(PART 1 of 2) I drew this comic in late September/ early October. Our COVID cases had dwindled to the single digits, despite visible large gatherings and relaxing lockdown parameters. I had, for the most part, successfully compartmentalized the emotional trauma that was par for the course in the COVID unit. I still remember most of my patients. So many of them WALKED into the hospital and lost their kidneys, had horrible strokes, died on the vent with impossibly stiff lungs.
I’m frustrated. I’ll admit to not being perfect about COVID precautions - I hug my co-residents sometimes, and in the summer would run in the early mornings with my mask around my chin or balled in my fist. I feel guilty afterwards, but I also know that we all do an internal calculation about what we are willing to give up for our safety and for others. Some people gave up everything, lived in isolation away from their families, haven’t touched another person in 9+ months.
And some people have given up nothing at all. Not their parties, not their large indoors gatherings, not their ability to go about their day without masks. And I don’t know. I see that death rate climbing, and I think of my patients in the COVID ICU. I imagine that level of devastation on a large scale. I imagine the nurses and RTs, exposing themselves over and over again to provide them care without additional compensation. I imagine the EVS worker who stopped me in the hall, sweaty with panic, as he told me that he had accidentally cleaned a COVID+ patient’s room with a surgical mask instead of an N95. (SEE COMMENTS).