Two weeks ago I picked my kindergartener up from after-school basketball on a routine weekday afternoon. He bounded up to me, backpack in hand and asked, “Mom, do you know about coronavirus?” His teachers had discussed the viral outbreak and the need for good hand-washing skills. My budding epidemiologist went on to explain how the virus spread from bats to another animal to a human to another human to even more humans and so on. I tucked him into bed that night, marveling at his teacher’s skill in stressing hygiene and explaining the novel virus to a group of 6-year-olds.
Of course now coronavirus, or COVID-19, is all anyone is talking about, reading about. Coronavirus has uprooted my personal and professional life. As a family medicine physician working in Seattle, and as a mom to three young children, COVID-19 has consumed my day-to-day activities and workplace. As a primary care clinician and parent at a U.S. epicenter of the outbreak, there is no other word for home or work right now than upheaval.
I am also a writer, a creator of art. But I have struggled to find the time and emotional space to articulate and explore all the layered questions this crisis has presented to me—as a physician, as a mother to young children, as a creative being in this world. Fragments of essays, lines of poems, pour out of me as I wake with anxiety in the middle of the night, as I run around a deserted Seattle park, as my children beg to gather with their friends, as I discharge a clinic patient who pauses as she exits the exam room: “Thank you for being a doctor.”
As a participant of Harvard Medical School’s inaugural Media & Medicine program, I’ve recently been trained in writing Op-Eds for the public, in discerning misinformation and disinformation in the media about healthcare issues, in thinking creatively about how we can use podcasting or plays or poems to tell stories that make a difference to important public health topics. My classmates and I, healthcare professionals from all over the world whose projects focus on varied themes from mental health to vulnerable populations, from physician burnout to cancer awareness, suddenly find ourselves in the middle of a pandemic, sharing stories from our respective locations worldwide.
My work right now, though, is focused here, on my community: the people I hold most dear and the place I grew up in, I trained in, I live. My colleagues and community are at the forefront of this pandemic. I feel the rising sense of fear, the wave of overwhelm, the steady thrum of kindness.
For now, I offer this. Anyone who attended medical school with me knows I like to make lists. I approach a seemingly insurmountable task by compiling, organizing, and splitting it up into manageable components. Over the last two weeks, as local healthcare systems faced rapidly changing recommendations, confusion about suggested protocols, differing messages on testing capability, questions about adequate protection and supplies, as schools closed and family schedules were upended, I gathered information. Here is my contribution, my list of reliable resources and information for the worried, weary, and hopeful among you.
Despite my own swirling anxieties, I’m grateful for the work I’m trained to do, in medicine and in the humanities. I’m thankful for my colleagues—every aspect of the health care team—who are committed to serving our community’s most vulnerable, and each other, through an uncertain time. I’m bolstered by the parents sharing resources and tips about how best to support our children through unprecedented upheaval. This, I know: we are distilled in a crisis to the best, or the worst, that is in us. May we cling to the best, stand firm in sound science, look to compassion and art that sustains our souls, and encourage others to do the same.
I didn’t get a free write done this week but did attend the launch party for the 2017 