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SAN ANTONIO
MEDICINE

Pandemic Story Telling

Internal Medicine residents at UT Health San Antonio participated in Project 6 -55, a guided reflective writing workshop, during
which they wrote and shared 6-word and 55-word stories about how the COVID-19 pandemic has impacted their clinical work.
Sharing with their peers offered a powerful understanding of the experience of caring for patients during a pandemic and some collective
healing. Here are their stories….

Learning to smile with my eyes. Emotions He lays there, visibly struggling, appearing Palliative care during COVID. MICU full.
hidden underneath a mask. emaciated and fatigued. Calling to update their families daily.
It has changed human interaction, challenging All options explored, losing faith. His last I dread picking up the phone. Always bad
us to adapt. breath; he gives a sigh of relief. news to give.
Non-verbal communication has always pre- Now, finally at peace. The hopefulness in their voices fades with each
vailed over words. ~ By James Gnecco, DO, PGY-2 call.
Now, how can I tell a patient, I’m happy? Husbands, wives, sons, and daughters. All
How can I tell them, I’m sorry? You can’t see the microscopic. The apolitical wanting to see their loved ones one last time.
When can we go back to seeing a smile and plagues that baffle us. I have nothing but kind words to offer.
smiling back? Empathy is the oracle that reveals the unseen ~ By Edward Pierce, MD, PGY-1
~ By Ariadna C. Perez Sanchez, MD, PGY-1 suffering. Fake news.
The previously healthy gentleman. Now “Will I ever get to see my mom? Why is she
Transferred from an outside hospital hanging plugged into a new reality. coughing so much?
on to your life. Winner of an unfortunate lottery, where at- Things have been tough. Grandma started
On a nasal cannula, switch to comfort care, tention is the consolation prize. coughing too and was taken to the hospital
away from home. Someone needs to call the family. Ignorance today.
His wife said she can only come the next day. is bliss. Especially when sedated. I just lost my sense of taste this morning and
He said, “Please, help me, Doctor.” ~ By Andrew Gonzalez, MD, PGY-3 am having muscle aches.
Morphine ordered. But before it got there, he Tell me everything is going to be okay, Doctor.
was gone. Overwhelmed being an adult and doctor. I I need it.”
Family never got a chance to say goodbye. love the hospital, COVID and all. ~ By Sanjay Prasad, MD, PGY-1
~ By Jane Lee, MD, PGY-2 It’s when I come home that I cry. I’m not
alone at work, find comfort in sickness. I told her over the phone, without a ventilator
Agony while waiting for a phone call. Hours Surrounded by friends and family for years. he would not make it through the night.
are longer, waiting. Suddenly being an adult, A long hard sob. We both knew his wishes.
For every ring, my heart skips a beat; hoping a doctor, and alone is overwhelming. I told her it was time to say good-bye.
to hear the doctor’s voice. I’m growing, but it is exhausting and lonely. They had been in love for 50 years. They cried
Hoping for good news, yet any news will suf- ~ By Saatchi Kuwelker, MD, PGY-1 together through a screen.
fice. He passed peacefully in the night.
It’s difficult to hang up. Time shortens. So Another month passes. 200,000 dead. ~ By Grace Hopp, MD, PGY-3
much to ask. Surrounded by ventilators and isolation. Yet,
I forget everything I planned to ask during some still pretend. First impression: young, healthy, strong. Yet,
that call. “I heard it’s like the flu.” “I want things to be fighting for breath.
~ By Juan Carlos Ulloa-Rodriguez, MD, PGY-2 normal again.” A few hours later: sick, unstable, drowning.
The more time passes, the less things change. Yet, calm and smiling.
Lying in bed, a painstaking three months now. We could have been there by now. We tried to Photo of her family beside her head. “Need
Ventilated, hypotensive; a victim of the pan- warn you. If only you had listened. air!”
demic. It marches on. “I will put you to sleep, help you breathe. But
Family and physicians holding on to hope, no ~ Anonymous first, tell me a good memory.”
visible light on the horizon. “Me, my two kids on a beach.” The end, agony.
~ By Mahmoud Samy Ahmed, MD, PGY-2

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