“We’re not having patients wait up here any more.” I squeeze hand sanitizer into my palms while the administrator takes my name. Brooklyn Methodist Hospital, around the corner, has orange triage tents set up outside. We’re in the third week of New York’s stay-at-home order to try to flatten the curve of the coronavirus pandemic businesses are shuttered, roads are bare, people stand six feet away from each other in the lines in front of grocery stores. “Hi, sweetheart,” says the administrator at the front desk. This morning, I enter the obstetrics practice wearing maternity leggings, an oversized T-shirt, and a mint-green kerchief knotted over my nose and mouth. The results-heartfelt and harrowing-are presented here as a grateful salute to those who kept the world spinning in the year’s darkest moments. During the uncertain first months of quarantine, asked several novelists to chronicle their new normal with a tribute to the person helping them get by.
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