KANSAS CITY, Mo. — True love knows no limit – unless it’s at a hospital during COVID-19.
And that's something Kathy Riegelman knows all too well.
“It’s been really hard to have to put any limits," she said. "Because my heart says, 'Compassion rules,' and we want to have as many people that love the patient around them at the time of death and we’re not able to do that anymore.”
Riegelman is the chaplain for the University of Kansas Health System. At her hospital, and many across the country, it’s one visitor per patient, per day. Even if that patient is in his or her final day.
ANCHOR KEVIN HOLMES: As a chaplain, if you had to use a scripture to describe these times, what would that be?
CHAPLAIN KATHY RIEGELMAN: One of the scriptures that a family asked me to pray with their patient who has COVID is Psalm 27, ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation.’ And so that’s what I want to keep shining through. This isn’t a time when one’s faith just goes away, but stays intact. But there’s another one. Psalm 69 that says, ‘The waters are up to my neck and there are times when it feels like we’re in this pretty deep.’
If the depths of the waters are up to her neck, for Riegelman everything above the neck is covered in personal-protective equipment. While that barrier is in place for safety reasons, it makes her job more difficult.
“Reading people's facial expressions and having them read mine has become much more difficult,” she said. “So, a lot of communication we do as chaplains, a lot of it has to do with listening. So, there’s a lot of nonverbals I try to give back to a patient, and I read from them, and it’s certainly limited to have much of your face covered up.”
However, it’s not just verbal ques that are hard to get across. Emotional and physical ones now are huge obstacles for Riegelman as chaplain.
“It wouldn’t be unusual for me, if it’s appropriate to reach out to someone and touch someone on the shoulder or take their hand if we’re praying together," she said. "And that kind of physical contact; that could be very important. And another way of expressing empathy has been limited.”
As a result, Riegelman has found new ways to show she’s engaged. Oftentimes, she will exaggerate facial expressions and say, "Umm," and, "Ahh," more often.
“Because they can’t see it on my face as easily,” Riegelman said.
If a patient has a confirmed case of the coronavirus, they might not see Riegelman’s face at all. The chaplain, who normally is bedside, now provides comfort via conference call at times.
KH: How much more difficult is that? To have your final moments with someone via phone or some sort of video conferencing? Or something where I can’t reach out to you?
KR: Well, certainly it doesn’t feel like the most natural or compassionate way to offer care. That’s for sure. Um, I’ve sat outside patient’s rooms and talked with family on the phone, letting them know I’m looking at their loved one, and let’s pray together. To be honest, it’s been kinda heavy lately.
The chaplain leans on her husband for comfort. Since she’s on the frontlines at a hospital, the two have temporarily cut themselves off from their family.
“I think it’s something we’re coming to terms with,” Riegelman said. “We know what helps each other. I got home one day after a really hard day and didn’t say anything, and my husband said, 'I think you need to take a walk.'”
Not knowing when the pandemic will end has added an additional layer of pressure and stress for Riegelman and all other hospital workers.
“When it started, I think there was an idea that we’re gonna get through this in probably months’ time," she said, "and it’s the length of it and kind of adapting that this is our normal right now. That I know for myself, I’m getting a bit weary of it.”
