I'll say it up front lest the message gets lost: I'm extraordinarily privileged to even be writing this post. I am extremely grateful for what I have and the situation I am in right now. This is merely exploring some intangible thoughts and feelings that I've had in the back of my mind.
So COVID. COVID COVID COVID. Last year this time I dare say virtually no one in the world was aware of such a thing or what these 5 letters mean. This year it's passed virtually everyone's lips. It's the pandemic cloud hanging over all of us. It's the reason why I'm seeing more depressions than I've ever seen in patients. It's why our interconnected world of travelling has ground to a halt.
I'm lucky enough to be in a province with minimal cases. In fact, the least amount of cases in Canada -knock on head here- which is fairly low in terms of cases compared to the rest of the world. I'm also lucky enough to be able to keep practicing medicine almost the same as I have before, only with more masks and telephone visits than before. The only real major change for me is I've stopped seeing sore throats and coughs as would be the bulk of my visits this time of year. For the most part, people are following public health orders, calling the local health line and staying home for swab clearance.
Despite my gratitude of this, however, there's something uncomfortable in the pit of my stomach. Something that stirs when I hear tales of my colleagues south of the border who are pulling triple shifts and intubating COVID patients on a regular basis. Even compared to my friends and former classmates in other provinces who are heading and chief-ing COVID wards - here I sit, seeing someone for a fungal nail infection.
I don't diminish what I do - it's what I love more than anything else. I don't diminish the concerns of my patients, either.
But it's hard not to look at the healthcare workers in full PPE for 16hr shifts slamming pressors and fluids and BIPAP to keep COVID patients alive, and look at my day of anxieties and skin rashes and med refills.
There's a deep sense of guilt that I'm not on the frontlines with my colleagues. Guilt or FOMO? My partner pointed out the ridiculousness of it. It's along the lines of when I felt left out of the cultural phenomenon of staying home, isolating and baking/crafting/building a new staying home routine. I will not complain about being able to have a stable career during this time, avoid financial strains and maintain a relatively normal routine that I'm sure many people the world over would happily have at this time. But it feels like I missed out on something that most people experienced, you know?
There's more guilt to this, of course. I'm also trained for emergency medicine and hospitalist care. I'm able to do COVID assessments. Again, I'm lucky I haven't been called on to use the training because we don't have as heavy a case burden as other locations. But shouldn't I be doing more? Why am I sitting comfortably at home over Christmas with my partner and eggnog while my colleagues a mere border away are holding the hands of dying patients on their wards?
