I have a proposal: let’s stop giving hospital beds to adults who chose not to receive coronavirus vaccinations.
We can still provide emergency care, but if a person comes into the ER with Covid, meets the criteria for hospitalization but has chosen not to receive the vaccine, let’s take them seriously and accept their choice. They have ceded their right to hospital beds that will require a sacrifice from the health care workers caring for them and the vaccinated individual denied the bed that they are filling. They can go home with self-administered medications, and an ICU bed will remain available for someone with heart failure or a life-threatening accident.
“You can’t be serious,” my husband said, when I told him my idea. “You are really tired.”
I was serious. I still am. And, yes, I am exhausted.
I’m over at The Well today, talking about the thousands of unnecessary deaths the U.S. has witnessed since the beginning of the pandemic. Come check out my proposal.
I used to love taking personality tests. I was convinced that each new inventory, rather than the last one, would reveal my future. I would finally see how my unique set of gifts and talents fit me for a particular task. I would finally know the mission for which God had been preparing me since I was born. Each academic year I acquired a new set of skills, and I believed they were taking me another step closer to accomplishing the life work God had already determined for me. My destiny. [I’m writing over at Venn Magazine today. Will you read the rest there?]
If you’re visiting from Venn Magazine, you might enjoy Dream Big, Dream Long, or what I learned when I went to Guatemala last fall. I promise I’ll post more about last week’s trip to Guatemala on Friday.
I began my medical residency with a cross around my neck and a Bible in the pocket of my white coat. The three or four years of residency are when a new doctor truly learns her craft. It is a grueling test of stamina and courage—like war—when much of what we see and even do is horrible and hard to explain to anyone not living it, too. We work on catnaps and irregular food and follow a strict hierarchy that leaves little room to question orders and decisions. The stakes are high, and mistakes are harshly punished. I had been warned by those before me to hold onto my faith with two hands, and I pondered this advice as often as my sleeplessness would let me.
I’m writing over at The Well today. Will you read the rest here?