No Matter what I saw in my experiences on war lands and other catastrophic events in my 25 years of career, what I faced home signed me more…

Underneath the glaring white lights, in the sterile corridors echoing with cries, I found myself in a desolate landscape. A barren terrain where choices were scarce, and the ones available were harsh, unforgiving. It was the arid land of decision-making in the face of the pandemic.

Every day, I donned my armor – mask, gloves, gown – and stepped into the battlefield. The enemy was invisible, yet it was everywhere, striking indiscriminately. As a doctor, I was trained to save lives, but the pandemic twisted that pledge into a cruel joke. The surge of patients was relentless, the resources dwindling, and time – a luxury we couldn’t afford.

My role changed from a healer to a gatekeeper. I was playing God in a game where the stakes were life and death. The brutal decisions of who to help, who would live and who would die, were left to me. The burden was heavy, the guilt heavier.

Each choice left an indelible mark. The faces of those I couldn’t help etched into my memory. The despair in their eyes mirrored my own. Every life lost was a personal defeat, a haunting reminder of the war we were losing.

Yet, in the midst of the turmoil, I witnessed the resilience of the human spirit. The strength of my peers, the courage of my patients, and the kindness of strangers became the oasis in the arid land of choices.

The Death Call. It was a clarion call that reverberated through the hospital halls, a constant reminder of the grim reality. But it was also a call to resilience, to strength, to humanity. It was a reminder that even in the arid land of choices, hope could bloom.