Waiting for the surge you think about capacity. Not hospital capacity, like beds in the ward, beds in the ICU, ventilators, medications. You think about your capacity to cope with a stealth ninja that can kill with a sneeze you, your family and friends, and your community. It’s a different type of fear. It’s the terror that belongs to children who believe a monster is living in their closet and closing their eyes will make it appear. Only with Covid19, the monster is real and the parents in Washington D.C. who should be looking out for you have their eyes closed.
You pretend you aren’t bringing Covid-19 home with you from work. You remove your scrubs outside and pad downstairs to the washing machine in the basement. You’re sure the neighbors see more of you than anyone should. Waiting for the surge, you fear their young children will be permanently scarred by this hairy man hopping around the other side of the fence.