Meadowlarks

This has been a long, hard week. COVID19 went from zero to 60 across the US, and everything needed doing, all at once. Balancing the roles of hospital chief of staff, health officer for Rooks County, practicing family physician and regional medical director for five accountable care organizations required keeping close track of what was “on the list” each day, prioritizing each item carefully, and asking for a lot of help from my friends. Days started early and went until I (and many others) couldn’t do any more. I discovered that meditation could help me get to sleep when my mind could only think of coronavirus and remembered that the only time I cry in a crisis is when someone in my own family is upset. And now, locally, we are in the calm before the storm.

Last week, we did the impossible. Protocols and policies that normally would have taken weeks, or even months, to develop and coordinate were implemented overnight. Every night. I am certain I have never been through so many plan-do-study-act cycles in such a short period of time for such a critical need before in my life. I (re)learned the importance of listening to others’ concerns and being willing to reevaluate my own thoughts on each subject repeatedly; not holding on to my own beliefs increased in importance as the situation at state and federal levels continued to evolve so very rapidly.

A friend described this moment as watching the tide recede rapidly and knowing a huge wave is coming, one you aren’t sure you have the ability to swim through. COVID19 has not arrived in Rooks County (yet); it’s coming. We have more preparation yet to do, but this week feels different because we have a plan; the outline of what we need to do is clear and the path to get to our destination is known. The personal decisions of “should we still try to do X?” are removed, and I am grateful. All of that feels better.

Sing, meadlowlark, sing!

This weekend has been spent sheltering at home. Certainly some work: ensuring inboxes are caught up in anticipation of another busy week ahead, sharing solid information with our patients, completing necessary projects; but also the deliciously mundane: doing the laundry, having dinner as a family and making a plan for the weeks to come and this new normal, listening to my kids make music together.

This morning, I heard a meadlowlark outside. This bird’s song always makes me think of spring, and of hope. It made me think about all the meadowlarks in my own life, especially those who made such a difference in the last week. You know these folks, too: they build hope using their actions and words, they help us think of spring. We will make it to spring, and summer, and the end of the coronavirus pandemic. Thanks, meadowlarks. Keep singing; we need you.