I'm about halfway through the surgery clearance hoops.
You could see the care being shown as soon as you opened the car door. Hospital workers in scrubs , their faces hidden in thick masks, asked why you were there and then were happy to direct you. Watching only their eyes, we hear them explain in a nice way about who can go in and who can't. My wife wanted to accompany me but couldn't. We expected that.
Next to us was a small mountain of donated takeout food in stacked trays, cheerfully picked up by hospital workers as they arrived to work.
I spent a hectic hour inside the building being shuttled back and forth in a wheel chair between tests. At the last appointment, a guy gave me a yellow disposable face mask to replace the blue bandana I had not-so-artfully safety-pinned and wrapped around my head. I looked at the mask like it was a million-dollar item, rare and precisely rippled. (We since have bought some cloth ones.)
Leaving, I kept my new yellow mask on and sat on a bench outside, enjoying the Florida breeze. I idly wondered if the color of my mask signaled "done for the day." I relaxed and waited for my wife to drive back and pick me up.
The hospital had been eerily quiet, compared to normal days. The wait areas were sparsely populated. Even the blood lab, which is normally overflowing with people, was empty. I was one of two people giving samples. I don't know what to assume from this, other than people are locked down at home and not going anywhere, not even to doctor appointments.
The business of medicine goes on, knowing no time nor place, caring for people as they need it. Health workers are getting accolades these days for all the heroics that they do. Just seeing some of that firsthand two days ago (and I'll see many more before the month ends) makes me further appreciate why.
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