Caring for Those Who Are Caring for Us: Let Us Be a Model


From Rev. Hal Jones
Director of Connectional Ministries

Many of you know I spent the majority of my ministry in various healthcare administrative roles, mostly at Emory University/Emory Healthcare. During my time at Emory, I met and became friends with countless nurses, physicians, techs, etc. I also gained a profound sense of respect and gratitude for the work and ministry (yes, ministry) these healthcare workers, especially those on the “front lines,” carry out every day.

The following column appeared in the AJC this week. Dr. Stein is one of the physicians I worked with at Emory. He’s an incredible physician and an amazing person who cares deeply for every patient and family member in his care. Reading his words in the AJC broke my heart. The headline for his front page, AJC column was: “After months of pandemic, COVID-19 doctor feeling ‘sadness,’ ‘regret,’ ‘betrayal.”  Reading Jason’s account of going to the grocery store or post office, after putting his and his team’s life on the line in order to care for our community, our friends, our families…and then being mocked for wearing a mask, brought tears to my eyes.

As Disciples of Jesus Christ, we have an extraordinary opportunity during this extraordinary time of stress, and fear, and anxiety, to model, for everyone in our communities, a commitment to care for each other, serve each other, and sacrifice for each other. Jesus said, “If any person would come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.”  

I was talking with a member of the Emory Healthcare Board of Directors recently. He is a Christian, and like Jason was feeling a great sense of sadness, regret, and betrayal about so many people not being willing to “do the easy things.” Wearing a mask is easy. It’s not a political statement, and it barely scratches the surface of sacrifice…of taking up one’s cross. It is, though, a statement of love and caring; and it is easy. I know you all already know this. Let’s continue to care for each other, and for those in healthcare who are caring for us, by continuing to model these important and easy things (wearing a mask, social distancing, hand hygiene) to the communities we live in and serve.

Read Jason's reflection below or at


After Months of Pandemic, COVID-19 Doctor Feeling 'Sadness,' 'Regret,' 'Betrayal'

By Dr. Jason Stein
As told to Ariel Hart of the AJC

I’m a hospital medicine physician; I live in Atlanta. I work with COVID-19 patients.

We know that we’re not just in our usual roles as doctors and nurses and pharmacists and respiratory therapists. We have to be, as much as we can, the family members of these patients who are dying.

And to the family members who we talk to every day, what I sometimes say to them is, “Look, I know you can’t be here, and I know how impossible this situation is. But we are showing as much love as we can to your mother — or your father or your brother or your sister.

“Tell me what you want me to tell them. Tell me something I can say that will make them laugh.”

You know, before the pandemic I never, never would have said something like that to a family member over the phone: “What can I tell her to make her laugh?”

But if I can do that, help the patient feel that way, share an intimate detail, then I can convey to the patient that I’m talking to the family member. And then I can come back to the family member and I can say, “It cracked her up.”

That’s a beautiful moment.

But just — oh, my God. There’s a cumulative toll that that psychological, emotional burden kind of takes. It wears on nurses in particular.

Changing in the Garage

I think the biggest thing that’s changed inside the hospital is we’ve gone from a state of uncertainty, and anxiety around that uncertainty — How is this virus transmitted? How easily? How safe is the work environment? How unsafe is it, how much occupational risk is there? — to a kind of confidence in what we think we know about this stuff.

When you’re rounding on patients, seeing patients, you’ll take your surgical mask off briefly to put on an N95 mask. Then you put your surgical mask back on over the N95. The thinking is that that allows us to wear the N95s longer, so they’re not single use or single day. You double strap the N95 to your face. You elastic strap it, double straps in the back behind your head. For it to work, you can’t be able to smell anything.

There’s people who leave at the end of the day, nurses in particular, and they look like they’ve been sparring. The bridge of their nose is all bent out of shape; the face is all puckered from the supertight N95.

I don’t wear a shirt and tie to work anymore. Shirt and tie and a white coat, that’s all gone.

Now it’s all scrubs and shoe covers.

Leaving work, everybody changes clothes before going home. That’s new. You see people changing clothes in the parking garage. There’s a lot of people leaving; not everybody can stand in the line in the locker room and bathroom, so a lot of people started to change clothes in their car.

Outside of every patient’s room, there’s a PPE cart or a caddy. First you sanitize your hands, and then you put on your first layer of latex gloves. And then you pull your gown over you and tie it behind your neck and behind your back, behind the lower of your back.

And then you take a second set of gloves, and you pull that on over the first set and the sleeves of the gown. And then you put a face shield on. And then you sanitize your gloved hands and knock and ask for permission to come in and see the patient.

Multiply that activity by 15, 18 times a day.

With repetition you get all this muscle memory, and that anxiety goes away. You just get good at it.

And you know you’re good at it.

The instances where co-workers have become infected, we’ve been able to understand where it was that they likely became infected, and they were in places or moments where their guard was down. Honestly, half of them I think appear to be getting their infections outside the hospital.

We’ve had several of our co-workers infected. They either are out of work for a couple days or they become our patients in the ICU. It’s the same plus an extra level of gut wrench.

‘A level of betrayal’

When you see a politician or leader declining to wear a cloth mask, a fabric mask, or complaining it’s too uncomfortable they can’t breathe, my instinct is to ask them to wear an N95 for 12 hours straight.

There’s just such a level of disregard and betrayal for your frontline worker.

To be asked all the things that America is asking us to do inside the hospital to rescue our fellow citizens — in a sense it’s an easy thing for us to do. Because that’s what we do. What feels like a betrayal is to see those fellow citizens not pulling their own weight.

My mask protects you. Your mask protects me.

Literally, I feel safer in a COVID unit, a thousand times safer in a COVID ICU, than I do in the public.

In public, going to the grocery store, the post office, I’ve been mocked, “Oh, look at the guy wearing the mask.”

Then to see leaders in serious positions not wearing masks themselves and dismiss the value of social distancing and masking? And making it a zero-sum decision of, “We either open up and be mask-free and just live our lives,” or this false alternative of, we have to huddle inside with a mask and be scared? It makes me shake with anger.

It’s all entirely manageable.

We know the contours of how to manage it. What makes me angry is the willful disregard for managing this well. It’s so unnecessary to try to tell a narrative that’s anything other than, “Hey, we can manage this together.”

I think I’ve kind of grown accustomed to the idea that we’re going to continue to mismanage this.

And that whatever surge is coming, we’ll manage it inside the hospital. With faith and trust in the front line.

And just sadness and regret, tinged with betrayal, that the numbers are going to be as high as they’re going to be.

This doesn’t have to be that way.  

About this story

Jason Stein, M.D., works with COVID-19 patients who have been hospitalized in Atlanta, at Emory St. Joseph’s Hospital, and in Charleston, South Carolina, at Roper Hospital. He graduated from Emory University School of Medicine and has received several awards for teaching medicine, for practicing medicine and for patient safety. This interview was edited for length and clarity.

Throughout the pandemic, Georgia physicians have talked with AJC health reporter Ariel Hart about their experiences. For more insights into what they’ve seen, you can find their stories at

The article is republished here with permission. Thank you to the AJC for allowing us to share.