There's fire in the sky

Fiona Strauss writes:

You just seem so caught up in all that's been happening in your life, the busy days you have, the struggles you go through. Not to mention it's coronavirus era and you can't see your family because you're a healthcare worker and currently on Covid-19 duty in the hospital.

That basically means you are the doctor in charge of seeing patients diagnosed with Covid-19 in hospital for two weeks, the one who intubates them when their own breathing mechanism fails, the one who writes the death report, and the one who calls their families to deliver the bad news. You dread the day that you see someone you know in the unit.

Before you went to medical school, nobody told you that you would have to fight a war in a hazmat suit in the heart of summer while the rest of the nation enjoys their festive season next to the pool.

You count down the days until the next doctor comes on to relieve you. You stay in a provided accommodation away from your family so as to protect them from the potential Covid-19 infection you picked up at the respiratory unit.

You work day shift the first week and then you switch to night shift, you aren't religious or superstitious, but you pray for a quiet night or day anyway. You never say that a shift is quiet before it actually ends for fear that Murphy's law will prevail.

You hardly know which day it is anymore. You miss your husband and dog so much, and you tell yourself that you will never take time with them for granted again.

You're on your way to do your second last night shift when you look up and you see that the sky is on fire. Your eyes light up for the first time in two whole weeks. You feel your chest thaw for the beauty that is still out there, around every corner, beauty that you thought was gone, because all you could see was the destruction in front of your eyes. And as sure as the sun is setting right now, it will rise again.