“Save this mail for my children in case I die.” says, an American author, who received this request from his usually unflappable physician brother separated from his family for Covid duty. It was still early days in the pandemic, but hospitals were already full of corpses, some of which were of their own men and women. If carefully noticed, hidden in the image of Mr. X's brother crouching with his notebook in between exhausting shifts to type out 7,000 words for two toddlers he might not see again is a warning about how the present war is increasingly becoming tougher for the warriors themselves.
“My heart is heavy with fear/ Knowing that the enemy we’re fighting/ Can follow me home from here,” wrote a young nurse from Winnipeg. This possibility of unknowingly bringing a killer home is what makes treatment during a pandemic different from other risky medical missions. What if, after…
