Covid-19 is pushing doctors to the brink.

In the last year of my residency training, I wasn’t myself. I was exhausted but lay awake between shifts, unable to sleep. I went four days without eating. I lost 12 pounds in a month. I couldn’t muster interest in much of anything, including my own wedding plans. In brief, I had an ordinary disease, which hit me at an ordinary time, in an ordinary way. So, I did what doctors with depression do: I hid it. I smiled through my shifts until I couldn’t, then I would walk into the bathroom outside the trauma hallway, cry, wash my face and walk out smiling.