At the beginning of this, I was very apprehensive and nervous. I was mostly worried about the risk of sharing the infection if I were to get it. My wife, also a physician who can do her work virtually, is pregnant. She and our two children moved in with her parents and I’m living alone. We’re going to see how long this arrangement can go on for.
I’m doing OK. I call into dinner with FaceTime. I make silly gestures to my daughters and pretend to share my food with them virtually.
The thought of being away from them for long is really hard. Our baby is due in August. Will I be able to take paternity leave? Will I be present at the birth of our child?
A month ago, I couldn’t have imagined this is what life would be like.
I told one of my first COVID patients that I was worried he was going to get sicker. That we would do everything we could to help him. But that intensive care likely wouldn’t help him survive. This was one day after I met him and one day before he died.
I felt powerless. Totally gutted.
None of my medicine training was able to help me improve his outcome. And none of my palliative care training was able to help him come to terms with his illness to prepare him and his family for death.
