All throughout my shift, the crackling of the overhead paging system would terrorize me. The instant I began to feel at ease, the signal of alarm would disrupt the promise of a peaceful, quiet night and was replaced by the echoing of these dreaded words: “Rapid Response Team!” or “CAC!”
Without delay, my body reacted the only way it knew how. The symphony was inaugurated by a brief gasp of astonishment, followed by the pounding of my exploding heart as it passionately intensified until it merged with the melody of my footsteps pacing furiously to reach the patient’s room. And when I was finally able to place my mask on correctly, my panting for breath took the spotlight and sang its solo piece. Until at last I approached the patient’s room and interrupted the concert with a soft whisper, “Please, not another one.”
At that point, my eyes locked in with my invisible enemy, COVID-19 himself, undoubtedly disguised in the face of the vulnerable, old gentleman struggling to breathe just before he lost his pulse. Automatically and mechanically, my fellow companions and I assumed our roles to wrestle with death. We worked diligently and in sync in the midst of the shouting, beeping, injecting, compressing, and bagging. Our willpower, at first relentless, gradually shifted at the passing of time. Alas, a feeling of disbelief took control of our bodies unanimously for we could not grasp the thought that regrettably, yet again, we had indeed lost another one. Almost hourly, a similar crisis took place within a twelve-hour period.
Until at last, my shift ended. Detached from all that had come to pass, I walked home defeated. Yet spring greeted me with its cool, soothing breeze, the ruffling of its recently sprouted leaves, the chirping away of its carefree birds, and the chaos from the hospital slowly faded away. But my numbness was short lived as the faces of everyone that passed away came crashing in like a haunting movie reel. And in that moment, I felt like both the doctor and the family, at first harshly questioning myself and the next, weeping unconsolably, broken all the same.
And as I pondered over my uncontrollable thoughts, I entered the threshold of my sanctuary, my home. There, I started to ease my mind, and tried to make peace with that which I could not change. In time, thoughts became quiet, tears stopped streaming, and the silence came. It was then that I began to heal.
Sofia Arango Mendoza MD