Our Stories in Times of COVID-19
From the Stories In Medicine Editorial Team:
During this unprecedented time of the COVID-19 global health crisis, each one of us has been uniquely impacted in so many aspects of our lives. In this time of uncertainty, fear, lack of medical resources, and social-distancing, we want to provide a supportive community for everyone. The Stories In Medicine Blog was originally created for medical professionals, students, faculty and the general community to have a shared virtual space to provide unique perspectives and insight. In this time, we need the support of the community more than ever. We are all going through this together, yet the impact is unique and personal. This is a monumental time and will be undoubtedly written in the history books. There will be a time to reflect, process the aftermath, and heal. Yet in this present time, it is so important to give ourselves the space to process in real-time so that we can be there for our family, friends, and patients. If we can listen and understand one another, we can better understand ourselves and the events taking place. Your voice is in your story and we'd love to hear what you have to say. Please read below from your amazing colleagues and community, and we encourage you to share your story in whatever capacity you feel is right for you. The more people we have writing in, the stronger our network!
Flying Across the COVID19 Pandemic
By Julie Tran
MS2, University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix
Flying 2,271 miles across the pandemic
From Arizona to Maryland
A partially-crowded and noisy flight
My purpose?
Visiting my father for the very last time
Who now lays still and pleasantly serene
15 scattered passengers on the flight back home
A quiet plane for nostalgic memories
I will always miss and love you, Dad.
Always.
On March 16, 2020, my father passed away in Maryland while I was across the country, in the middle of my Transitions block at UACOM-P. Whether it was from COVID19 or not, I am uncertain. However, during my flight both to and from Maryland, I had time to reflect on the situation. I remember being stunned by the sudden rush of emotions from both this pandemic and my father’s death. This is further amplified by my experience of seeing the stark difference in the partially-filled flight on the way to Maryland and the practically-empty flight one week later on the way back to Arizona. Given the current events, I feel fortunate to have seen him for the last time before his cremation. In the same vein, I am thankful for this reflective opportunity to share my feelings during this disheartening time.
The Fear
By Dr. Robin McFarlane
PGY-2 Neurology Resident, Banner University Medical Center-Phoenix
He comes in with a cough of a few days, fever, diarrhea, vomiting and signs of pneumonia on CXR.
Has he had Covid exposure? No.
Has he had any travel into Covid cities? No.
Does he have Covid? Did I touch him?
Did he cough on me?
Get him tested and get him home.
Go home.
Get out of the ED.
Stop infecting other people.
We've taken the swab and gotten the test. Go home and we'll call you with the results.
Three days later he's back. The Covid results were negative.
He's worse.
How is he worse?
He doesn't have Covid!
Maybe we should re-test him?
In the midst of the fear, the streptococcus pneumonia that had seeded in his blood stream and in his brain was missed. He was septic. He has meningitis. He has ventriculitis. He has endocarditis. He has a left ventricular thrombus. He’s likely going to die. Much like "ACS rule out," "covid rule out" should not be an appropriate thought process. It's not enough to rule out a single entity. Find out why your patient is sick.
Look at the patient. Treat the patient. Do not let The Fear cloud your decision making process.
By Kaylee de Tranaltes
MS4, University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix
I saw your photo today, your PPE.
Your goggles are fogging, your mask is not an N95, but it’s all you have.
I wonder if you get sick whether they will let me see you in the hospital or if I will have to sneak in with my badge.
I’ll stay home for you, mom.
Pandemic
By Julia Ghering
MS3, University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix
My chest burns.
I don’t know why.
It’s not a fever.
Not a cough. Not dyspnea.
But I am afraid. I’ve been afraid for so long.
Since the practice test in May last year.
And every day since. Things were supposed to get better after STEP.
Why did things get so much worse?
One Day in March
By Jennifer Priest Mitchell
Faculty Coordinator
University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix
Morning.
Powerful rain.
Lunchtime.
Coats still damp under surprising sunshine.
Coordinators often ate together, walked, laughed.
Outside, we joyfully spoke of families, careers, weather.
Sprinkles fell, wind stirred.
We threw away one another’s napkins, no cares.
Returned to office.
“Work remotely due to COVID-19 concerns.”
Bundled up folders, laptops, all we needed.
For one week.
