Trench doctor
My days start early. Usually before 6:00 a.m. Most of them, with the usual routine. But everything has been different for the past few weeks. Like most people, my life has changed a lot thanks to Covid19.
I’ve been a Doctor of Medicine for the past 10 years and I’ve never been so afraid for my job. Everything has changed. I haven’t seen my kids, my parents or my friends in days. Sleep has been difficult, thinking about the risk I’m facing. The nights are different. For the past few days, plagued by insomnia and nightmares. I have dreamed that I am infected with COVID19, that the mask, gloves and other barriers break. I see myself infecting everyone around me, my children, my parents and my friends.
I open my eyes hoping it’s a dream, a bad dream. But unfortunately, there’s some reality in it. I leave home as usual, at the same time. But instead of being on a traffic jam, I struggle with my thoughts. The empty streets give me time to anticipate what I’ll find in the hospital. When I arrive, the atmosphere is dense. I see the threat of the virus everywhere. There is collective fear and suspicion.
I knew that sooner or later that day would arrive, when a patient in my hospital would test positive to COVID19. We were all aware about the risk. We took precautions and tried to prepare ourselves mentally for that moment. But when reality sinks in, there’s no way to prepare for the occasion, to see it with my own eyes, the word POSITIVE beside COVID19. I saw faces of fear and confusion. It was also difficult to witness the reaction of my fellow doctors, nurses and others, who intervened with the patient when he arrived at the hospital, as they were informed to quarantine by isolation, fearing being infected with the virus.
There he is, in front of me, a human being who needs my help, just like thousands of others I have cared through all these years. I take a deep breath while I put on all the layers of protection. I put on a disposable gown, an N95 mask, then a regular mask on top, so that the N95 is not contaminated much, then a transparent plastic mask shielding my face, two pairs of gloves, a cap to cover my head, and shoe covers. Everything has an order of how to put it on and another order of how to get rid of. Every time, for every COVID19 positive patient, in every room.
I gradually suppress all my fears and invoke the Hippocratic oath that guides me as a medical doctor. With the conviction of always giving my best effort for the benefit of my patient. The rest of the team does the same, with the shared goal of providing the needed care.
Usually the end of my shift is one of peace of mind. Most days I get in my vehicle and continue the day. Not anymore; Now I plan every move. I’m afraid my clothes are contaminated, spreading this invisible threat. While driving I plan what to do when I get home. I disinfect the steering wheel, the seat, the doorknob. Where will I place my shoes? Where will I put my clothes? Looking for ways to reduce the risk of contaminating every corner of my home. Which for the near future will be solitary, in isolation.
I love my job, that hasn’t changed, but the world around me has. I ask you to take the recommended precautions to reduce the risk of this epidemic getting out of control. I’m sure this is transient, usually it is. All I want is for our lives to go back to normal. For the time being I’ll be at my hospital; with out nurses, therapists, assistants, and all team members giving our best. For our patients, for our loved ones, for our country.
