#How are you holding up update#

I, too, put one foot in front of the other and stride through the sliding doors of the hospital.Д«esides the obvious fact that the pandemic has upended our daily lives вЂ“ something else feels different. Seeing all the other hospital staff turning up every day to fulfill their duty gives me courage and inspiration. During some particularly difficult moments in the hospital, I can feel a fluttering for what feels like an eternity before I manage to get my bearings. Turns out, having young children changes your risk tolerance the thought of your family fills your heart with love and nourishes your soul but also tests your stomach. I now worry constantly about the consequences. Until a few years ago, I rarely thought much before jumping into experiences I traveled carefree (sometimes carelessly) across the world, participated in medical relief work abroad, and worked across the country without thinking twice about uprooting my life. Up until now, I thought I had an iron stomach and steady hands. My anger quickly abates, though, since I donвЂ™t have time to focus on the past at this moment. The target of my anger shifts between inept government officials, healthcare middlemen who have bled our healthcare system dry, a world that thrives on inequality, and some health system administrators who donвЂ™t seem to prioritize the safety of frontline healthcare workers. On further reflection, I find myself shifting between these states:

Overall, IвЂ™m tired from the never-ending cycle of despair. My day is punctuated by notifications about rapid responses my patients being upgraded to ICU or by the need for me to pronounce a deceased patient.

#How are you holding up update#

In the afternoon, I update families via telephone because no visitors are allowed, and I go back to the wards to evaluate the sickest patients. My time spent documenting in the EHR is frequently longer than the time I have spent with patients. I finish after a few hours and am relieved to temporarily remove all the garb. I arrive at the hospital in scrubs (new for me), review labs and diagnostics, and start rounding with a N95 mask, face shield, gown, and gloves. My days have blended together into an eight-week block. However, as a hospitalist, I do take care of patients with COVID-19 who are too sick to be discharged. Finally, IвЂ™m not working in places that look like war-zones (Bergamo or New York City). IвЂ™m certainly not someone in charge of the hospital operations, and no one relies on me to prepare food, ensure security, or clean the work environment. I am also not a nurse or respiratory therapist in a room dozen of times a day administering life-saving medications, performing vital assessments, or carefully managing the oxygen lifeline. Multiple times a week, I get messages asking some variation of, вЂњHow are you holding up?вЂќ I am neither an anesthesiologist, critical care, or ER physician, so IвЂ™m not three inches away from exposure while intubating patients with coronavirus.