Code Blue

Our COVID-19 Special Section cover image, taken by resident physician Julie Muchinyi, captures what she is witnessing at the frontlines of care in New York City as her hard-earned intern year rolls into just her second year as a doctor. This issue goes live with the number of positive COVID-19 cases continuing to rise, challenging the mental and physical health of healthcare providers, young and old, from every corner of healthcare delivery. To say that the virus is taking a tremendous toll on our healthcare workforce is a gross understatement. It is killing them: physically, mentally and emotionally. In a joint project to document healthcare worker death toll related to COVID-19, The Guardian and Kaiser Health News estimate that as of July 24th, 2020, 821 frontline healthcare workers have been lost to the virus. These heroes include physicians, nurses, psychiatrists, long term care facility managers and workers, firefighters, respiratory, radiology and surgical technicians, EMTs, secretaries, patient transporters, food service coordinators and more.

This special section evolved quickly because our editorial team felt a duty to record this pandemic so that we never forget our failures and our shining moments. It felt important to pay tribute to the stories of those suffering from this virus, as well as to the experiences of those who care for them. We have placed a blue square in the header of every poem and story to signify the unrelenting “code blues” being called across the country when a patient experiences a respiratory or cardiac arrest. The solid color keeps focus on the stories being told without the competing narrative of a visual image.

We can never forget that those who care for patients do so at great personal expense. Not only are they putting themselves in harm’s way, but their work requires isolating themselves from loved ones. Like Lauren Jenkins, the Philadelphia OB-GYN physician whose husband, Jax Roux, has Stage IV lung cancer, their story covered by NPR in early June. The couple lived apart to care for their twin boys during what may be Jax’s precious last days in hope of keeping the entire family well. Or like emergency physician and healthcare leader Lorna Breen, at New York-Presbytarian Columbia University Medical Center, who after battling the virus herself came back to the frontlines only to find overwhelming chaos at a time her body needed rest. Because many physicians are trained to believe they are superhuman, the fact she couldn’t perform up to her high-achieving standards may have played into her decision to end her life April 26, 2020. Physician burnout and suicide were already well-above professional norms prior to COVID-19. Who will be left standing when we finally do contain the virus? And of those left standing, who will be whole?

We can never forget that patients and families are also suffering in a multitude of ways. Some are separated to protect the elderly or those with compromised immune systems. Many have died alone in ICUs when the numbers of those ill exceeded the ability of local healthcare systems to manage the deluge of patient flow. The carnage in nursing homes and inordinate number of deaths in our Black and brown communities point strongly at the weakest areas of our nation’s healthcare delivery system, its quality and safety, and the failure to address egregious health disparities in this country. I can only hope that the silver lining of COVID-19 will be that we can no longer turn away from these weaknesses.

This special sections contains stories of pain, as well as the very best of humanity rising to face both the known and unknown with grace. We can never forget the bravery of everyday heroes, like Sam at the Institute for NonViolence Chicago, his story captured by filmmaker Jayme Joyce in The Two-Headed Dragon, part of her documentary series Local Legends of COVID-19. At the height of the pandemic, Sam delivered food and health information to local at-risk communities. Listen to Siyun Fang’s reading of her poem Those Unknown People of the Pandemic, and hear of the unsung heroes who died valiantly giving up medical resources for others, and those who died in shame or heartbreak because of poverty, loss of family, or shattered opportunities. Paul Hostovsky, a Boston sign language interpreter, describes his experience of illness with a sense of irony and respect for the little things in life while fighting COVID-19 from his hospital bed. And in the nonfiction section, be sure to read A Pixelated Death by palliative care physician Paul Rousseau, whose sorrow and loving kindness while facilitating an elderly couple’s final goodbyes from his iPhone is a portrait of grief being recreated across the country.

Most importantly, we can never forget that as of July 24th, 2020, COVID-19 has taken the lives of 144,469 in the US, and 634,405 around the world. Is this because there is a scarcity of loving leadership in the upper echelons of healthcare? Or because of divisive, ego-driven governmental leadership across the country? Or is this nature running its course, humans simply at the mercy of random events, as Albert Camus all but prophesied in The Plague almost 75 years ago? We continue to argue the facts, and make COVID-19 a political game of one-upmanship. The more we argue and separate ourselves, the weaker we become as individuals and as a country. The more time we spend angry and blaming, the less energy we have to heal and problem-solve. In this pivotal election year, who will step up to the microphone, lead selflessly, and guide us out of our growing separatism in the best interest of every American, reestablishing our status as an admired global citizen?

In the end, COVID-19 doesn’t care what we look like, who we vote for, or what we believe in. I believe we are smart enough to find a cure for this virus. However, I also believe that if we do not begin turning toward one another in love and kindness, it will be our increasing polarization as a country that could prove to be the greatest threat to our health and well-being.

Tracy Granzyk is the editor in chief of Please See Me.