WITH ONLY A 6-week clinical rotation left in my nursing education in March 2020, I was eager to enter the profession officially. No one had accounted for the COVID-19 pandemic, however, which not only changed my academic experience but also resulted in unprecedented morbidity and mortality in the US and abroad.1 Although all clinical rotations were canceled, I felt a sense of duty to support the healthcare professionals who had been so vital to my education. Along with many of my peers, I volunteered as a nursing technician at New York-Presbyterian/Columbia University Irving Medical Center in New York City.

I have so many stories from this time, happy and sad, that range from serving with other healthcare professionals on the frontlines to my own experiences with patients. In this article, I will recount one of many notable experiences I had as a technician during the COVID-19 pandemic.

I was the only technician on a unit that consisted solely of patients with tracheostomies who had been hospitalized with COVID-19. My responsibilities included checking vital signs, performing finger sticks, and providing basic care for patients. One night I answered a call bell for a patient I had not yet seen. Using hand signals to mime actions, I determined that she needed assistance with the bedpan. I assisted her, but she still appeared to be in distress.

With more signaling, I was able to confirm that this patient was in pain and had a severe headache. I took her hand and told her I could get her nurse to see if she was due for medication. Before I could leave, however, she continued to grip my hand so I stayed until her nurse arrived. To this day, I do not know how long she had been hospitalized, if she had received any phone calls from family or friends, or whether her health status was in decline or recovery.

A few hours later, as I was in the middle of obtaining vital signs from other patients, I noticed a nurse and some residents enter this patient's room and I joined them. It seemed the inner canula to her tracheostomy tube had fallen out onto the bed at some point during the night. Again, I held her hand through the confusion and distress and talked her through what was happening as the residents placed a new inner canula. I stayed after they left to help the patient get more comfortable.

As my shift ended, I did something I had not done since I started as a technician: I went to say goodbye to the patient. Although I had made a point to do this after every shift during my clinical rotations in nursing school, I had never felt the same connection to my patients as a technician. In this role, I saw many of the patients on the unit, often for only a couple minutes at a time. Most were intubated and sedated in rooms that had been converted to ICU beds. Countless patients were confused. The staff also tried to preserve personal protective equipment (PPE) by entering rooms as few times as possible. Just about everyone in the hospital looked the same in gowns, hairnets, goggles, and masks.

After spending so much of my night with this patient, I could not just walk away. I had cared for her, held her hand, and tried to convey a sense of comfort. Before the end of my shift, I donned PPE one last time and entered her room. As soon as I walked in the door, her face lit up with a smile and she greeted me with open arms.

In that moment, I remembered why I wanted to be a nurse. I took her hand once more and let her know I was leaving for the day. We spent a few moments in silence, trying to convey all that could not be said aloud.

A few weeks later, I was assigned to the same unit. The patient was no longer there, and I was unable to even ask about her because I remembered only her room number and her do-not-resuscitate status. While I hope and try to believe that her tracheostomy was removed and she was discharged, I try to not ruminate on the alternative. Instead, I am just thankful to have had the chance to provide support, care, and comfort to her during this difficult time.

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