The first thing you notice is the darkness. It’s morning, but it feels like nightfall.
There’s a charge in the air, electricity beginning to crackle in the clouds overhead.
When the rain starts there’s no buildup.
Just the deluge.
An old-fashioned Texas thunderstorm. 1/
There’s a charge in the air, electricity beginning to crackle in the clouds overhead.
When the rain starts there’s no buildup.
Just the deluge.
An old-fashioned Texas thunderstorm. 1/
I’m standing in one of the deserted COVID ICUs. It has been “de-commissioned” temporarily as our COVID numbers have gone down.
Room after room behind plastic sheets and barriers, the beds neatly made, empty.
A sign on the wall still says “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” 2/
Room after room behind plastic sheets and barriers, the beds neatly made, empty.
A sign on the wall still says “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” 2/
Why am I here?
In truth I came here by mistake. I thought a patient of mine was down here, not realizing they’d been transferred out. Not realizing the unit was closed.
The silence is stark.
I remember the sounds of this place, the muffled voices behind PAPR helmets. 3/
In truth I came here by mistake. I thought a patient of mine was down here, not realizing they’d been transferred out. Not realizing the unit was closed.
The silence is stark.
I remember the sounds of this place, the muffled voices behind PAPR helmets. 3/
I remember the first few patients trickling in with the virus. The creeping fear.
I remember the day things seemed to explode with a rush of admissions, each one seemingly sicker than the last.
I remember the disorienting feeling of the ground shifting beneath you. 4/
I remember the day things seemed to explode with a rush of admissions, each one seemingly sicker than the last.
I remember the disorienting feeling of the ground shifting beneath you. 4/
It isn’t over. Like a fire whose embers still glow, capable of sparking.
It isn’t over, just because this unit is empty. There are still patients I’m seeing with COVID-19.
But the disease has made the transition from the Terrible Unknown to That Which I Have Seen Before. 5/
It isn’t over, just because this unit is empty. There are still patients I’m seeing with COVID-19.
But the disease has made the transition from the Terrible Unknown to That Which I Have Seen Before. 5/
Just because you’ve seen something before doesn’t mean it can’t reach you, or move you.
As I look into each empty room I see ghosts.
Lingering memories of lingering deaths.
FaceTime farewells.
The unnatural sight of patients being ventilated prone, on their bellies. 6/
As I look into each empty room I see ghosts.
Lingering memories of lingering deaths.
FaceTime farewells.
The unnatural sight of patients being ventilated prone, on their bellies. 6/
An image springs into my mind, unbidden.
An elderly man listening to me talk about his wife’s deteriorating kidney function, and the severity of her illness.
His frail hands clasped and rubbing together.
Self-soothing.
A shield to help blunt the impact of harsh realities. 7/
An elderly man listening to me talk about his wife’s deteriorating kidney function, and the severity of her illness.
His frail hands clasped and rubbing together.
Self-soothing.
A shield to help blunt the impact of harsh realities. 7/
Something happened here.
Something took place in these rooms.
The same thing that took place across the world.
We go back to work now and treat the usual things we treated Before.
But we all left a part of ourselves here.
Something we lost.
Bearing witness, together. 8/
Something took place in these rooms.
The same thing that took place across the world.
We go back to work now and treat the usual things we treated Before.
But we all left a part of ourselves here.
Something we lost.
Bearing witness, together. 8/
I go back to the elevator and press the button for my non-COVID floor.
A return back to the routine I once knew.
Outside the hospital it starts to rain. Without warning.
I stand in a hallway for a moment and watch the world darken.
There’s no buildup.
Just the deluge.
A return back to the routine I once knew.
Outside the hospital it starts to rain. Without warning.
I stand in a hallway for a moment and watch the world darken.
There’s no buildup.
Just the deluge.
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
