We talked on the phone earlier.
I'm your new doctor, taking over for Dr. Lowe.
Don't worry, I'm only mostly scared,
Both for me and for you.
I'll do my best to be there for you,
But I'll think too much before and after any consoling touch.
I'll try and comfort you with my words,
Without really knowing what will happen next.
I'll smile at you, remembering only halfway through you can't see it,
I hope my eyes seen through the peep holes of a welder's mask say enough
You're going to be alright,
Day 8 of symptoms, 4 liters of oxygen,
It's the uncertainty that will really get us both.
I know your husband is in the ICU,
I heard they've managed not to intubate him yet.
And yes, don't worry, I will call your daughter,
and share this uncertainty with her too.
From what I've heard, you're taking it better than she is.
Hopefully the esoteric explanations will help her,
That would make one of us.
But I will do my best to be extra attentive,
As I know this is hard.
I won't tell her that I recently lost my grandmother,
No visitors allowed.
Only essential personnel around,
Just like both her parents.