If you could see my hospital, you would know the horror of COVID-19

We began to resuscitate the patient, pounding on her chest, inserting a breathing tube, pushing epinephrine, guiding a crash femoral venous line into her leg. Anything to keep her alive. This woman died in front of me and came back. I left my shift that day, walking past her distraught family standing on the curb worrying about their mother who was fine just hours earlier. She was hanging on by a thread. I held back tears, got in the car and drove away. Hours later, she died.

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I think back to the phone call with my patient’s wife. “I am with your husband,” I said. “I believe he has covid. His breathing is worsening, and I think the only way to help him is to place a breathing tube. He won’t be able to speak, and he will be sedated. He will be kept comfortable, and we just have to hope in time his lungs will recover.” My patient began to gasp for air as his wife asked if she should come see him. Knowing this was impossible, he took the phone and said to her, “No sweetheart, I want you to be safe.” His wife begged me to make sure people call and update her daily. I promised to pass this message along, knowing all too well the intensive care unit will eventually become so inundated with patients that it may not happen. They said “I love you” and hung up.

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