<img loading="" class="lazyload size-article_feature" data-sizes="auto" alt="There's no crying in the intensive care unit.
Seaton has enforced that rule throughout the pandemic, afraid that if she lets herself weep she would never stop. She says she could cry endlessly for the patients who die without their loved ones in the visitor-restricted ward, the family members who can’t hold their hands and the medical staff who tried to save them.
Instead, she helps place the patient in a body bag and calls the Cook County medical examiner. The county morgue is often too busy to immediately retrieve the deceased, Seaton says, so she sends the body to a holding area several floors below and prays someone comes soon.
If Seaton sees someone crying, she tells them to “go fix your allergies.” The phrase has become caring slang in the ICU for staff members who need to step away for a few minutes to collect themselves.
“I don’t cry,” Seaton said. “But I find myself fixing my allergies more and more.”
” title=”There’s no crying in the intensive care unit.
Seaton has enforced that rule throughout the pandemic, afraid that if she lets herself weep she would never stop. She says she could cry endlessly for the patients who die without their loved ones in the visitor-restricted ward, the family members who can’t hold their hands and the medical staff who tried to save them.
Instead, she helps place the patient in a body bag and calls the Cook County medical examiner. The county morgue is often too busy to immediately retrieve the deceased, Seaton says, so she sends the body to a holding area several floors below and prays someone comes soon.
If Seaton sees someone crying, she tells them to “go fix your allergies.” The phrase has become caring slang in the ICU for staff members who need to step away for a few minutes to collect themselves.
“I don’t cry,” Seaton said. “But I find myself fixing my allergies more and more.”
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There’s no crying in the intensive care unit.
Seaton has enforced that rule throughout the pandemic, afraid that if she lets herself weep she would never stop. She says she could cry endlessly for the patients who die without their loved ones in the visitor-restricted ward, the family members who can’t hold their hands and the medical staff who tried to save them.
Instead, she helps place the patient in a body bag and calls the Cook County medical examiner. The county morgue is often too busy to immediately retrieve the deceased, Seaton says, so she sends the body to a holding area several floors below and prays someone comes soon.
If Seaton sees someone crying, she tells them to “go fix your allergies.” The phrase has become caring slang in the ICU for staff members who need to step away for a few minutes to collect themselves.
“I don’t cry,” Seaton said. “But I find myself fixing my allergies more and more.”