A Hospital Goes to War

Graham Elder

April 2, 2020 – 5 min read

       The enemy is nanoscopic in size, but infinite in numbers. It attacks like a swarm of tiny Terminators showing no emotion, no mercy. It exists only to infect, to reproduce, and often, to kill. It seems to have come out of nowhere, and yet we have been attacked by its kind before. This is an enemy that has awakened our collective consciousness and forced humanity into a corner. 

We are at war. A world war. 

This war isn’t about vanquishing or eradicating; it is about surviving. In an age of unprecedented technology, it is also the most recorded of all wars. Every decision will be analyzed and brutally dissected, leaving every sulcus and gyrus exposed for the world to view and pass judgement. It is the best and worst of times to be a leader, because there is chance to make a difference, a big difference, but there is no room for error.

Yet, no one chooses to be a leader under these circumstances. The role is thrust upon them, a burden of towering proportions that threatens the souls of leader and followers alike.

We are at war. A new kind of war.

The battlefield is the world, and no lines are drawn in the sand. The enemy could be a loved one, a two-year-old daughter or an eighty-year-old grandfather. The enemy could even be you, if you’ve succumbed to a less than healthy lifestyle or were cursed with broken genes. Regardless, you will want to survive and hopefully live to fight another day. Running away is not an option. You must stand and fight, hope for the best, and mobilize your army. Not just the army of miniscule immune cells that flows through your veins, but also the larger army that lives down the street and occupies the fortress. What fortress? That big building with the mammoth sized “H” stamped on it. 

We are at war. Preparation begins in stages. 

Non-essential entrances are barricaded, funneling unknowing carriers of the enemy through restricted points of access heavily guarded by passionate, selfless volunteers. Routine day to day work is brought to a grinding, painful halt. Painful not so much for those still working – they, at least, have work – but for those with non-urgent physical ailments. The kind that crush their spirits flat every day, and prevent living a well-deserved life. These victims will bide their hours until the enemy is beaten down. 

Next, battle plans are drawn. Makeshift platoons are formed. Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. Redeployment becomes a reality. Are you front line? Reserve? Support? No matter. Everything you’ve ever learned will never be enough to inspire confidence in your new, invented role. You will fly by the seat of your scrubs and adapt and overcome, like a good marine. You will compartmentalize the worst of it, joke about some of it (to keep sane), and then collapse somewhere by yourself in tears when the day is done.

Triage tents are erected outside the entrance to the forum of decisions, the entry point into the cogwheel that will determine a victim’s fate – the Emergency Room. “Are you HOT or are you COLD?” Questions are asked and screening tests are enacted over and over again by soldiers at the front. 

Inventory of our ammunition is taken, and we will be wanting. The suppliers of our ammo have already been decimated and can no longer provide. The enemy is cunning, cutting off our supply lines before the first volley is even fired. We turn to our community for support, patterning shields out of left over materials. Will there be enough masks? Will we fight this war unprotected?

Every war adds new buzzwords, terms and sayings to the cultural lexicon. WW2 gave us Blitzkrieg and concentration camps; Vietnam gave us Agent Orange and Napalm. One month ago, most of us would have never heard of flattening the curve, donning and doffing PPE (Personal Protective Equipment), social distancing, GOC (Goals of Care) and even Covid 19 itself (COronaVIrus Disease 2019).

Events are so unimaginable that we turn to fiction for information. Movies like Contagion have become the prescient source of knowledge describing exactly how it will all turn out. However, this isn’t make believe. This is real: we are the last bastion of hope for the frail and the weak.

For us, in our small northern town, the enemy has yet to show its face. Yet, we know it is coming. Do you hear the sounds of ventilators percolating? “That, Mr. Anderson, is the sound of inevitability.”

On the eve of war, our somber fortress weighs heavily upon its foundation. Sleep does not come easily for those who wait with it. Rooms sit eerily empty, ready for the first wave, prior occupants moved to safer grounds. It is as if death itself has taken up residence, strolling forlorn corridors, the corner of its maw raised in anticipation. Keeping a safe social distance, we steal nervous glances from fellow warriors. As our eyes connect, we realize that we are all in this together, and we are going to war …

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