Tea

For a period during COVID there were no visitors allowed in hospitals. So, people would go into the hospital through the ER for some unexpected complaint, or through some planned procedure or test, and often receive unexpected news.  

You have cancer.

You need heart surgery.

We have to amputate your leg.

We’ve done all we can and you’re not going to be able to swallow safely, so we’re going to have to put in a feeding tube and you’re never going to be able to eat again…but you can have ice chips when your mouth gets dry.

Your colon isn’t functioning so we’re going to have to put in a colostomy bag so you’ll have bowel movements into that. It will be in a bag you’ll wear under your shirt and the nurses will give you tips on how to hide the smell.

We understand you want to go home, but you’re going to need help getting around after that car accident, so we’re going to discharge you to a nursing home, it’s the only safe option. 

Each room, another lonely tragedy. Not to say some didn't have positive attitudes, they did.

I could have died.

I’m really lucky they found me when they did.

At least I still have…(fill in the blank).

At least I didn’t …(fill in the blank).

It could be worse.

It was almost worse.

Regardless, you get slapped in the face with a major life change and it takes some processing.

Human beings are not meant to process these changes in a room alone. This became painfully obvious during my clinical rotations.

I didn’t know how to handle it so I would just cry on my hour drive home. I would cry for them and what they were going through. I would cry for life being hard and unfair. I would cry for me not knowing what to do about it. I would cry for the staff at the hospital needing to deal with these realities every day. I would cry for feeling hopeless, and then feeling weak for feeling hopeless in the face of nothing more than reality. Then I would cry for trying to make someone else’s problem my problem when I was fine. 

I suppose we have no choice but to hold onto the little things in these situations. A big turnaround in this area for me was recognizing the effect of offering patients tea after they shared their stories. 

This was one tool I always had access to. There was tea and hot water on every floor and patients rarely asked for it, but generally said yes when offered. And they would hold it and think, staring into space. Maybe half the time, if that, they drank it.

There is nothing to be said that could take away what this person is facing, or the implications of it, and how it will affect their future. You don’t really need someone to talk to in these situations, you just need a person to be there. Because I didn’t have time, the tea would pretty effectively sit in for me, the warmth a reminder that they are not alone. The smell a reminder that there are still pleasant things in life. 

I worked in a psych hospital after I graduated and tried this same tactic on a patient in the safety cell and she took it, poured it under the door and then squatted over it and peed, creating steaming piss. So, it doesn’t always work, but generally, it’s not a bad tool.

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Review

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This story is profoundly moving, offering a deeply human reflection on isolation, compassion, and the quiet suffering that COVID-19 intensified for so many patients. The narrative voice is raw and authentic, offering an intimate glimpse into the emotional toll of caregiving in a time of unprecedented loneliness. The invisible burden that healthcare workers carried—being the sole source of support for patients enduring life-altering news without loved ones by their side—is readily conveyed. This burden not just from their professional responsibilities but from the emotional weight of bearing witness to suffering.

Offering tea becomes a symbol of quiet compassion—a small ritual that provides warmth, comfort, and connection in an environment stripped of normal human support systems. The dark humor about the tea mishap in the psych hospital brings balance to the story, lightening the emotional load without undermining the serious themes.

This is a beautifully human, heartbreaking, and honest story. It doesn't just show what it’s like to witness suffering—it lets readers feel the emotional exhaustion, the helplessness, and the small moments of grace that keep people going. It honors the resilience of both patients and caregivers—offering warmth, much like the tea in the story, in a cold and often indifferent system.