There was a satisfaction in having a job to do and being able to contribute during this time of global crisis. Staying busy gave our minds something to focus on and helped us feel a sense of purpose. Some of us stayed late to coordinate staffing. Others helped to disseminate practice guidelines and clinical knowledge. While others lent a hand wherever they could to pitch in. That sense of camaraderie served as plenty of motivation.
During the early stages of the pandemic, there was a sense that this crisis that would end after a few months and life would return to normal. By May, we experienced a dramatic decline in the number of hospitalized patients with COVID-19, which resulted in a real sense of optimism. But soon it became apparent that this pandemic was not going away anytime soon.
Cases nationwide began rising again over the summer. We saw a steady trickle of new admissions at our hospital month after month until the fall when the rate of admissions accelerated again. The hospital reactivated our surge plan, increased staffing, and confronted the new surge with growing dread. That first surge was all endorphins – but fatigue set in by the time the second wave hit. The volunteerism and sense of “we are in this together” just did not exist anymore. The stories about health care heroes in the broader community waned and the outside world seemingly had moved on from thinking about the pandemic.
Yet we remained, caring for patients with cough, fever, and low oxygen saturation. It was like living through a movie we had already seen before. We knew what we were supposed to do and we followed the script. But now it felt too much like a routine.
It has been a very long 14 months since I first cared for a patient with COVID-19. For much of this time it felt like we were just stuck on a treadmill, passing the time but not making any significant progress towards a post-COVID future state. How many times over this year did we push that date forward in our minds when “life would go back to normal”?