Thank You for Your Service: From the Sidelines of the Pandemic
Authors: Niharika Sathe
Journal: Annals of Internal Medicine (2020)

On Being a Doctor17 November 2020Thank You for Your Service: From the Sidelines of the PandemicFREENiharika Sathe, MDNiharika Sathe, MDCooper University Hospital, Camden, New Jersey (N.S.)Search for more papers by this authorAuthor, Article, and Disclosure Informationhttps://doi.org/10.7326/M20-3158 Audio Reading - “Thank You for Your Service: From the Sidelines of the Pandemic” Audio. Michael A. Lacombe, MD, Annals Associate Editor, reads “Thank You for Your Service: From the Sidelines of the Pandemic” by Niharika Sathe, MD Your browser does not support the audio element. Audio player progress bar Step backward in current audio track Play current audio trackPause current audio track Step forward in current audio track Mute current audio trackUnmute current audio track 00:00/ SectionsAboutVisual AbstractPDF ToolsAdd to favoritesDownload CitationsTrack CitationsPermissions ShareFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditEmail It's 7:30 a.m., and I'm speeding across the bridge to get to work. I am thankful that there's no traffic. The printed placard designating me as “essential personnel” flaps on my dashboard. I stop for gas, and the gas station attendant thanks me for my service.It's 8:00 a.m., and I walk into the office. The staff look up behind their blue masks and continue to type. No one is in the waiting room. Everyone's scared of getting COVID-19.It's 10:00 a.m., and I'm on the telephone with a patient. Her depression has been uncontrollable because she can't leave the house. I order extra refills on her meds and arrange for them to be delivered. “Thank you, baby, and God bless you,” she says. “Thank you for your service.” I'm not sure I did anything.It's 12:30 p.m., and I'm waiting for my friend to text me back. She's a hospitalist in her third trimester and is running around all day in PPE. I'll worry until I hear back. I check Instagram. I “like” a post about puppies and save a recipe for sourdough that I'll never make. I look at another friend's page. She's an ER doctor in the Bronx and has posted a picture of herself taken after her shift. She has red welts across her cheeks from her N95 mask, the scars of a warrior. She doesn't take breaks for food, water, or the bathroom. If she doffs her PPE, she isn't sure she'll have another set waiting for her. I go back to my Tupperware container of salad and cut fruit.It's 3:00 p.m., and I'm deep into a pool of medication refills. My mom texts to ask how I'm holding up and tells me to please be safe. My parents are so proud of their daughter on the “front lines.” Can you still call it the front line if you're sitting behind a computer screen? I zone out and think about my first code as an intern. I remember tumbling out of bed in the call room, bleary eyed and racing in untied sneakers. The room was already packed with staff busy with their roles. I opened a computer outside the room and called the patient's husband. My colleagues got ROSC as I dialed. “Thanks for saving her life, doc,” the husband sobbed. “Thank you for your service.” I wasn't even in the room. I already felt like an imposter with a new “MD” behind my name, and the weight of his words made me squirm. I feel like that intern again. I sign up to take overnight shifts at the hospital to help with admissions and feel simultaneously disappointed and relieved to learn I won't be admitting patients with COVID-19.It's 4:00 p.m., and I'm answering patient calls. “Can you fill my lisinopril?” “Can I get tested for COVID-19? I've got a headache.” “I'm not interested in signing up for a video visit, but can you diagnose my rash over the phone?” I should be grateful that most of my patients are still thanking their PCP for caring for them. No one usually expresses gratitude at tweaking their antihypertensives or reducing their A1c from 11 to 8. We don't put in the stents, take out the gallbladder that's causing them pain, or extubate their loved one so they can go home. We don't get to be the heroes and wear the cape. The calls don't stop, and the day is busy. I try to triage, obtain testing, provide reassurance, and keep people out of the ER and hospital. Some days that feels like enough. Some days it doesn't.It's 6:00 p.m., and I'm entering my kitchen. I've showered and discarded my scrubs into a separate pile to wash even though I didn't touch a single patient today. My husband is ladling steaming noodles into bowls. He has been doing two jobs, poring over legal documents and taking care of our baby while I've been gone. I thank him for getting dinner together, and he shrugs. “It's no big deal,” he says. “I'm not on the front lines.”It's 11:00 p.m., and I can't sleep. “You should get some rest,” says my husband. “You've got another long day ahead of you.” I toss and turn even more.It's 6:00 a.m., and I'm watching my coffee drip and willing it to go faster. The doorbell rings; our grocery delivery has come extra early. It's raining outside, and the bags of produce, milk, and toilet paper have turned to brown pulp. We have been waiting for this delivery for a week. I am so grateful to have these small tokens to keep my family fed and healthy that I once took for granted. The sopping driver apologizes for ringing the bell at this hour and explains that the demand is so high that they're working around the clock. I fumble for extra cash to tip him, and he looks uncomfortable. “No, please,” I say, pressing the cash into his gloved palm. “Thank you for your service.” Comments0 CommentsSign In to Submit A Comment Gail Clifford, MD, MMM, CPE, FACP, FHMABLE Physicians29 June 2020 Thank you to our clinic doctors I appreciate the thoughtfulness with which this shows the day in the life of a non-Covid-19 treating but very active physician awaiting the next phase. While I am a hospitalist on the front lines, with the horror of the anticipatory phase behind me, but nightmares over who's going to take my ventilator when we're back at scarce resources levels (I did the paperwork preparing the patient priority) and the possibility of passing Covid-19 to my family persist. Can we please get one thing straight? If people are going to thank us for our service, can we insist they wear a mask? If they would wear masks, there's less a chance they'd pass Covid-19 around the community, less chance they'd need to be hospitalized, less chance they'd pass it to us, and less chance we'd be at scarce resource triggering levels. It's NOT a political decision, it's a medical one. Jim Algeo MDParamount Imaging PLLC7 July 2020 How to reply to “Thank you for your service” I’m a retired Army doctor. I missed Vietnam and all the other wars since and I never served overseas. I have never heard a shot fired in anger. I got caught in a wildfire once with the California National Guard: that’s it. I have always had a tough time accepting the “Thank you for your service”. “I didn’t do much,” I’d demur. Then one day I realized the correct answer and now I reply: “It was an honor.” Sit in front of the computer. To serve is still an honor. Author, Article, and Disclosure InformationAffiliations: Cooper University Hospital, Camden, New Jersey (N.S.)Corresponding Author: Niharika Sathe, MD, 3 Cooper Plaza, Suite 513, Camden, NJ 08103; e-mail, [email protected]edu.This article was published at Annals.org on 30 June 2020. PreviousarticleNextarticle Advertisement Audio Reading - “Thank You for Your Service: From the Sidelines of the Pandemic” Audio. Michael A. Lacombe, MD, Annals Associate Editor, reads “Thank You for Your Service: From the Sidelines of the Pandemic” by Niharika Sathe, MD Your browser does not support the audio element. Audio player progress bar Step backward in current audio track Play current audio trackPause current audio track Step forward in current audio track Mute current audio trackUnmute current audio track 00:00/ FiguresReferencesRelatedDetails Metrics 17 November 2020Volume 173, Issue 10Page: 850KeywordsCOVID-19ComputersPersonal protective equipmentRashesRunningScarsSleepStent implantationTouchTriage ePublished: 30 June 2020 Issue Published: 17 November 2020 Copyright & PermissionsCopyright © 2020 by American College of Physicians. All Rights Reserved.PDF downloadLoading ...