The world was falling apart, and I was locked away from my daughter.
Those were my first thoughts from my hospital bed when I came back to myself. Lexi is 6; she and I had never been apart for more than a few days. For much of the past year I waited by her bedside while she faced round after round of chemotherapy. I learned then about COVID-19 and the risk it poses for immunosuppressed people. Now I was the patient.
I’ve always had a vague sense about the people who keep us safe and healthy. In the back of my mind was the security provided by a blanket of hospitals, organizations, doctors, scientists and nurses — the comfort that they’d all be there in a crisis. That vague sense became stark reality. All of a sudden my life depended on those people, and their ability to adapt to a once-in-a-generation pandemic.
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