Being part of a team that supports people in what can be the most difficult times of their lives and as someone living with cancer I have been on both sides of the fence.

No shift at work was ever the same but some familiarities will be ones I will always treasure.

The break times. The hustle and bustle of the canteen. The smell of fresh scones and percolated coffee. This is where staff from all departments got to mingle.

Those connections which made the hospital a home are now broken due to Covid 19 restrictions. Eating apart or alone now. Lonely times for hospital staff.

In per Covid days days we huddled together for support. Little ones on trikes or pushing dollies in buggies around the ward any time of day or night. Often in dress up or with stethoscopes attached. Medics in the making. Those confined to isolation envious of their freedom.

Freedom is the envy for all of us these days.

Child friendly scrubs are now covered by paper gowns. Kind eyes and reassuring smiles are now hindered by goggles and masks. They were the cues that helped us reassure children that they were cared for and safe.

Doctors rounds could be anything from two to ten if medical students were on board. A spectating audience for minors propped up in beds or perked up on parents laps. Teams changed around every six months.

They moved in like new housemates fresh-faced and enthusiastic. Long stints of on call duty ahead of them. We were thankful day or night to have them at our beck and call.

Our student' nurses were always welcomed. They mucked in eager to learn how to care for sick children with a family centred care approach. In return their energy and youth was refreshing. Their discussions of active social lives sparking fun memories of our own student years.

Over 15 years of day and night shifts we solved the problems of the world with our chats. We learned a lot from each other and have many stories to tell. An eclectic bunch. You could say we grew up together. We worked well as a team.

Then, as in life, things change. Some moved on for different reasons. We may not see each often now but it still feels like we have each other's backs.

They have been a great support to me throughout my illness. We bonded over cups of tea after traumatic events, planned girlie nights out and if lucky enough, arranged a night away with our besties.

Those were the days when bubbles meant Aero bars or Prosecco or blowing washing up liquid through a plastic ring.

Bubbles now separate families and friends in a bid to keep safe. No home gatherings. No children playing with cousins or friends. The lack of laughter and energy that lights up our homes.

Essential workers are sacrificing family bubbles for work bubbles in a bid to keep the vulnerable safe.

Some are weary from weeks, even months of solitary time off. Waiting for the days when vaccinations kick in and hospitals can become more than just functioning again. Pining for the days when parties can be planned, gardens can be packed and bubbles can be popped.

At visiting time the ward would come alive. Family members arriving. Kids proudly bearing specially chosen gifts to cheer up their sick siblings. Grannies and grandads seeking reassurance and expressing gratitude for the kind care of their precious grandchildren.

Sadly hospitals are now like prisons. No visitors to sprinkle their joy.

Our days were long but they went very fast. Some days were a piece of cake and some days we were pushed to our limits and more. The hard stuff never got any easier.

The fear and helplessness parents endured seeing their children under distress. Knowing the pressure they were under juggling hospital with home needs.

My parental guilt always lingered but was eased by the gratitude that our children's health was our wealth.

Ironically Cancer is the boss of me now but at least I get to work from home. I love being home for my gang.

The good stuff were the little moments that never failed to warm my heart. The soft-touch of tiny hands. The face-to-face banter with toddlers to teenagers. The beautiful smiles on rejuvenated children. The pure glee hot toast could bring.

The icing on the cake for me was always snuggling feeding babies. Seeing their full bellied satisfied smirks sometimes mistaken for wind. The see you later alligator, the recovered child. The relieved parent.

Thankfully the impacts of Covid seem to be less devastating on children's health. Hospital workers have worked tirelessly for nearly a year now.

Staff shortages, redeployment and social isolation. Some juggling childcare and homeschooling. I worry about them now exhausted and forlorn.

Running on empty in these very stressful times. All of our essential workers have been working so hard to help keep us safe, fed, virtually connected and to maintain our children's education as safely as possible.

There's not a man, woman or child that hasn't been impacted by this pandemic exposing human vulnerabilities in all different forms. Too many changes to fast too many losses in one year.

Small problems replaced by real problems.

Many workers are suffering silently. Their livelihoods have been turned upside down. Full of uncertainty for their future. Many are struggling for an end in sight.

When you're stuck on the bottom of a Ferris wheel it is hard to imagine the view from the top But while there is life there will always be movement. Always new passions ahead and new people that will impact our lives.

Losing someone or something you love is one of life's biggest challenges. Some losses may never be replaced. Some grief inescapable, some sadness that only time can soften but even in our darkest moments we have to have hope.

When life slows down our memories resurface. Memories of the good stuff. The stuff that we live for. The special memories we will continue to make.

This pandemic is drawing blood, sweat and tears but it will have an end. We will lose a lot but it will teach us a lot. We will regain our freedom and our power of touch. We will bring laughter and tranquility back to our hospitals and our homes.

We will restore our health and our wellbeing. And in time we will be better than ok we will be GREAT.

* Sonya Lynch worked as a paediatric nurse in the Mercy Hospital until 2017. she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2014 and is currently a stay at home mom with a new passion for writing.