The Storm

March 31st, 2020

To the Universe,

So when this all began, I was traipsing about Greece not fully realizing what I was coming home to.  Just as we had arrived in Santorini, Trump had announced his travel ban and our priorities very quickly shifted to figuring out how we were going to NOT get stranded somewhere in the Mediterranean.  As soon as we heard our mainland tour was being canceled, we found our flight through London and had just enough time to spend one full day roaming the streets of Athens -- undoubtedly growing eerier with each passing hour as the Greek slowly peeled into their homes with the remaining rays of sunlight preparing for their nation, like so many others had, to shut down. 

We reached JFK on the evening of March 15th and by the evening of the 22nd -- the first night I was returning to the hospital for work -- so much had changed.  I was a mix of excited (to return to work with people I love), anxious (to began to treat something I had only been reading about), and fearful (of so, so many unknowns).  My first night back was wild -- slight undertones of the happy chaos that I am used to but overwhelmingly shrouded by an unsettling sense of calm that I was certain to be a harbinger of an imminent storm. 

The storm is here and life has changed. 

My roles and responsibilities today may not be the same a week from now -- and that's sort of the way it goes in #COVIDTimes.  Amid the clinical uncertainties that revolve around COVID-19, they exist upon a background of a whole host of other unprecedented realities.  With every passing shift, I can't help but wonder if this is the week I am forced to make a decision regarding who should and should not undergo intubation and other heroic measures.  Or maybe I would be lucky enough to never have to make that call at all?  We knew this was something other countries had been experiencing and yet, somehow -- despite knowing we were a few weeks behind them -- I prayed this day would miraculously never come.  Perhaps I was naive.  Daily, I wonder when we will run out of PPE, vents, or ICU beds.  Hourly, I wonder whether any of the many intubated, sedated, and often paralyzed patients in our ICU will ever hear the voices of their loved ones again.  Every minute, I ask myself, "when will this all be over?"...

"When will we have a treatment we have confidence in?"

"When will Mr. X or Ms. Y make it out of the ICU?"
"When will New York City wake up again?"

"When will I be infected too?"

It's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you're not really sure how long the tunnel is.  

The storm is here and life has changed. 

COVID-19 is an isolating disease process.  Those who are hospitalized are really only allowed visitation once they're at the brink of death.  Healthcare workers are living apart from their families so as not to infect them.  Social distancing and quarantine measures have disrupted the everyday human interactions we experience to feel connected to one another.  Movie theaters, dining out, travel, and picnics in the park are now a thing of the past.  Even the most introverted of us all has gone a little stir crazy by now.  

The storm is here and life has changed.  

Or should I say...adapted.  Perhaps physical distance does not necessitate social distance.  Those who are able are helping the most vulnerable get food and groceries and those who have the means are feeding the frontlines.  And those who cannot do either of the above have found a way to make masks, gather PPE donations, and provide child care for essential workers.  Regardless of how you might be contributing, I thank you for doing so because we all play a part in this current crisis -- it's a pandemic after all.  

Despite the mountain of 'negatives', there's a lot of 'positives' I would be remiss to mention.  I'm thankful, first, for the incredible minds of our leadership -- who have worked tirelessly to find creative and sustainable staffing solutions during this hectic time.  The task of taking care of these patients is daunting, to say the least, but certainly made easier by those ensuring we can continue to perform at our highest level while minding our physical and mental well-being.  I appreciate, secondly, the flexibility and collegiality of my coworkers -- as they remind me every day why I love to work here: the true spirit of heroes!  Last but certainly not least, I must thank my friends and family.  The supply of food from my parents, the Zoom-chats just to check in, the virtual game nights!  I've discovered that really no gesture is too small and I'm more hopeful than ever that we'll make it through this together.  And so maybe spending a little time apart now isn't such a big deal after all -- so that we get to spend more time together later. 

I've never really felt like a frontline provider but it's impossible NOT to be weighed down by a sense of primary responsibility with each wave of sick patients we evaluate.  I had heard about the 7PM clapping for healthcare workers and I had even seen videos collected by coworkers and friends that warmed my heart.  It wasn't until I walked into the hospital one day at change of shift (a few minutes late, mind you) -- to the resonating cheers, pot-clanging, clapping, and horns -- that I felt such unmistakable pride and honor, my faith in humanity restored with each step.  I am honored to play a small part in this fight and proud to serve this city that I love. 

The storm is here and life has changed -- but maybe we will be better for it.

Love, 

Nilima