Published in the Journal of General Internal Medicine, April 2021
“Mommy, will you sing the valley song?” my three-year-old daughter asks. We came across this folk song a few months ago, and it has become one of her favorite lullabies. She is curled up next to me on her bed.
“Down in the valley, valley so low,” I begin singing.
“Hold me,” she says, and I wrap my arm around her. The soft light illuminates her nose, her round cheeks. It reminds me of the nights I crept into her room after a long shift, peering through the crib slats to watch her sleep. Now in the final months of my residency, I see the immense growth in us both.
“Come closer, Mommy,” she pleads. I move my body closer but keep my face turned away. I’ve been caring for patients with COVID-19 for weeks now, and, despite my thorough decontamination routine, I still worry about the risks to her health. But the thought of physical separation for an indefinite length of time feels unbearable. We have chosen instead to measure the distance between us in inches, not miles.
She again moves her body closer, trying to narrow any remaining gap between us. I close my eyes and begin to reconnect with my body. There is an ache in my legs, a heaviness behind my eyes, a quickness to my pulse that has persisted for weeks.
“Mommy,” she whispers, “what does died mean?”
I open my eyes.
Read more here: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7837078/