It hit, and it hit hard.
You're healthy, fit, taking your vitamins, and you are strong. Most have a mild case, so you will, too. Until that's not the case.
These monitors were my life for the past few days. I stared at them constantly. I cried. I prayed. I was glad to be there during the night when the lights were off so the hospital staff and my loved one didn't see my red, watery eyes.
And speaking of the night shift, this was my sleep wear. I didn't eat, drink, blow my nose, or remove any part of this protective equipment for 12 straight hours while in the room.
When I left each morning, I went straight to a hotel to shower and put on fresh clothes. There was a park nearby and, although it was cold, it provided the perfect place to strech my legs. The fresh air did wonders for my own health, both mentally and physically.
After my walk, I picked up some stationary and gift cards for the hospital staff. The doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists, and medical techs have been awesome, providing the best care they can while respecting their patients' wishes. This team, and all workers in the Covid unit, put their lives on the line every day and risk carrying that exposure back to their own famlies. They are heroes. I don't think they are told that often enough, because when I would tell them thank you, they were so grateful. Many of their patients arrive with mistrust, and they have to work extra hard to prove their vow to "do no harm".