Remembering Covid -- a Memorial Thread

Four years ago today, I walked into the apocalypse.

Crossing the line in the ER felt like entering a whole other world.

Frenetic alarms.

Patients strewn about, struggling to breathe.

Too few staff. Too many deaths.

Covid was everything.

It had completely taken over our ER 

Covid inundated NYC a week prior.

And many of our staff fell ill.

Especially the nurses.

We had only a fraction of those we needed.

Too few to notice when the oxygen tanks under patients’ beds ran out.

So we did something kinda insane.

Actually unbelievable 

We ran tubing from the oxygen outlets on the wall

up, up, up

then through the ceiling

and then dangled it down to the middle of the ER

All over the ER

So everyone could get a reliable oxygen supply

And not suffocate when their tank ran out

It saved lives.

A lot.

A lot. 

But not all

“Hey, who has the guy in room 7”

—“Oh, me”

“He’s dead”

Keep going.

Others would die the same shift. 

Hundred died that day in NYC from Covid

The worse was still in front of us

A week later, 815 died. In one city.

Morgues were over capacity.

Walk by trucks set up outside the hospital for the overflow.

More staff fell ill.

They couldn’t get tested. Still. 

Four years ago, we had no idea what would happen next.

How long it would last

Or who would be next

Would it be as bad in Chicago?

LA?

Detroit?

Phoenix, Cheyenne, or Pensacola?

We know how it played out now

We knew nearly nothing then

We didn’t know 

Today, many will tell you we overreacted then

But you’ll never hear that from someone, anyone who worked in the hospital then

Covid scarred a generation of healthcare workers

Many watched their colleagues suffer.

Struggle to breathe.

Then die. 

Mistakes were made.

Politics became paramount.

We all paid the price.

But until the day I die

No one can tell me…

The things I saw

The things we

All those on the frontline

Witnessed and endured

We’re not real

We’re not the worst things we will

EVER see 

The past is being rewritten

But none of us who witnessed those early days can scrub our memories of the pain, and horror

We’ll never forget finding young, otherwise healthy people dead in a chair

And we’ll never forget our colleagues who died

You might.

But we won’t.