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Challenge of the Month XIII - April
The End. It's over. SARS-CoV-2 is no more. We emerge from our shelters. What do we see? What have we learned? How will we change? Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose. $100 purse to our favorite entry. Outstanding entries will be shared with our publishing partners.
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bkoss
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I Wish SARS Wasn’t Over.

Every night would be the same monotonous routine: take off my scrubs in the garage, shower, eat my leftovers, and kiss my baby goodnight. This was my routine for the past several months during the brutal SARS outbreak. Tomorrow the world reopens, and the social distancing restrictions will be lifted. Tomorrow we will be free.

Little did I know I would do anything to rewind the clock; to be a prisoner of the virus for even just one more day. I do not want this to be over. Working endless hours in the ICU gave me a sense of purpose again. It reminded me why I became a doctor. Why I made so many sacrifices for this career.

Tomorrow my baby girl will live her first day outside of captivity, but I won’t be there to celebrate with her. I won’t see her first steps, hear her first words, or even be there for her first heartbreak. I’ll be in the hospital.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being a doctor, but SARS has made me realize that some sacrifices just aren’t worth it.

I was caring for a sick patient last night. He tested negative for SARS, and with the new vaccine coming out and our shortage of masks; I took one for the team. He didn’t seem very ill at first; just a light cough and a low-grade fever. I saw him without any protective gear, confident it was merely a head cold, but he coughed directly into my face.

That patient died this morning on a ventilator with an undiagnosed illness unrelated to SARS. I thought I finally made it into the clear. I thought my life would return to normal. I wish I wore that damn mask. I wish I took that simple precaution.

Annie when you’re ready for this, your mother will give you this letter so you can know your father died a preventable, but noble death. I write you this from my quarantined room in the same ICU I worked at for the past several months fighting to save others from SARS. I am almost certain death is imminent. I can feel my body withering away as I write this. Please Annie, don’t take your freedom for granted. Remember those who died to give you it.

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