Newshub was sent this opinion piece from the family of New Zealand's sixth coronavirus death. They have requested to remain anonymous.
OPINION: My very-elderly dad had COVID-19, as well as significant underlying conditions that made him vulnerable to its effects.
He was part of the Rosewood cluster now in isolation at Burwood Hospital, and I've been disappointed in the almost-total lack of communication.
That is until a nurse restored my faith in the frontline that we so depend on; when she managed to exceed all of my expectations with her warmth, kindness and dedication.
This is our story.
I am number six
Unlike I Am Number Four, this won't become a movie because it's just a small tale of sadness in a world already overwhelmed by a relentless virus.
Last night my dad died from COVID-19, the sixth death in NZ. He was part of the Rosewood cluster that was moved to Burwood Hospital.
Tragically, he and others were not routinely tested so the chance to separate the positives from the negatives was lost, possibly dooming them all to the ravages of the virus.
This is something that is hard for me to understand or forgive. The reason for not testing was because 'it is quite invasive'. Why then was he tested a few days later?
The cynical side of me believes it was because the information was needed for statistical purposes. So that at 1pm today, he will become number six. Or maybe seven or eight depending on what else has happen in the last 24 hours.
Death rattles
While I'm talking about things that are hard to accept, I want to talk about saying goodbye. My request to don full PPE so that I could be with him and hold his hand and tell him that I love him was denied. I was told it wasn't possible.
Well we know that it is possible, it would just require following a strict process so that I didn't get infected, and so that I couldn't infect anyone else.
This is not a difficult process to put in place, and it's not like our health services are overwhelmed with hundreds of people dying from COVID-19.
Saying goodbye to dad was me speaking to him over the phone and listening to his rattling breath as the virus shut him down.
To the people that set these rules and for the sake of the inevitable deaths to come: please consider changing this bullshit rule. You are stealing people's chances to say goodbye, and you are blocking our ability to comfort the people we love.
Heroes of health
I will finish on a positive note. While the nurses have to work within the rules dictated to them, which they may not necessarily agree with, they are working incredibly generously, giving their love and emotions as well as their professionalism to the people they really do care for.
Sitting for hours in full PPE, holding the hands of the people who are fighting the virus, they provide the contact and comfort that I and others cannot. They go out of their way to personalise the care by finding out about the patients so that they are people who have lived wonderful lives, instead of being just patients.
I am so grateful to everyone who is delivering this care throughout the world; you truly are heroes of health, and I thank you for that.
To the nurses who allowed me to connect with dad using their own personal phones; to the nurse who on her day off contacted the other nurses to make sure they played dad's favourite playlist while he lay dying; thank you for the love you give. Thank you for your tears while I said goodbye. And most of all, thank you for doing what you do and caring for people - not just patients. Respect.
