by Eunseo Hong / Published on 13th March, 2023

As the shadow of COVID-19 begins to lift, nurses are stepping out of their protective suits and into a moment of reflection. For some, the memories of working in isolation wards remain etched in their minds—a blend of exhaustion and small, deeply human triumphs. Yet, a lingering question persists: Could things have been better for patients if the system had been kinder to those caring for them?

“I felt content if I could make my patients smile, even just briefly,” says Baek Yi-young, 37, looking back on her time in an isolation ward. “In our ward, there were no TVs. Nurses were their only connection to the outside world.”

Baek worked at the National Health Insurance Service Ilsan Hospital in Goyang, South Korea, for 10 months, starting in July 2022. As she scrolls through photos from that period, a smile spreads across her face. In one picture, she’s clad in a stark white protective suit, adorned with colorful stickers—cartoon characters for children, a Van Gogh painting for art lovers, and even a dragon sticker to bond with a particularly reluctant patient.

“Seeing my patients, I couldn’t help but think of my own family,” she reflects. “Watching someone recover and leave the hospital made all the fatigue and worry worth it. Even under the constant fear of infection, I think all of us nurses just wanted to help.”

But there were cracks in the foundation. Staffing shortages added to an already heavy burden, creating stress that often spilled over into the relationships between colleagues. “Whether it was the COVID-19 ward or a regular ward, the hardest part was conflicts with coworkers,” Baek says. “Most of it stemmed from being overworked.”

In general wards, a single nurse might be responsible for as few as eight or as many as twenty patients. The lack of manpower made it nearly impossible to ensure seamless care, including the critical handovers between shifts.

For those in isolation wards, the strain was even greater. “In these wards, nurses had to act as caregivers, family members, and everything in between,” says Do Hwa-young, 37, who worked at Pyeongtaek Paik Hospital during the pandemic. “If we truly want patients to receive better care, filling these gaps in nursing staff is non-negotiable.”

The numbers tell a grim story. A 2019 survey by the Korean Health and Medical Workers’ Union found that over 80% of nurses with 3–10 years of experience had considered quitting in the prior three months. Nearly half cited grueling workloads and poor working conditions. Despite a steady increase in the number of licensed nurses, only 50.9% were actively working in healthcare institutions as of 2022, according to the Korean Nurses Association. The result is a vicious cycle—burnt-out nurses leave, new but inexperienced recruits take their place, and the system repeats itself.

Baek knows this reality all too well. “Out of the 200 nurses who started at the hospital with me, about half quit within two years,” she says. “From the five colleagues who were with me in the COVID-19 ward, three have already left.”

Choi Hoon-hwa, a policy advisor for the Korean Nurses Association, sees these struggles as a reflection of deeper systemic flaws. “During the pandemic, the government expanded hospital beds and declared that the healthcare system was ready for critical care,” he says. “But the reality was a chronic shortage of healthcare workers, especially nurses. If this exodus continues, the ability to treat infectious diseases will only worsen.”

For Lee Ji-yoon, 30, who worked in intensive care units in Seoul and Gyeonggi Province under the Central Disaster Management Headquarters, the answer lies in staffing. “In ICUs, where most patients can neither speak nor move, the focus of the nurse becomes the most critical element in their recovery,” she says. “Protecting and improving working conditions for nurses shouldn’t just be a reaction to crises like COVID-19—it should be a continuous goal.”

Choi echoes that sentiment, calling for concrete measures to enforce staffing standards in infectious disease wards and specialized hospitals. “The ongoing debates around the Nursing Act miss the point,” he says. “The aim is clear: to expand public healthcare, integrate community-based care, and ensure that every patient receives high-quality nursing from experienced professionals.”

When asked if she regretted her time in the COVID-19 ward, Lee doesn’t hesitate. “Even if I could go back, I’d make the same choice,” she says. “From triage centers to major hospitals, it was grueling work, but those small words of gratitude from patients gave me a sense of pride in being a nurse. It’s a job I’ll always be proud of.”

Beneath the layers of protective gear, the pandemic revealed the resilience and humanity of nurses. But it also exposed a system stretched too thin—a lesson that cannot afford to be forgotten.

Originally Published on http://www.storyofseoul.com/news/articleView.html?idxno=10271