(Originally published 03/2020)

I have been hard pressed to think of an apt metaphor for this pandemic and my position in this public health structure at this time.  It finally came to me last night, and I was both relieved and terrified.   Being a physician at this time feels like being how I imagine an officer would have been on the SS Titanic.  We are manning the decks, taking inventory of the life boats, and have just been assured that the ship has plenty of compartments to take on the necessary water to (of course) avoid the inevitable.  We have been asked by our captain to make sure that the passengers in the lower decks of the ship are kept calm and in their beds.  We are told to look stoic and clap to the beat as the band plays deep into the night.

But, we all felt the jolt of the ship, we all know what is to come.  It is 2020.  There are more capabilities for life boats, for production of tools to prevent and divert this disaster.  But our captain is yelling into the air about fairies, invincibility, and telling us that the shredded steel will magically be repaired.  That we’ll all get to our destination…

We are physicians.  We are not political tools.  We are people with families.  We have lives, friends, loved ones. Connections.  For the first time in my life, I am talking to my friends who are all in the same boat and we are scared.  We are people who have taken an oath to help and protect those above ourselves.  It is not an oath that we entered into lightly.  But, it is one that is supreme in its commitment.

Whether it is lack of planning, wishful thinking, or intentional, the current lackadaisical response of this entire public health structure is deadly.  It is especially deadly to health care professionals.  We are already overworked.  We are tired and always thinking of our patients.  How can we also be involved, minute to minute, to keep up with policy that affects our lives and the lives of our patients?

We are doing all that we can.  Some of us work tirelessly in the ERs, others have extended their hours to keep patients from overwhelming the ERs and the urgent care settings, some are speaking out to the media, but, our voices have not been heard.  The U.S.’s curve of those infected with COVID-19 is currently mimicking Spain’s infectious trajectory.  I am haunted by the pictures of people currently in Spanish hospitals laying in the halls unattended, helpless, and dying.  Without medical staff to treat them, without their families by their side.  If the medical staff goes, then what happens to the rest of the country?

For those of you who are gathered with your families this week, who have been for the past week,  please speak up for us.  Please call your congressmen.  Please write your local government.  Let them know that we need to actually start production on ventilators, masks, face shields, and gowns now.  It’s not a moment too soon.  Otherwise, you may soon be experiencing the metaphor of what it was like to have been left on that sinking ship, clutching your family and feeling the gut pit of despair when you are told that there are only “so many” life boats available.