It was a tsunami, heading straight for us. The virus which had killed thousands in China and devastated Italy was ravaging New York City and coming our way. On March 12, Trey told me that we were locked down. Over the next few days, when he wasn’t at the hospital, he spent hours on the phone with our family and friends, explaining the severity of Covid-19 and the precautions that they must take. I was concerned about so many things, but mainly I was worried about Trey. His words rang in my ears: “I’m definitely going to get it; I just need to hold off for as long as possible so that I can help for as long as possible.”
That first weekend, Trey was on call. While he was working and I was scrolling through Facebook, I saw what I had been dreading—EAMC had its first coronavirus patient. I knew that Trey would be the one to intubate this patient. I became physically sick. I couldn’t sleep.
Sleepless nights are nothing new for me. First of all, I am a mom and it comes with the territory. But, also, I am a doctor’s wife. But, I am nothing like the doctors' wives on television. I didn’t marry a doctor. I married a pharmacist. When Trey decided that he wanted to go back to school, I walked with him through the MCAT and the application process. I grinned through gritted teeth when professor after professor joked that only 33% of their marriages would survive the stress of medical school. I supported our family financially while he was in medical school and throughout his residency. With no family nearby, I navigated the waters of childcare and my pharmacy career. Church and children’s activities were often solo adventures. No less than 15 of our anniversaries have been spent apart. But it’s our life and I love it, through good & bad.
However, on March 15, I didn’t love it. I hated every minute of that night…and many nights that followed. When I saw the video of Trey suiting up into his “space suit” of protective equipment, I almost fainted. I didn’t want the children to see me fall apart, but I cried a lot. I was so worried about him. The thought of him fighting this unknown disease with limited knowledge and equipment made my heart hurt and my body fail. I couldn’t even kiss Trey goodbye because it wasn’t safe, so I would watch him leave with tears in my eyes. My kids hugged me and helped shoulder the load. I was so unbelievably grateful for the daily prayer times at the hospital parking deck, as well as for the texts of love and concern from friends.
I watched as the numbers in Lee County rivaled the per capita numbers of other hot spots around the country. I watched Trey mourn the patients they couldn’t save. I watched him work so hard with other physicians to develop plans and treatment modalities. I heard him on the phone with colleagues around the nation. I watched as we were all in agreement that Covid-19 was the great enemy to the health and wellness of our nation. Then, I watched things ease up. Trey told me that we could get Chick-fil-A. (Cue the Hallelujah Chorus.) The stay home orders became safer at home. We bought masks and started wearing them. Trey went back to the OR as opposed to the ICU. Yet…
…Now we cannot agree on anything—masks, vaccines, economic recovery plans, churches meeting, churches singing, schools reopening. Despite the hostility, Trey goes to work day after day. Not only Trey, but countless other physicians, nurses, respiratory therapists, maintenance workers and housekeeping staff members. These people love our community and love their patients. They have seen and will see the effects of Covid-19. Therefore, I urge you to talk to them before you get your coronavirus updates from Fox or CNN or Twitter or Facebook. They don’t have an agenda; they just want to keep their patients healthy and their own families safe.
Morever, when you are deciding whether to wear a mask or whether to go to that bar or whether to congregate or sing with your church family, think about them, the healthcare providers who will care for the next positive Covid-19 patient in the ICU. Not only them, but their families. Please think about the wife who has to alternate sleeping with her teenaged daughters because sleeping in her own bed with her husband is too risky. Please think about the children who cannot hug their father for weeks or months because he doesn’t want to put them at increased risk. Please think about us. We are giving our best to you and we want him back, safe and sound. And, believe me, if you are the next patient needing his care, you want him to be able to be your doctor.
