1.30 am

Code Blue, Level 4, Internal Medicine. Code Blue, Level 4, Internal Medicine.

I'm still back at the hospital to sort through the last remaining set of masks. I don't have to be here at 1.30 in the morning. But I would rather be here than by myself at home. Loneliness is depressing. And in the last ten days, I've spent more time with myself than I've done in my lifetime.  

I watch Rohit grab his stethoscope and rush out, as soon as the announcement begins. Rohit is not wearing a face-mask. I know Level 4 is where the isolation ward is. I grab a mask from the "good" pile and rush after him. I catch up with him just as he's about to enter a room I presume is the isolation ward. "Rohit.." I'm panting as I hand him the mask and slump against the wall outside. He gratefully takes it from me before entering the room.

I've never been to this floor before. White walls, slate grey tiles, stainless steel carts, all of it feels extremely cold and impersonal. Unlike the rest of the hospital.

I sit there against the wall for a few minutes, clutching my stomach and catching my breath, when Tulsi and Dr. Dimpy rush past me into the room Rohit entered a few minutes ago. They stop to briefly pay me attention, but I wave at them inside. I'm not sick. I simply need to improve my stamina.

Minutes pass by and I get back up on my feet, my body craving water. I look around to find a water fountain sign at the far end of the corridor. As I begin walking towards it, three people dressed like astronauts, catch my attention. I know them. They're Dr. Dimpy, Sister Tulsi, and Rohit.

I stop to take in the costume. Every inch of Rohit's body is covered. A surgical bouffant cap on his head, his glasses fogging up behind the face shield, his nose and mouth covered by an N-95 mask, a protective medical apron covering his neck, an additional gown on top of his scrubs, powder blue sterile gloves on his hands, shoe coverings over his shoe. I'm amazed at the number of precautions doctors are required to take before entering a COVID isolation ward. I'm also now aware of how exactly deadly and dangerous this virus is.

The trio enters the ward. Curiosity getting the better of me, I walk up to the door and peep in through the glass panel.  It allows me to see what's going on inside. Doctors are talking in sign language. I suppose the extensive costume they're wearing makes it difficult to communicate.

The patient they're attending to is connected to a host of machines via tubes, wires, and cables. He is practically laying on the ICU bed lifeless, while the machines work to keep him alive. One big tube is directed right into his body through his chest. Rohit waves something at Dr. Dimpy and she proceeds to use a mega-size syringe to create a vacuum and draw fluid using the tube inserted into the man's chest. 

In the meanwhile, on the other side, Tulsi continuously squeezes a green balloon that is attached to another tube nearby. Rohit keeps looking at the monitor and then back at Dr. Dimpy. He waves his hands a few different ways from time to time. Eventually, he shows them a thumbs up. The team moves away from the man, plugs him back on, and begins to make their way to the door.

My body reminds me of its parched state. I sprint towards the water fountain. As I bend down and cup my hands around the thin stainless steel spout, I observe the trio come out and go into the room they'd first entered. When they come out once again, they look normal.

The three of them make their way to the elevator door. Tulsi presses the elevator button. While they're waiting for their ride, Rohit suddenly begins walking down the corridor. I try and focus my attention on drinking water, but my eyes keep following Rohit's path. We meet at the water fountain.

"You're still here." It's a statement.

I don't respond. He makes his way to the door leading to the staircase and I follow him.

"You shouldn't be on this floor." Another statement. I continue walking in silence.

We reach the first floor and I hold open the door that leads into the corridor for Rohit to enter. We reach his cabin and he takes his place behind his mahogany desk. I settle down by the last box of masks I'm sorting through.

"It late, you should go home."

He's right. It's past 2 am. And yet, I don't want to be alone. Not after what I just witnessed.

I have to know what happened in there. So I finally muster the courage to ask. Rohit sighs, his voice emotionless.

"That patient is suffering from ARDS - Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome." He pauses and I wait patiently for him to continue. "He's in the later stages of the infection. The virus has caused severe damage to his lungs."

"What were Tulsi and Dr. Dimpy doing?" I've never seen anything like that before.

"The patient's lungs are filled with fluid that's leaking from his blood vessels. It's making it difficult for his body to take in oxygen and pass it onto his other organs via the bloodstream. A ventilator is no good if your body won't co-operate."

He pauses, I assume, wondering the best way to explain the treatment.

"Dr. Dimpy was trying to pump the fluid out of his body while Sister Tulsi was using a handheld device to directly pump oxygen into his lungs." Another pause.

"We were able to stabilize him this time but I don't know how long this is going to last. Right now even the ventilator is failing him."

He takes his glasses off, places them on his desk, closes his eyes, and begins to massage his forehead.

"What's with the astronaut suit?" I ask, trying to divert his attention from the earlier topic.

He smiles. "That's a nice way to put it, astronaut suit."

"No seriously, what's with it?"

He sobers. "In times of pandemics like this one, any time you manage an airway or have a patient who is coughing, the situation is very high risk. We cannot afford to put the doctors at risk because they are treating COVID patients. So we take every precaution possible."

He turns to his computer only to turn back. "The sad thing is that despite all the precautions we take, healthcare workers are still at the highest risk for contracting the disease because of repeated exposure."

"Does that mean you too?"

"Yes Sona, it could be any of us. We voluntarily go in front of these patients time and again. There's cough, there's sputum. Like what you saw today we manually extricate fluid from their lungs, we hold their hand when they're dying, we constantly monitor their progress. Unknowingly, if a health care worker touched a contaminated patch of skin or hair, then touched their mouth or eyes or others, they could potentially infect themselves or others."

My stomach churns at the thought of Rohit suffering the way I saw that patient suffer.

"Can't another doctor treat them?" I know I'm being selfish. He smiles wistfully. "It's all the same, Sona. Anyone who treats these patients is at high risk. This is why we've limited the number of doctors who actually work with these patients."

"Why you? Respiratory diseases aren't even your specialty."

"Because I couldn't sleep in peace knowing I put the lives of one of my doctors at risk, without putting mine before theirs."

I walk up to Rohit and hug him. Logically I should be staying away, but I don't want to. I promised to stand by him for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death did us part. I intend to keep my word.