Before the pandemic, I enjoyed a wonderful work-life balance. I held a part-time position as a cardiologist, a dream role that allowed me to care for my patients while spending ample time with my young children. On lovely afternoons, I would take them to the playground after school, living a life that felt perfectly balanced. I was even actively involved in the PTA.
Then the pandemic struck. As my hospital began to fill with COVID-19 patients, I felt an undeniable urge to step in and contribute. There was no way I could remain on the sidelines while my colleagues faced an overwhelming influx of patients.
After discussing our options, my husband and I decided I wouldn’t isolate from our family. My routine became entering through the garage, disinfecting everything I touched, and taking a shower before joining my family upstairs. We made this choice based on the understanding that children were largely spared the worst impacts of the virus. The thought of being away from my kids for weeks was unimaginable. Though I recognize that every family’s situation is unique and others may have opted for different approaches, I often grapple with mom guilt—did I make the right choice? Am I jeopardizing my family’s safety?
The shifting dynamics at home have been challenging. Fortunately, I have a supportive husband who has taken on a larger share of the household responsibilities, especially since he had to close his outpatient physical therapy practice. He’s now managing our children’s homeschooling, which I certainly don’t envy. On my rare days off, I sometimes wonder which is more demanding—the chaos of the COVID wards or managing a lively six-year-old at home?
Despite the challenges, I chose to take on additional shifts to care for COVID-19 patients. This decision added another layer of guilt. My daughter frequently asks, “Are you working again?” and my son wants to know, “When will you be home for a long time?”
The first few weeks at the hospital were overwhelming. We were unprepared for the surge of patients. I vividly recall looking around the emergency department, where intubated patients lined the hallways, and rows of stretchers filled the space. It felt like a scene from a battlefield, with individuals suffering grave injuries all around me. Panic set in as I wondered if we needed military assistance to manage the crisis.
Initially, it was evident that our hospital administration and government entities had fallen short in their preparedness. Thankfully, conditions slowly improved as we received more staff and equipment, though the reality of treating these patients remained grim. It feels as if the outcomes are completely random—an 80-year-old with heart issues may recover, while a healthy 43-year-old succumbs to the virus. As a physician, this sense of powerlessness is profoundly distressing.
We are all experiencing trauma in these trying times. Sometimes I think that being an older mom makes me more sensitive to the losses around me. Having lost my own father last year, I can’t help but feel deeply when I talk to family members about their loved ones’ struggles. This empathy drives me to facilitate FaceTime calls for my patients, enabling them to connect with family members when physical visits aren’t possible. I remember how my mother stayed by my father’s side in his hospital room during his final days.
I find myself especially affected by younger patients—those with small children at home like mine. It breaks my heart to hear a baby cooing in the background during a conversation about a critically ill spouse. I strive to help their families understand the cruel randomness of this disease, even though I often feel just as confused. While reading bedtime stories to my kids, I can’t shake the thought that some parents will never get that chance again.
My children are aware of “the virus,” understanding why they’re not in school and can’t visit their grandmother. However, they remain blissfully unaware of the weight I carry—the tears I shed while driving home or the grief that lingers. They don’t see the refrigerated trucks that seem to multiply outside the hospital. Their ignorance is a blessing, and I hope to keep it that way. Their innocent joy reminds me that there is still light amidst the darkness.
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Summary
A cardiologist and mother of two reflects on her experience working on the frontlines of healthcare during the COVID-19 pandemic. She shares the challenges of balancing work and family life, the trauma faced by medical professionals, and the emotional toll of caring for patients while raising young children. Despite the overwhelming circumstances, she finds strength and joy in her children’s innocence.
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