Ubering in COVID-19 Pandemic
By Diep Nguyen
MS1, University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix
My girlfriend and I had just gotten off a plane of thirteen other passengers to an almost empty Phoenix airport. Like everyone else, we both wore masks as we headed outside. We decided to Uber as usual. *Ring ring* The Uber driver called: “Hello…can you please cancel the ride?” We were baffled since he did not give a reason for the cancellation request. My girlfriend refused to cancel since there was a cancellation fee that would be afflicted on us if we cancel before 10 minutes of the Uber app matching. I felt uneasy as we waited for the 10 minutes before we could cancel to avoid the fee. To our surprise, he ended up showing up in a red sports car around the 8-minute mark.
The passenger window went slowly down, revealing a stern, scowling face and a “Are you Diep?” as he opened his trunk. After confirming our identities, I dropped all of our luggage in the back trunk and got ready to enter the vehicle. The door was locked. I looked inside to ask him to open the door and was met with a scrutinizing, serious face. The driver sighed, stroked his brow and exited the car:
Driver: “Where are you from? New York City?”
Me: “No… Maryland.” I just remembered the news earlier that broadcasted about how NYC was being hit hard by COVID-19.
Driver: *Sigh* He nodded slowly, shaking his head as if he could not believe that he was going to drive two people from the airport in the midst of this pandemic. He marched to the front of his car and came out with a bottle of hand sanitizer and a Lysol spray. Without words being exchanged, my girlfriend and I held our hands out, understanding that he would not let us in his car without being sterilized first.
As we got into the car finally, he opened all the windows in his vehicle, including his sunroof. He looks back and says, “this is to protect us you know, keep us safe.” He glared at us occasionally throughout the ride as the cold freeway winds blew through my right eardrum. He drove the whole way with his left elbow crease covering his mouth and nose like a N95 mask. I felt both bad for him, since I could tell that he was just scared of the COVID-19 like the rest of us, and irritated by the uncomfortable ride home. It’s hard to describe; the look he gave us did not feel good. I wanted to reassure him that I was not infected or contagious, but the atmosphere in the car was so tense. I was afraid of making him panic since he was so on edge.
We eventually made it to our home. As we prepared to get out the car, the driver’s facial expression softened for the first time. His stern voice became more apologetic and he apologized for the way he handled the situation. I do not remember what he said was the reason he treated us harshly, but I do remember that he did not mention COVID-19. But my girlfriend and I definitely understood his treatment of us was the result of COVID-19 fear. As we walked towards our apartment door, we looked back and saw our Uber driver frantically wiping his back seats and trunk with alcohol wipes.
Waiting
By Briana Corkill
MS1, University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix
Medical students are watching as our mentors and leaders fight on the front lines of a war we’re too young to join.
What can we contribute from the safety of our homes?
We will continue our education, working towards a future where,
next time,
we will be standing next to you, and no longer behind
By Ann Staudinger Knoll
Part One: It's Ok to Mourn
It’s ok to mourn
missed vacations,
cancelled weddings,
lost opportunities.
I was going to shadow in the OR,
work on research,
hopefully publish,
Chip away at the crushing weight of residency applications
how can I be enough?
But here I am at home
doing yoga
learning how to breathe deeply
and rest in the discomfort.
Part Two: Helplessness
There is a helplessness in being a medical student
Far enough along to be useful in basic tasks,
but not far enough along to be wanted.
Trapped behind computer screens
watching the world crumble.
The medical students have to keep themselves safe
a doctor says
To replace all the doctors that die:
A heartbreaking destiny.
Part Three: The Calm Before the Storm
I watched many sunsets in NYC
through windows of the subway or on my fire escape.
A beautiful settling after a long day.
Now I watch the sunsets in Arizona
and try to imagine the panicked flurry of NYC hospitals
How can it be so still here?
The calm before the storm
My heart breaks.
Enough
Melanie Schroeder
The internal struggle of being enough:
Two years of medical school but what can I contribute?
I’m told to stay at home but is staying home enough?
I’m told to keep connected but is looking after myself and my loved ones enough?
I’m told to stay informed but is doing my research enough?
I’m told to lead but is educating others enough?
I’m told to remain optimistic but is staying positive enough?
In times like these, it will have to be.
I am enough.