way, I solicited some marital advice that was too good not to share:

1. First and foremost, put the ring on the correct finger at the altar (I at first thought this one was funny, until I learned I had to wear my engagement ring on my right hand down the aisle!)
2. The classic “never go to bed angry”; make sure to hash things out before you go to sleep, even if it keeps you up late
3. When you have children, remember that your spouse was there first 
4. Speaking of children, wear a girdle immediately after you give birth. Oh, and lay on your stomach as much as possible, “even when you eat dinner”.
5. Marry someone whose interests are similar to yours
6. However, if you want to do something and your spouse doesn’t, make sure you do it anyway – even if it’s without them. Be sure to keep your own identity, as well.
7. Be a united front to your kids, even if you disagree
8. Never do your husband’s laundry. If you start and do it once, you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life.
9. Don’t give up and throw in the towel when it gets hard, because it undoubtedly will
10. It’s not always going to be 50/50; make sure to compromise

Noted. ❤

Just when I thought the ever-evolving COVID directives were as outrageous as they could possibly be, this month’s reached a whole new level. To put it lightly, September’s road blocks made August’s essential caregiver nonsense seem reasonable. While those who already had and recovered from the virus were previously exempt from re-testing, they’re now required to be swabbed weekly, too, and the results are killing us (no pun intended).

Everything we do depends on the results of our weekly COVID tests. As I’ve shared, we were thankfully able to welcome loved ones back to the community for outdoor visits this summer. They were limited to once weekly, half hour, supervised appointments, but they were something. They’ve since been “temporarily suspended” thanks to dead, dormant coronavirus. To clarify, we’ve had a handful of nonnas who beat COVID-19 a few months ago come back positive during mandatory swabs. They had no symptoms, and according to the infectious disease docs we consulted, the virus was not active; it was dead. Latent. Not multiplying. Morto.

Our governing body, though? Not quite in agreement. Despite epidemiology and ID reports, for all intents and purposes, these were new outbreaks. My loves were even issued a second set of E-numbers (lucky them!). As for everyone else: they’re paying the price. Our temporary suspension remains in place, and that’s the tip of the iceberg. In order to resume outdoor visits, we’re required to be two weeks COVID-free; no none can test positive, regardless of history or symptoms. Dead virus counts. To begin communal dining, small group activities, and indoor appointments, we need 28 days clean. Twenty-eight more days, on top of the over 200 they’ve already spent in isolation.

How? How can this possibly be the way we’re expected to operate? How is it not glaringly obvious that this is killing people? That it’s breaking spirits? That it’s ripping hearts out? That it’s destroying hope? In a slow, lonely, sad, confusing way, it’s killing people. I’m at a loss.

Well, another month has passed and unfortunately not much has changed. Our residents remain confined to their apartments, safe from COVID but increasingly depressed, deconditioned, and restless. Toward the end of May, the State mandated that NJ facilities swab all residents and employees twice; once as a baseline, then again within 3-7 days of the first test. We were given very little notice and even less support. By less, I mean none: we were required to obtain our own tests and come up with a plan for administration. Labs are drowning and errors are inevitable. The expectation was that insurance would cover tests (fingers crossed), but if someone didn’t have benefits, our facilities were expected to front the cost.

While the amounts of time and money spent aren’t irrelevant, they pale in comparison to some other implications. Take fear, for instance. Our anticipatory dread was not only for the odd sensation and subsequent pain you feel when a plastic rod is swabbed so far up your nose it scrapes your throat, but also for the outcome; we were terrified of the results.

As an employee, if you refuse to be tested, you’re off the schedule. No exceptions. Residents, on the other hand, “can decline” but there’s a catch – they’ll have to remain on total isolation, regardless of how and when we start opening up. We at least knew what we were in for – when I explained to the team what to expect, they understood. They braced themselves. Some needed to take a seat, others took a few tries before their specimen was collected. But we knew what we had to do and got it done. The residents were another story.

I’m grateful to have been present for every single swab. I informed my loves of what was coming and cheered them on, making every attempt to ease their nerves. Most were troopers (some didn’t even flinch!), but overall, it was brutal. As we went room to room, we were met with screams, cursing, and confusion. Some begged for it to end. As tears welled in their eyes, some pushed the swab away. Absolutely brutal, and that was only round one. Rumor has it there’ll be several more.

As I hosted my weekly hallway meetings on Friday, I informed residents that it’s likely we’ll be required to continue testing weekly. In true form, I remained positive and hopeful. I stressed the importance of regular swabs and commended the health department’s intentions. “This is part of their plan to let us open up”, I assured them, “sooner rather than later”. I totally f’ing lied, and honestly, no one’s buying it anymore.

I wish whoever makes these rules would spend one day in a facility. I wish they had a clue what total isolation feels like to people who – at this point – would rather die than drag out such a painful version of their end of life. I wish I had better news for the residents and families hanging on my every word.