Dr. Justin Skrzynski: "It's incredibly demoralizing to see people struggling from a disease that is largely preventable with vaccination." (Photos: Beaumont Health)
This Christmas weekend repost first was published Tuesday. It's adapted from a Beaumont Health blog by a 36-year-old internist at the hospital in Royal Oak.
The 2011 graduate from Wayne State University School of Medicine did his residency at the hospital where he now works.
By Justin K. Skrzynski, MD
In March 2020, my life and career changed in ways I never could have imagined. Respirator masks, extended hours and constant heartbreak weren’t part of my daily routine until the pandemic forced me into a world of chaos and uncertainty.
Two years ago, there was no such thing as Covid-19, and now there are dedicated Covid hospital units and physicians. Now it's hard to step onto a floor without fielding a rapid-fire stream of questions about vaccines, hospital census or quarantine for a friend or family member with a Covid exposure.
I've never worked so hard, but I've also never felt so useful.
I spend my day caring for Covid-19 patients, many of whom have been in the hospital for days or weeks. Most people don't realize how prolonged and debilitating the disease can be.
Even with all the knowledge and advancements of the past year and a half, it's very difficult to predict how quickly someone will recover, or how severe the disease will become. It's heartbreaking going into the same rooms with the same patients for days or weeks in a row, explaining that no, you’re not getting better, and no, there's nothing additional we can do about it.
As the U.S. battles through yet another surge of Covid-19 cases and hospitalizations, it's incredibly demoralizing to see people struggling from a disease that is largely preventable with vaccination.
"It's very difficult to predict how quickly someone will recover, or how severe the disease will become."
Covid is a terrible disease, and unless you've seen someone with scarred lungs struggling to breathe for weeks on end, it's hard to convey just how terrible it really is.
I haven't seen a single person hospitalized for complications from a Covid vaccine, whereas I've seen dozens of patients die from Covid, many needlessly. Every time I console a grieving family member who lost a loved one to Covid, I can't help but think it didn't have to be this way.
Sometimes it seems that Covid is just a slideshow of human suffering and, as a doctor, you’re simply the captive audience that is forced to watch, many times powerless to help. When a health care worker says, 'I can’t do this anymore,' you have to realize that this person dedicated years of their life to caring for others, but they know when enough is enough.
"It's hard to convey just how terrible it really is."
We all give as much as we are able, and no one is a hero or coward for choosing to stay or go.
I stay positive by remembering the patients who recovered and went home despite incredible odds against them.
Medicine has many moments of grief, but also many moments of humor and joy. The smile of someone able to speak in their own voice after having a tracheostomy reversed or high-fiving a patient who managed to stand on their own for the first time in weeks.
This is the great challenge of my life so far and I know that I am making a difference.
