After one particularly difficult week in August 2021, when the pandemic was re-peaking, I turned to my art journal to process the events. I was newly back at work as a hospitalist from maternity leave with my 6-month-old son. Our Nanny had just contracted COVID, despite being vaccinated, throwing our household into chaos. During my commute via the ferry from Bremerton to Seattle, >20 people were unmasked during the ride and many refused to wear their masks when asked by the crew. I performed three death exams on patients with severe COVID who had been sent to my service after a lengthy time in the ICU for the purpose of dying after withdrawal of life support. I had two patients with COVID on my service, one of whom repeatedly requested Vitamin C and Ivermectin, as his oxygenation continued to worsen and he developed ARDS. I worked 100 hours in seven days, and my milk supply for my infant, which provided him with my antibodies against this terrible disease, took a dive to critically low. It was a week where nothing felt right, and I alternated between feeling broken, feeling insufficient, feeling angry and
feeling numb.