Please stay safe.
That is my only request in this time when the world needs you more than I could possibly comprehend. You think of yourself as invincible, and maybe in some ways you are – you dealt with me growing up, after all. Back then, even I thought that nothing could touch you. But even Superman had his kryptonite, a weakness that brought him to his knees.
Which is why I ask that you please just stay safe.
To them, you are the caregiver. You’re the communicator, the advocate, the decision-maker and the lifesaver. You bring the oxygen whenever even their own lungs betray them. You restart their heart when their body fails them, giving them a second chance at life. You greet them each day with the sun – and maybe to them, that’s what you are.
To them, you are the guardian angel.
To me, you’re my mom.
Mom and child
I remember when you first decided to go to medical school. I was still young – no more than five or six – and I thought you really were Superman. I thought nothing could touch you, not even God himself. Kryptonite was not a word in my vocabulary and “weakness” was something that didn’t exist when it came to you. My weaknesses were bugs and the dark and the boys that bullied me in class. Your weakness? You didn’t have any.
Of course, I realized how wrong I was the first time I saw you pass out from exhaustion after working several 15-hour night shifts in a row.
After that, I realized you aren’t Superman. If anything, you’re Atlas, holding up the sky even as the weight of it brings you to your knees. Without you, the sky would fall.
I know that right now, with the world threatening to end at our feet, the sky can grow so heavy it feels it might break your spine. During the worst of days, I can see the bags hanging from your eyes, as if you packed away all of the pains that you healed away. I can see the hollows in your face, like the world is carving away at bits and pieces of you. Your shoulders slump with the weight of that sky, the storm clouds gathering and weighing you down, and your feet drag just with the effort it takes to make it to your bed. On these days, your migraine may feel like daggers pressing into your brain and it may feel like you’re walking on fire from the long hours you’ve been on your feet.
Those are the worst of days. They must feel like heaven compared to what you have to carry right now.
The world may feel like it’s ending for many right now, but you are right there on the frontlines. As the battlefield rages around you, remember that you are not fighting this war alone. Remember the children you are coming home to, who love you and who, just as I once did, see you on the same grounds as Superman. Remember the family who will cry and hug you for saving someone they couldn’t live without. Remember the patients who grin when they see your face coming through the door. Remember that, even if you’re not invincible, you may be like Superman after all. And always remember how loved you are.
So, I must ask, just one more time, that you please stay safe.
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